As the days pass me by like rush hour traffic,

I remain standing still,

Watching people come and go,

Seeing from afar there smiles and tears,

As I stand here, I wonder if somewhere, someone is watching me stand here?

A innocent bystander to this cruel world,

Watching it inflict it’s pain on these tortured souls,

As I stand watching this world go by,

I see the tears in her eyes,

I see the flowers in his hands,

I see old age catching up with the elderly,

And I see the youth self destructing,

I’m watching this world go by me,

And I bare witness to what these people are going through,

The glazed eyes of the women who keeps her eyes set on her destination,

Trying to avoid any suspicious looks from strangers like myself,

I see the young man who is dressed smartly, yet keeps fixing his attire, showing all the insecurities his clothes can’t hide,

In the corner,  I watch two children playing with one another, the optimum of innocence,

The closest thing to purity on this world,but for how long will it remain,

I look to my left and see a broken man, without a home or food in his mouth or money in his pocket, only a suspicious looking bottle,

Little does he know, he’s not any different from the women with the glazed eyes,

he may be drowning his sorrows, she may be hiding them,

It does not change the fact that what they are feeling is the same,

This world holds so much emotion, but we all try to stop and analyse it,

We all walking this disbelief that their pain is more important than yours,

They are mistaken, for it is what we feel that makes us remotely human,

It’s what makes all the lies, all the hurtful actions and all the wrong decisions normal,

We are all representations of our own failures,

Understanding that the stranger next to you in the bus, train, ATM line or restaurant are struggling with there very own existence,

We are all but finely painted fakes of our original paintings. Trying to hide the flaws and present a pretty picture of perfection which does not exist.

permanence is upon us.

one who paces.

predator
that I never took
for god.

-

on the inside
the predator
I attacked
personally

became the world
where the window
into the world
of hazing
opened.

-

in infancy
I possessed
a belonging.

From the visions of sparrow vanguards
that fly insatiably onward.
From the tombs of ancient hearts draped
in flowing, moth-eaten fabric.
From the fighter jets stalling somewhere
above solitary and succinct farmlands.
From the bottom of a broken purple
sunset that lies embossed on my brain.
From the silliest half-thought left
unvoiced in the vagrant light of a damp
and desolate lamp lying in a landfill.
From several mouths at once.
From oracles cross-legged in caves.
From the gills of a catfish on a hook.
From mythical forgeries and the perjurer's tongue.
To the subdued hope resting in a
trembling hand gripped round its pen.
To satisfaction that is oneness that
seems to never arrive but is there
all along.
To the peaks of the Himalayas.
To my spidered desk light, shallow with doubt.
To my flustered and torrential page.

Articulate Throwback (Amazing Rap that Doesn't Get Enough Respect)
Fielding an eclipsed Jack the Ripper Sun
Yielding dismissal garish, begotten The Matrix smokin’ gun
Wielding a firebrand skittish
Skills levied an intolerable tax by quisling quoted British
Stunting on heyday levity marksman of primes
Flogged for flagrant dragons sinking nickels and dimes aimed beatific sublime
Flowing like centripetal orbit  galvanized by riddled spirits dashed in secondary impetus of reason over rhyme
Littoral swank partial to Taylor Series of dedications Speak Now peaks livid with fumiducts of crippled sheep blandished for reach
Apologies invited always welcome for a kitsch debased by universal theaters yet united for Payable on Death singing the deceit of receipts impeached
Islanders flooding suicides punning that a sunken treasure is barbs smuggling
Otiose on ribald corsairs blinkered by the rhombos of speculation thunder itself about lightning starts wondering
Where a City by the Bay shining on a Hill of travesties of decay tanks for domesticated Negros that flashbangs got to slay
To the wistful shaken house music garnishing the prey of prayer on heavy pulls of quotable 415 hay-day
The wrinkled stray dog never  far from *****
Slapsticks against the tribunes awaiting for meteoric functions of a recessive allele of a dominant comet
Ludacris flickers dancing in dormant revelry because On Top, Just Let Go..I am honest and On It
To the milk of harvested stars glaring at tankers and garish broken FaceMash scars teetotalers scatter with Thursday crashing into glass shards
Black fame is a white epiphany of infamy designated by name
Of the craven coltish spinsters who market the crackling whiplash of sanity apportioned to the regaled insufflation of blame
Streaky on a jejune Diggity hapless hop of Kumbayas etched by Trailer Park’s scalding flop
Glorifying a Gangester heir to titanic humbled beginnings chockablock divested to Kennedy’s dead Candy Shop
Impressive rags of riches of counterfeit tags blundering with lazy LASER Tag of sharks too bellicose to earn a pitfall pittance of swag
Trippin’ by tripwires too flippant to be flippin’ on known graves sidesplitters of treecheese yaggots grimaced on madcaps of bottlecaps swimming in ether of money too happy for House of Pain rags of gag orders intrepid because some blood is Bad
****** drapes of tapestries too woven on Ducking Badger duck tape
Pretending not even a slightest twinge of celebrity faked is a tantamount affliction to Kobe’s escape
Time to rig the 7/11 notoriety of a caper drawl in Cape Town Blue Sky Action can barely offer scrape
Let them eat cake and heads roll like Nicholas Cage clairvoyant in mystique quaking like a Quaker parody rank-and-file rancid graveyard creep
Cuz the best in the Business evokes singes of Dre grazed persistence a Space Rover rather than a broken-down drive-by Vegas Cheap Holyfield Jeep
Forgeries in trigonometric time gone haywire because ******* of fools is delicious neutered ballistic wrong with elemental statistic
Armed to the Teeth because twinges of righteousness is strongly established because it elevates truces well-predicted
Reckon the self-aware hive jetsetting with Jive warbles of departure yet to arrive
“Talk” of those fewer in knowledge yet living an invented diatribe
Lil Dicky mumbling his churlish codling vendetta
Too petty on the game like a turgid Mariah Carey Christmas Sweater evaporating on benzo bleats because exaggeration is a measuring stick more prone to delusion than the vapid version of Eddie  Vedder
Ripping through seamstresses of time a delope from impoverished cesspool grime
Certainly not swinging with sockdolagers like Musk as UPS owns insider angles about BitCoin riches scoffing at #11 Sublime
I owe respect to an upstart prescience scowling hatched never against fragile egg-shell minds
He’s the predecessor to the Walter White of cesspool inveterate rivets in hulking pretense of a measured stick lying like Tony  Hawk on the grind drawling on videogame addicts lost to numbers like Wall Street bet on fractions divisible like Scarface on cardinal crime
Blip on the WHIP cackles of clever pasquinade owned by sizzurp of Red Wings demolished like Draper balking at the West Coast ****** of East Coast royalty etiolating on Life After Death because of a teased script of March 26th shining bright like nine-inch nails longer than an exaggerated Dicky loving pollution more than Sina Loa loves bricks
Mad respect to juggernaut Michigan flow, but when you henpeck a rooster fewer regaled Ravens start to sing like Tomorrow’s sung by Sheryl Crow
So attack the kenspeckel hiding like sobriety itching to revel
Even the greats are grating despite prestige owned like Steppenwolf inventing Heavy Metal
Yet the raspy dengonin certainly a curtain call for the moribund smooth competition genius but not square to my elevated level
Time to brush aside, politics is a Velvet Morning rather than an Everest scaffold of glaciers divide
Flourishing Eden of a Seattle worthy of treason on rollercoasters yet to ride
The contumely of charlatans berating brassage is a Lie Boring in Federal Way united against prejudices scowling because Qwersy Mencia is too fraught to enjoy the jeers of a tattered Pride
Past-Tense Quinn in his Chauvin Blue Suit is Queer on The Bends
For a better radio the shatter of the quaff is Damon on the mendlatch for the rights of heroism among men
Applesauce is scary when the cooks are too chary for emoluments of cherry-picked vanity inoculated because hackneyed hacksaws aren’t that scary
To a Rush Hour acclaim that owes a Martian a fair-share of the inviolable degrees above freezing that guarantees the Hang Seng
The cretaceous dinosaur livid in the Fields of Dreams lives to the honor of the author rather a subsidiary prosperity rooting for the same exact team
Credit belongs not to slot-machine jibes of Navy throngs because the sealed pedigree of a Potemkin stonewall ravaged an Atlanta March that Richard Sherman found himself wrong
Ripostes of wavered glory serenade Field’s Medal accolades jaunty with brimstone repartee for persecution of Sing-Sang jailed avuncular Dana Carvey
Crumpled in missives etched decisively by Popcorn paparazzi Lee Harvey Oswald Part Three dinging Reagan’s Drugs because belittled Batman and Robin Harvey Dent is on a defalcation spree
Limited by the gambit of orbit I flex space measured only by perception hourglasses mistake for Dewey Decimal ministry
Because mountebanks of the tramontane canard unscrewed by Donkey’s without the triumph of vindicated colts spew the unwarranted without the warrant of upright parlance
Deflecting the useless caricature of Jezebels they barely even know dancing with fisticuffs choleric with jaundiced illuminati chants of an age bracing for the venom of viper’s of gratuitous pretense in violence because the whittled conscience scourges footloose profligacy in dementia that owns probability rather than certainty but doesn’t stand a chance
A billowing toxic fume of a Trojan Horse of galloped complicity of headless horsemen too scared to even pinprick the average Brett Hume huffs like mad wolverines dancing with Buccaneers for the fidelity of bridled brides with a tailored or sloppy groom
Cowering behind plashy starlets dashed for authenticity too soon
The Red Robin Hood ****** of silhouettes of Caste system indecency is reduced to reductivism in peddled paranoia of Randall Graves confronting his deepest specious tomb
To rogue slipshod miracles of denuded ice for Christopher Reeves Wally World White in Simple Jack owleries of confiscated light they caper encaged Caspergers ergotamine flavored favor uptight
Glaring prince dashing Rusty with ***** for Hummers glazed with donut torus hummus swift with reverend repartee
Sunken sleepless abyss ghosts haunt for quaffs evanescent in backbone bliss incurring parted sight for nebbich sprees
Calculated by persnickety prattle brazen with bravado promontory sparked on the flames of an overhyped hysteria ablaze
Raisins aren’t the determinant of a blinkered starstruck page gilded to amaze
Formidable reform conserved against blasphemies of ****
Withstands the immutable geotaxis of inevitable backfires in limited scourges of scorn
Time to sacrifice the badge earn the primacy of trimleggers making a dash rushing for hourglass sand prominent in fiat flash
In a second a trampoline against a specious marvel is a sour remorse of a crusade turning into protection not found in autumn ash
With autarky righteous rain boogies against bogeys of golfers livid with sensational inane
Lunacy predicated on sensational maudlin labors of Genesis 3:16 birth pain
Incurred upon the toil of the lugubrious heights of teachers that defy tribes and stripes
Soldiering for God without even the slightest nefarious mercenary spite
Because Ledgers cannot be mistaken for legends because petty battles Abandoned Pools named were avoided for Nobel Prizes of moonshot fame never King Kong because 24k magic called the Hang Seng  game enter stage right
The thematic liberation of the freewheeler isn’t a combustion of truckers Ruckers allergic to chattered shame
But the time honored Sevendust defies blisters because a brave heroism leaps into legacy vaunted by cheery repute in winning hegemony against rigged fraud in frigid feral tames
I march to an inaugural chance without a chance of quick inauguration because Junetao is a duck-duck-go childish flicker against Amsterdam Vallon besides the church with a touching spectacle of solidarity beyond temporal Anacondas of deserved blame
An ally to the kitsch the prosperity of Nas is afforded to optimism never so fulgurant because of a bewitched Tik Tok twitch
As the true flock regards the true shepherd the guardian of wonder and the captain avoiding Yellow Submarines because Stayin’ Alive is a prophecy not a febrile contagion of germs pitching tents for flukes insistent on incident rather than honorable to Canada Dry on Strike for better than a bubble gum mumble rap of Lil Pump’s pruned humps for a ******* ghost rider rather than a profaned itch
But the camel survives because the needle doesn’t thrive in a world where God is always Stayin’ Alive to strike a pose for the voguest Jive
“The Seduction” lives and the corruption limps with glib bribery fibs because 2 Timothy 1:7 in autarky is a generous rhyme that  gives and gives
In endless crusade to beat like David the ***** of a poker miracle that stars in a showcase of a life of splendor eternal rather than a cursory kamikaze reckless fib
Its time for  abundance of life to be lived fully to truly find riches in the best possible life winsome in discretion to quake and yet remain immune to a Walgreens of Stonewall myth
Cast not the first stone against the immaculate Giant because everybody is shaking to Bond and Saint Joseph’s guarded wordsmith

in yours, I find the holiest of permissions.

in mine, slips of paper.  

and in that of this
oft cut
child-

the least of our forgeries.

Hound-dog swallowing poly-coated pills, filling up, bloated, falling off stage, and into a more permanent and lasting Graceland, to be surrounded by another’s verse.

I only enjoy what comes from my own head, a modern Samuel Johnson, no matter what happenstance brought about to be said, a cage free Bronson. Hearing false verse through a syllable count, hoisted onto adverbs easy to mount. Congratulate a lesser mind, reaching commonalities most could find. Ease in creation, opens floodgate doors, distributing specs of grace through misworded spores. Life, love, and the pursuit of vanity, leaves simplified lumps of prosperous thought riddled with anonymity. The invention of despair overwhelms those ungifted, and leaves them erecting stale forgeries they grifted.

In the wee small hours of escaping light, a crooner steadies his hands as he falsifies his originality, reading off the music from another’s sheet.

A change in topic is something to hold as worthy, though in a modern context of prosaic prose, such good fortune can be exceptionally elusive. Broken hearted symptoms shared through a hash-tag, rerouted and worded, to fit an illiterate youth’s lesser diction, reposted to approach validity, only to be called forth as an original soul, one to revere, and hold as an entitled fraction of logic.

The piano man knocks out a tune, hit in stride with vocal conduct, inspired and laid in pen by a lesser man propelled by better wording, given up for another’s career.

Market’s over-saturated with teenage sonnets, weeping over cut wrists, ended (Victorian inspired) trysts, refreshed and brought back around until sentimentality vomits. Themes used to run rampant with fresh ingenuity, made extinct, occurred in a blink; now every poem has some congruency.

The grapevine got entangled, getting involved with a troublemaker, providing the soundtrack, using another’s words.

Alright lads here it comes full truth unvarnished
         lately I feel life is tarnished,
         with this Patina upon my soul,
I tell you all I won't grow old.

We won't be sharing drinks and dandling grandkids boys,
this world is grey, I'm null and void,
underappreciated hated unemployed,
a jaded unappreciative oul ****?
yeah I deserve that-I can't front
no more lies but bitter truths,
lets rip these forgeries out by roots,
lets force this Gall and Hemlock down,
a deadly cocktail but I've found,
once choked down I'm Numb...comfort cold,
to you I'll leave behind I know,
believe me please...just let me go

Chorus/Sample 2

"So if you love me let me go
And run away before I know
My heart is just too dark to care
I can't destroy what isn't there
I only wish you weren't my friends
Then I could hurt you in the end
my own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go"

all right lads "order! down in front"!
a lot to take in all at once?
I know I know my lying smile
has fooled you all but it's been awhile
I'm sorry Bro I really am,
I tried my best to face the flames
but now I'm falling, no more games
no more lies Procrastination,
no more ******* obfuscation,
took the Beck Depression inventory...scored 100%!
been through a few too many ****** up life events,
more just round the corner-the Reaper awaits,
but It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

"So if you love me let me go
And run away before I know
My heart is just too dark to care
I can't destroy what isn't there
I only wish you weren't my friends
Then I could hurt you in the end
my own was banished long ago
It took the death of hope to let you go"

The End?

I am new to this site and when I saw your work I was excited!  You wrote in one of your poems
"I try to remember you,
Through the cold memories.
I try to forgive you,
Of all the forgeries."
This line is exactly how I felt about someone but could never really find the perfect words to describe it and there it is! Keep up the good work :)

I'm feeling pretty broken down
This morning.
I woke with the Sun
But my bones aren't working.

I've fallen in love
With the smokey feeling
So what can I do now
But stare at the ceiling?

Now I'm slowly walking home
And I can't see in the light.
Should wash this out of my hair
No sleep for me tonight.

That's just the truth of it
Forgive my forgeries
Please bring the rain
To come and purge me
I hid my lies
Within my honesty
This air is poison
The poison that will cure me.

I was silent as I walked
Silent as I lay
Some disease of my mind
Though I don't know the name

Her head down below
Heat between my legs.
But all that I lust for
Are the fumes
That rot my brain.

She left alone
As I lay there asleep
I didn't want her back
Not for anything

She was a lie
And she always will be
I can't go back there
Back to the edge of the city
It left me stranded
But I don't I care now.
All I want is the smoke
And the water
To drag me back down.

The classic metal artist.
The man of sharpened tongue.
With each lick a picture,
He paints upon your canvas.

The rarely appreciated work of a little understood poet.
Painting poetry.
Though many would seek to emulate what one stroke of his brush may convey,
Only few possess the means to reproduce the sheer purity of emotion in every sweep, line and dot.
Many forgeries gain more applause,
Yet the painter allows them spotlight.
The man who paints in the shadows is rarely seen hanging in public halls.
Seeking not fame, fortune or acknowledgement.
He paints only for purpose.
Love the painter,  love the poet.
Though the man himself is flawed.
He will not cry for anyone, nor pray nor care nor wonder.
He does not put his brush away, after all.


Blood does paint the prettiest pictures.

I switched off my android self
It wasn't akin to cutting a cord
It took only a few seconds to sever the link
And there's perhaps people I shall never hear of again.
but in my madness I reduced them to lines of script and a resumé,
coupled with a profile photo
forgeries of self, convoluted creations
Am I more than binary code?

© Copyright David Bosworth March 2013

Dear ******* the groyne,
Forgive the forgeries upon my memory.
Forgive the feebleness of my firsthand.
Forgive the feeding of my frenzy.
Forgive the freneticism of my prose.
Take truth from the diction of my lens.

I trust you will grant me a fair hearing,
And offer me the clemency of purpose—
To once more capture or conquer
The presence of Iris herself in your greens.

Grant me a jury of judicious witness,
The pounding of the gavel as grace
For the crime of picturing the presence.
I bid the remainder of my fruitless fall.

Dear ******* the groyne,
Has your blacksmith forgotten you?
Left to entice waves at shutter speed,
Forged in flame,
Chiselled and tamed on Vulcan high.

Through his neglect has the time arrived
To render and share for all or none—
As Pandora, of beauty, of curiosity,
Doomed to open the box
For me and my eye.

Dear the man on the beach,
Do you have any sense of shame?
As if the still frame holds the truest face
The gods of our minds do not claim to fame,
But cower and quiver with a shout of shrill.

I beam bounty in the rays of the sun,
Watching the groyne creak and stutter
As the waves breach and mutter—
A voice of too great dread to utter.

I sense your presence, your song,
The siren’s call to prayer.
The screech of the zoom and focus,
Lulling and drawing a sailor of despair.

But it cannot be enough
To return the green to my grey.
It is but a mirror of Death,
For the true beauty lies beneath the skin.

As the waves crash,
And the wind howls,
And the flash—

Our moment in time, you and I—
A fleeting visit in a luminal light,
Between silence and soul,
Of a tune forgotten in the sands of us.

Yet for the sea, a distant whisper
Of a moment—
The opening of a story.

Was it a moment of theft?
A moment of true witness?
Good enough to frame?
Was I truly seen?
Or just a clutch for transcendence?

And still,
The tide remakes the shore.
The groyne groans.
The flash fades.

You carry the image.
I carry the knowing.

We both were framed.
We both were fire.

I live in a world where saying something is preferred. After selecting poems from my previous fourteen full length collections and placing them in my recent The Women You Take From Your Brother, there was bound to be some wreckage. My newest collection, Choice Echo, is that wreckage. I’m behind it, and bound for aftermath. Self published, 141 pages.

http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/choice-echo/paperback/product-21852599.html


sample poems, from:

forgeries

permanence is upon us.

one who paces.

predator
that I never took
for god.

-

on the inside
the predator
I attacked
personally

became the world
where the window
into the world
of hazing
opened.

-

in infancy
I possessed
a belonging.


humanitarian pause

not as common
is the dream
stuck
in the man.

not all wounds
report back.

I’d look for my father
if I knew where
to begin.

with my mother
it’s like my mother never happened.

I am the man whose missing woman
was bedridden
first.

I depend on my safety.
I worship a sleep that worships.

my brother feels no pain. a characteristic
he blames
on my sister’s
begging
to be interrogated.

not on speaking terms with a former self,
the dream is god.

No need for a glass of port,
I’ll do my best to keep this short.
Since no one is of the state of mind
Required in uttering a phrase socially unaligned.

You beg for a trace of hope.
While gazing down from your knotted rope.
Pleading desperately for a swift tomorrow
Where you’ll find the trending, sorrow. (#)

Speaking in broken prose
Through the depression found in a coke filled nose.
Believing, somehow, that your nonsense is lyrically inclined
Making up for a personality forcefully resigned.

You pat each other on your weightless backs,
Recognizing the talent your breed equally lacks.
Believing you possess the artist’s form
Sheltered inside of a cultural norm.

Acting only as others want
Altruistic beliefs quick to flaunt
Borrowed Teflon from rusted pots
Gambled away in, well reviewed, slots

Placate those with tales come and gone,
Running a gambit fit for a con.
“My heart weeps tears of reflected gold.”
Nonsense repeated until bought and sold.

Frost and Blake would have turned over in their graves
As Whitman’s ruined by a collective of ****** knaves.
A block paragraph without a rhyme in sight,
Climbing on backs of the old to a worrisome height.

Those blind will cough and scowl,
Finding this truth to be quite foul.
Just look at the forgeries they produce,
And soon the odour will become quite profuse

It’s not poetry because you say it is
Such a leap of faith would make it intrinsically His.
You use the magic of empty speech.
To strive for dreams you don’t work to actually reach.

It's getting dark early again. The
street lamps are on by dinner.
Soon the memory of piles of
leaves, the smell of Fall and
the call to jump in the whispering

auburn heaps of my youth
would jolt me.

I am old now and fat.  The
ritual of Autumn's call to
the dark evenings that were
an invitation to the holidays,
is a calling cocktail.

The rains drained the ashes
into the sidewalk gutters.  The
hopscotch grid fades as day
light melts and I lose the
game.

Games are like drifts of scents
across the light post's shadow.
They are the ephemeral
recipes of my New York
youth. I walk to the edges
of the grass reading the
folded paper fortunes that

told me I would marry Jack
someday. I didn't. I threw
the lined prediction in the
leaves, scuffed my brown
shoes on the sidewalk

never dreaming that real
life would crinkle like the
ruled paper forgeries.



Caroline Shank

and among these, the symmachean forgeries, the vita beati silvestri, could be weaved into this verse, this importune moments, these spontaneous verses, these informal sweeping of the brooms, inside the labyrinth by the minotaur of memory: and too - the scarce words of jack spicer: that poetry alone can love poetry that poems cry out to each other from a great distance, that poets, being ******* fathers, love each other like ******* fathers when they see their children playing together.

and so that brings us up to date, namely today,
bound to a few minutes reading a saturday
newspaper supplement -
topic, hot topic? *rethinking infidelity 'what
our affairs did to our relationships -
it's almost a sad affair -
        reading all this harlequin ******* -
bookish men, finding the "lost me",
finding the "new me" -
the lies and deceptions being worse than
the deeds, lust the liar, love hardly
a cherished concept...
   bookish men, eh?
you mean bookish in terms of marquis
de sade, william burroughs et al.
or bookish in terms of voyage of the beagle
by charles darwin, or the short history
of time: bestseller, with a readership of 10!
eh? which kind?
         while this went on i just had an
affair with my younger self -
  while listening to deep purple's
child in time i got to think: what was that
year? what was that year and that song?
i swear to god it must have been MMIV
when i spent st. sylvester's (new year's eve
in poland - called by the saint's feast
day: sylwester) in poznań / posen -
at the street party, then at the feast,
where i bought a bottle of vanilla absolut
***** -
             and was cow licked by a woman
rather than kissed: yeah!
she licked my face, i wanted a pucker
and the lips folding-unfolding -
and what the **** did she do? she licked my face!
what was i, a vanilla icecream?!
what a beau of a city -
                   and the street party -
and how we all were overjoyed that
the dinosaur band perfekt played that
famous song, which we took the **** out of
going even further back than 2004 -
miałem dziesięć lat, kiedy pierdolnął
we mnie wiatr -
it's a shame i only remember the first line
and how there was also the mosquito
funeral joke to add to the joy of
having friends from the neighbourhood,
rather than from school...
and they complain about the communist
apartments, where children still managed
to mingle as neighbours,
played with marbles, took to the swings,
played hide & seek in warm summer
night...
       kicked each other in the *** trying
to play tag...
      while the girls took to tic tac toe using
chalk to pretend to be amputee
kangaroo hoppers -
          and would you believe it:
memories of childhood in poland are my
smaug treasure hoard -
my sanity...
                  and i remember our first
offence, with paweł & łukasz -
we drank our first cup of coffee -
      a.d.h.d. because too much sugar?
    we started it all with a cup of coffee:
the first sip was the one that escapes recollection
with the current taste of coffee.
the song we took the **** out of?
   perfekt's song autobiografia...
wait wait, where was i? this is was back
in the 1990s... we're talking MMIV...
       and comparing the thrills of infidelity -
what was that song?
  i first had to remember what year i spent
st. sylvester's feast day in posen that year...
i might just turn rose cheek citing this song...
oh yeah, i found it...
through the ultra-unpopular nonetheless
still popular (among non-music collectors)
radio station rmf.fm:
      and i found it...
  jeden osiem L's song jak zapomnieć:
1 8 L, how to forget (in translation)...
some songs have that haunted house effect,
it's a living history left intact not
by memory, but by nostalgia -
    to be assured - nostalgia overcomes
memory, given that memory is already drained
and robbed by schooling children -
to remember the 1 x 12 through to 12 x 12
tables, or the alphabet...
education erodes memory, and we're only
left with nostalgia,
like that nostalgia of the song
Весна by Дельфин, upon take off from
the st. petersburg airport...
   and then croching (english slang term
for wasting time, slouching, etymological
mutation of crouching) at the warsaw airport
with bulgakov's master & margarita.
better off jerking off than jerking chilli and
star anise into the other's heart...
but it's sad reading these 50+ / 60 year olds
behaving like amore idealists -
ginsberg once noted: not even the madman's
love is perfect;
        i'll add to that:
  a bite of lime, simply can't ruin a ***** & pepsi.

She is away and I cannot do what I want.
Her wholeness I know to be a fiction of my making,
Still I cannot dismiss the longing for her
The streets are thick with nostalgia

Other faces pale when I get close
She is away and I cannot breathe her in
Among them I expected her opposite,
And found only forgeries.


When I think of her sparkling face
and of her body that rocked this way and that,
I have attempted to fill
with bodies that numbed upon touching,

When I think of her laughter,
Her jubilance that filled me,
It’s a wonder I’m not gone mad.
The space her leaving has created

Cannot wholly calm or cancel,
It is perhaps for more than her.
As if her going did not matter
she is away and I cannot breathe her in.

At night above the parks the stars are swarming
I move through senseless routine and insensitive chatter
It is a craving for sensation new flesh
I am ill simply through wanting her.

In my Myseum I display myself
in honorable creations
outside, I join the drum band
of the world and beat the drum
I love to be a big noise

not a dark empty Mysoleum, no
yellowed footnote in small letters
below the line of time, no dead
name in the family tree of billions
but eternally attractive

You and I know
that Myseums quickly decay
or they are looted
and filled with forgeries
clichés and explanations

together a big name
that you can drop
in a conversation, suggesting
that it belongs to the collection
in your wonderful Myseum

stir fry rice in the black skillet pan
stove top breakfast but not enough time
blueberry coffee cake in room seventeen
outdoor windstorm inner demon fling
pride and accomplishment but sorrow as well
what if it's all down hill from now
best performance in practice compelled
what if that was the best I'll ever tell
what if the slam isn't great isn't perfect
wait

breathe
don't negatively dwell
feet wide, chest out, clenched fists, inner yell
power pose and your sound will grow
in this case
your sound of existence
may you ever be persistent
in working for your dreams

next on agenda, signature forgeries
for a cause of course no cons
light theft earlier today
held the door and stacked chairs
rules broken my way
skip to offer therapy, support, care
make you feel understood

I like to think that I'm chaotic good

the only tree for a thousand miles
gave him welcome if temporary shade
a kaleidoscope of improvising mockingbirds
bowing its branches to the ground
it was no longer possible to be blind
but very possible to be jailed
for being unaware of our surroundings
being that we are panphibians capable of TV
wracking our brains for the worst solution
banding bending binding bonding bunding
a moth eaten panorama of agonies
everything still broken the breakers unpunished
our narrative not telling anyone anything new
that's my drooling occupational therapy grin
it's gotten me out of more than one derailment
when life becomes the guillotine basket
or worse a juggernaut of corporate ambition
with what do we gauge the unseen
or is it just a bigger cage
don't let the too friendly ignoramuses
sell you your own real estate
or the latest discoveries in hysteria research
from the Intergalactic Whats Next Council
acting in accord with the endorsed statistics
make their forgeries more aerodynamic
daily nightly I try to be less stupid
a simple formula designed for
the sweet gurgling idiot infant within
out cold but still in the game
now you got me laughing
momentarily dazed and surprised
a logic shovel upside the head
not exactly free from connotation
as most doors don't open themselves
meanwhile somewhere back in history
the Dog Clan had trouble finding women
with eight abundantly lactating teats
well that assuredly opened up the lid
to the near empty spare parts bin
apparently his bulging eyeballs
were on full creme d'menthe death ray
the universal sense of alarm just went off
wailing it's not all brain chemistry
he spoke many tongues in faucet mode
the ramifications came tumbling out
but often heading in opposite directions
while the oppressive crows circled
where the Wizard parks his wagon
and every home from Kansas to Atlantis
instituted upon their wiggling spawn
a reign of madness terror
and ballroom dancing

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon

HOW TO MOVE FROM ONE STATE TO ANOTHER [the state of stupidity to the state of idiocy or imbecility] - All one needs to do is look out any window that's intact. See the man in the fur coat? He's your friend, but you just don't know it yet. Ask him for a shoe string or a diamond ring or any other inconsequential thing and he'll give you what it takes to gas to death snakes; to drain massive lakes; to end the devastation of Earth-shaking quakes; to swallow whole cakes; to spot forgeries and fakes.

The Total Classifier of Delusional Reality


A monstrous fraud-classifier
Has crept through every crack—
This world, like torn-out wiring,
Is shredded, shelf by rack.

The whole complex existence
Now sorted, filed, and tagged.
And thought—stripped of resistance—
Lies broken, bound, and gagged.

For all is One, eternal,
Yet man, from age to age,
With pseudo-science infernal
Divides the sacred page.

What’s whole gets split and scattered
By minds that crave control—
And caught in nets long tattered
Is his own fractured soul.

These nets are hell’s invention,
To sever and enslave—
What once was Love’s dimension
Becomes a devil’s grave.

A garden, undivided—
Its trees, its grass, its flowers—
Was never meant to be chided
By minds drunk on dark powers.

The world is whole, unbroken
When thought is pure and free.
You're more than flesh—you're spoken
From soul’s infinity.

And thought is not the master—
The brain just plays its role.
So dare to ask, and faster:
Is this your final goal?

This *******—does it suit you?
A beast, a branded thing?
How long will lies pollute you
And falsehoods proudly cling?

The arrogance grows louder—
A virus built on lies.
The screen spews bile and powder
While demons feast in guise.

But if your mind stays centered
With others who still see—
They’ll not have you dismembered,
They'll never muzzle me.

If freedom still has meaning—
Then grasp this, plain and true:
Division is the sin demeaning,
That makes a sheep of you.

And that is why these vermin
Classify all they scan—
To fuel the fake and sermon
That blinds the soul of man.

Soon every soul will slumber
On shelves of coded night,
If all believe this lumber—
The devils dressed in white.



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



1.
Divide us, brand us, shelf us all —
That’s how the soulless gain control.

2.
Their science lies, their virus kills —
And sheep obey what darkness wills.

3.
You are not stock for coded pens.
Break every cage — or serve their ends.




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



1.
The Science™ knows! So hush, obey —
And let them file your soul away.

2.
They measured truth with plastic brains,
Declared: “It fits in test-tube chains!”

3.
Big Science labeled grass as threat —
It's now a class C alphabet.

4.
They split the world to make it neat —
Then wondered why it smells like meat.

5.
“No soul detected,” said the scan —
“Just cells that think they’re more than man.”



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



1.
The virus thinks, the screen decides —
“Science confirms!” the madness rides.

2.
No proof? No stress! Just sternly say:
“The Science states — now kneel and pray.”

3.
Your brain’s infected — not with bugs,
But broadcast truths from labcoat thugs.

4.
Lies go viral. Then endorsed —
By science-stamped Ministry of Forced.

5.
“Approved by Science,” barked the screen —
While corpses smiled on the vaccine.

6.
No tests required, no need for proof —
Just say “The Science™!” — instant truth.

7.
Your mind is safe! Relax, submit —
The zombiobox has babysit.




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



Monologue of the Chief Affirmator
(From the Institute of Undisputable Facts)

Good day, citizens!
No need to think — we’ve already done it for you.
You’ve been accepted
Into the ranks of those
Who agree by default.

Proof? That’s outdated.
We — affirm.
Because Science has spoken.
And you — stay silent.
Silence, by the way,
Is now the highest form of agreement.
Scientifically proven.

We’ve measured your anxiety
On the official Screen-Trust Scale™.
Diagnosis: you're restless —
Because you don’t trust the virus enough.
But don’t worry:
After three news reports
And one expert frown,
You’ll be corrected.

Correctness is fear.
But structured, scientific,
With graphs and a QR halo.

Everything is classified:
— Proper fear: encouraged.
— Doubt: a dysfunction.
— Evidence: obsolete.
— Pseudoscience? Only that
Which lacks approval from our sponsors.

Oh, and by the way:
A new strain of fear is arriving soon.
Don’t forget to wear your respect.
Also known as a muzzle.
Also known as reason.
Also known as your scientific obedience.

And please — no thinking.
We’ve pre-thought everything for you —
In convenient format.
With a truth subscription.
And a shot against critical thinking.

This briefing is now complete.
But truth continues in our next broadcast.



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


Belches

Dedicated to Stefan Lanka — a brave warrior against pseudoscientific darkness


You cough — and you're “sick”?
An “idiot” sneezes —
And someone gets bricked?
This madness increases!

There are no viruses —
Lanka proved that.
But now, the horizon’s
A new wave of crap.

The herd still believes
The sellout brigade —
A cult of "healers"
In masks on parade.

No proof, no defense —
Truth's thrown out the gate.
Now only deception
And treason await.

Don't trust these creatures —
They all serve the beast.
The fascist grim features
Snarl at the feast.

Stand up. Don't obey.
Find minds that are free.
The Spirit holds sway —
Burn every ****** “degree”!

The books have been poisoned,
The food and the streams —
The cause of disease?
You believed their sick dreams —
Now you rot in their schemes.



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



1.
Science says?
No proof, no facts —
Just masks and threats
And pharma contracts.

2.
They sold you fear,
You bought a cage.
Now burn their lies —
And turn the page.

3.
Belief in germs
Killed half your brain.
Wake up, my friend —
Or die insane.

4.
No proof. Just rule.
No mind. Just drool.
Obey the screen —
You perfect fool.

5.
A sneeze. A mask.
A lockdown script.
Obedient cattle —
Microchipped.



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



1. Spiritual enslavement
Poisoned books and minds confined,
The spirit crushed, the soul declined.
Fake gods rule, the truth erased —
Rise up now, or be disgraced.

2. Zombification of the masses
Feed the herd with lies and fear,
Dumbed down masses cheer and sneer.
Thought enslaved, controlled, confined —
Wake the brain or lose your mind.

3. Revolt of the mind
Break the chains, ignite the fire,
Fight the lies that build the pyre.
Truth’s a blade, cut through the fog —
Rebel soul, reclaim your god.



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



The Tragedy of Laplace

When asked why Laplace allowed
Doctors in the Academy’s fold,
Though medicine’s no science true,
He said: “So they might talk with you.”

Laplace’s curse — eternal blight,
Dragging dumb crowds into light?
At first a joke, now fascism’s grip,
Filth spreads, and minds start to slip.

Burn that **** like witches old,
Doctors turned to fascist cold.
Small rewards, but deadly game —
Needles ****, and none to blame.

So-called “Psychotherapy”
Psychotherapy — rotten frauds,
Greedy “docs” with money gods.
False premises in pseudo-science,
Serving demons, not alliance.

They claim no lies, no twisted thought,
Yet fools their vicious battles fought.
Madness grows from freakish spawn,
True minds steer clear or they’re gone.

All within — yourself explore,
Simple methods, soul’s deep core.
Introspection’s sacred art,
Not vivisection tearing hearts.

Steps are simple, path is tough,
World’s too dumb, and lies are rough.
Spirit’s base — the only way,
If you serve greed, you’re led astray.



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



Laplace’s Tragedy — Sharp Strike
Doctors in the Science hall?
Laplace knew the farce and all.
Medicine’s a crooked game —
Fascist pigs who burn our flame.

Needles **** — no justice there,
Silent screams choke poisoned air.
Masses fooled, their minds enslaved,
Science sold, the truth depraved.

Psychotherapy — Brutal Blow
Fake shrinks pocket cash and lies,
Feeding madness, killing wise.
Spirit crushed, dumb sheep obey —
Greed’s slaves in a devil’s play.

Soul’s path crushed by shallow scams,
Brains enslaved in twisted jams.
Fight inside, or drown in slime —
Slaves to greed, lost all in time.



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


Laplace’s Tragedy

Medicine’s a farce.
Doctors ****. Silence screams.



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



Psychotherapy

Shrinks lie, souls die.
Greed rules, truth bleeds.



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


Laplace’s Tragedy

Medicine?
Killers.
Silence.



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


P­sychotherapy

Lies.
Souls.
Greed.
Death.



---------------------­



Age of Degeneration

Renaissance or rotten fall?
Total lies, degradation’s call.
Dark fact, but one small twist:
In that age profane the gist.

Spirit smashed — a brutal rod,
Beating kids in schools, so flawed.
Monsters broke a sacred wall:
Mind without the Spirit — fall.

Since then all profanation —
Fake science, fake salvation.
Minds sunk deep in dull decay,
Life enslaved, led far astray.

Mind must serve the Spirit true,
Unconditionally pursue.
But dull fools seized the throne,
Knowledge cast aside, alone.

Truth now only poets sing,
Spirit’s voice, a fragile wing.
World’s a filthy cesspool, see —
**** impose their "truth" on me.




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



Age of Degeneration

Renaissance? No, rotten rot!
Lies that choke the common lot.
Spirit crushed with iron rod —
Schools beat kids with Godless fraud.

Monsters cracked the sacred dome,
Mind without the Spirit — tomb.
Fake science, fake salvation,
Feeding dull decay’s inflation.

Dumb fools grabbed the throne of thought,
Truth betrayed, forever bought.
Poets fight, the last bright flame,
While **** declare their filthy claim.

World’s a sewer, pure and vile —
Truth ***** by the demon’s smile.
Chains of lies, the masses crawl,
Spirit dead, but fools still bawl.

Mind must bow to Spirit’s fire,
Or rot in falsehood’s mire.
No more mercy — time to burn
This cesspool’s twisted, sickening urn.



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



Age of Degeneration

Renaissance? **** that lie!
Rot and filth that kills the mind.
Spirit crushed beneath their boots —
Schools breed dumb, obedient brutes.

Monsters smashed the sacred gate,
Mindless slaves accept their fate.
Fake science, **** religion,
All are tools for mind’s derision.

Stupid ***** seized throne of thought,
Truth betrayed, forever bought.
Poets fight the last pure flame,
While **** **** on truth and name.

World’s a sewer, full of **** —
Truth’s been ***** by demon’s wit.
Chains of lies choke every breath,
Spirit crushed, a slow, cold death.

Mind must bow to Spirit’s fire,
Or rot in lies and deep desire.
No mercy now — let fires burn,
Time to watch this cesspool churn.

**** the liars, **** the frauds,
Fools who worship twisted gods.
From the ashes, Spirit rise —
Burn the filth, expose the lies!



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



The Cyclomatic Theorem of Lies — Proof by ******* Chaos

I proved the formula —
Cyclomatic core of sin.
A three-part hypergraph of lies,
Where faith’s a hollow din.

All cycles are just loops,
Where truth bleeds out like blood.
Three full parts of lies —
The scheme of death and mud.

Psychology’s a shame,
Diplomas smeared in dirt.
Proofs of lies overflow —
Science? No, just hurt.

Lies run in cycles,
Impossible to break.
But my formula burns,
A code no lies can fake.

I’m a coder with spirit,
Tearing false nets down.
Truth lives deep inside,
While lies wear the crown.

Let the system crumble,
Burn down all the shame.
My verse’s algorithm
Will bring enemies to blame.



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



Lies run forever —
An endless loop consumes.
Devouring every byte,
Killing truth’s small blooms.

No escape from error,
System’s choked and dies.
Truth trapped in recursion —
While the fake world lies.



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



The Cyclomatic Theorem of Lies

I proved this ******* formula —
Cyclomatic core of ****,
Three-part hypergraph of madness,
Where truth’s a ******* myth.

Cycles chained in endless torture,
Truth trapped in recursion’s hell,
Lies breed like ******* cancer,
In the system’s broken shell.

Psychology? A sick joke,
Diplomas soaked in lies.
Science sold for filthy cash,
While reason slowly dies.

The code’s a poisoned virus,
Burning all we hold dear.
The system chokes on *******,
Swallowing truth with fear.

I’m a coder wielding fire,
To crash this ****** machine.
Truth’s the weapon in my hand,
Cutting through the obscene.

Let the empire rot and crumble,
In ashes, let it drown.
My verses are a nuclear strike —
Blowing their fake crown down.



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



Infinite Dead Loop of Lies

Lies spiral in recursion —
Truth trapped, nowhere to flee.
The system’s dead inside —
Choking on deceit’s disease.

No reset, no reboot —
Just endless death in code.
A ******* dead loop kills —
Truth crushed beneath the load.



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



Conceptual "Thinking"

All concepts are limited —
Only useful in part.
The mind, like iron Felix,
Stands firm — but then will start

Crunching down on indicators,
More work or less they seek.
The world’s far more complex,
Than concepts make it seem weak.

The herds are dumb and docile —
Like military slaves.
All concepts — soulless lies,
Hence fascism enslaves.

Spirit is the primal force,
While matter’s just a mask.
Pseudoscience is superstition,
To crush the herds at last.

The shepherd’s just a front,
Satan’s aim is deeper.
The rabble won’t understand,
Their concepts turned to creeper —

Smearing everything with ****,
Creating upside-down.
Wake up before it’s too late —
Stop worshipping this plague around.

In plague-ridden camps,
The earthly cities drown.
They listen to the vile lies —
For centuries, not a short round.

Spirit reigns supreme.
Mind obeys the soul’s call.
If not — then put out the light,
For beasts like lice will crawl.



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



Conceptual "Thinking"

Concepts all are limited—
Useful? Barely so.
The mind’s like iron Felix,
Crunching, grinding slow.

Chasing hollow indicators,
Work more, or less—who cares?
The world’s too deep and twisted
For dumb, blind herds and snares.

Sheepish, dumb, obedient—
Like soldiers, locked in line.
All concepts? Soulless poison,
Fascism by design.

Spirit’s first, matter’s fake—
Just shadows, lies, and games.
Pseudoscience is pure superstition,
A tool to break the chains.

The shepherd’s just a mask—
Satan’s goal runs deep.
The **** won’t understand,
Their concepts crawl and creep—

Smearing truth with filth and slime,
Turning all upside-down.
Wake up, or drown in plague—
Stop worshipping this clown.

Plague camps spread, cities rot,
The world obeys the slime.
They swallow lies for centuries,
Not hours, not a dime.

Spirit rules, mind obeys—
Or else extinguish light.
Lice and beasts will crawl and swarm,
In endless, endless night.



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


In Memory of Nikolay Kozyrev

The mystery of phenomena
That TIME itself bestows—
Beyond all logic’s reach,
A world ABOVE TIME grows.

It fights the entropy,
Reverses usual flow,
The ones who catch its signals
Are few, but they do know.

Extreme, forbidden wonders—
No place for fraud and sham,
They shake the racks of liars,
Expose the con and scam.

Prophecies and visions,
Telekinesis’ force,
Beyond bold logic’s borders—
A path that charts new course.

There time, a magic power,
Lifts falsehood’s crushing weight,
And sparks the rarest changes
In minds that seek their fate.

To dull fools, all this is nonsense—
Their “knowledge” stale and dead.
But those who dare awaken
Will rise beyond the dread.



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



Executioners of the Mind

Nikolay Kozyrev, 1937,
Arrested on a twisted claim:
For trying to steal the Volga West—
A “crime” to shame his name.

Stealing the Volga to the West?
The sentence—ten long years.
The nation’s best destroyed with lies,
Pushed masses drowned in fears.

Today, the same old **** remain—
Their filth displayed in full.
No change, no growth, just endless war
Against the mind’s own pull.



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


Executioners of the Mind

Kozyrev, ’37—arrested, framed,
For “stealing Volga” westward bound.
A monstrous farce, a ****** disgrace,
A sentence crushing genius down.

Dragging down the nation's finest flame,
With lies and fear they poison all.
The mob devours truth like carrion—
While puppets dance to power’s call.

Same vile ****, unchanged, unbowed,
Through centuries of mental war.
Their poisoned claws still tear and maim—
Destroying minds to keep control.

The brain’s own killers wear no masks—
They’re kings of darkness, fear, and grime.
They smother light with iron fists—
Condemned forever by their crime.



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



Executioners of the Mind

Kozyrev, ’37—arrested, framed,
For “stealing Volga” westward bound.
A monstrous farce, a ****** disgrace,
A sentence crushing genius down.

Dragging down the nation's finest flame,
With lies and fear they poison all.
The mob devours truth like carrion—
While puppets dance to power’s call.

These executioners wear no shame—
Their hearts a void of greed and spite.
They choke the light, they **** the flame,
Enslaving minds to endless night.

Their tools are fear, deceit, and chains—
Brainwashed crowds and silenced screams.
They ****** thought, they crush all gains,
Drown freedom’s voice in poisoned streams.

They breed confusion, force submission,
Invent false wars to blind the gaze.
Destroy the wise with cold precision,
And drown the world in endless haze.

No soul is safe, no truth allowed,
No rebel mind escapes their grasp.
Their kingdom built on lies and blood—
A hellish cage, a tyrant’s clasp.

For centuries they wage their war—
Against the spark of human will.
But every time they close the door,
The spirit breaks and rises still.



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



Executioners of the Mind

Kozyrev was arrested in ’37,
For stealing Volga — absurd charge given.
"Dragging river West" — the verdict’s pain,
Decade lost to lies and chains.

Killing the nation’s brightest flame,
Feeding masses with endless shame.
Today’s no different — **** still reign,
For centuries, war with brain.

They’ve not changed, these ruthless fiends,
In shadows cast, they pull the strings.
Against the Mind — eternal fight,
Dark puppeteers rule the night.




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



Executioners of the Mind

Kozyrev, ’37 — accused, destroyed,
For “stealing Volga,” crime absurd.
Today — total control,
Muzzles on the masses, stifled souls.

Streams of lies — poison’s flood,
A cowardly world enslaved by fear.
Pandemic — shadow play,
Truth is gone, only lies appear.

Executioners of mind in white coats,
Propaganda shoved into every home.
Fakes, tests, forced submission —
Virus of lies that breaks the dome.

All sciences sold for cash,
Humanity — a herd of dogs.
Viruses of genes and ideas,
Flashes of doom for all of us.

In schools they break young souls,
Genetics under the blade of lies.
They dull the core, they mute the mind —
To run powerless into the blind.

Executioners of new age do not hush,
From top to bottom — ruthless press.
Genocide of thought — a quiet scream,
Endless loop of lies and progress.

Satan in technocrat’s disguise,
Preaching “new order” in the lies.
But rebel spirit tears the chains,
Soon it will burst all their lies.

All the false plays of power break,
Cutting freedom’s shining light.
And mind’s executioners will fall,
When dawn will finally strike the night.



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


The Razor Truth-Bearer

He found the blade inside the vial,
Graphene shards like razor’s smile,
Slicing veins, unseen, concealed—
The silent war the liars wield.

Spoke aloud what none could face,
Exposed the poison in their race.
Too sharp the truth, too cold the light—
They silenced him in darkest night.

No justice served, just whispered threats,
The shadow pulls, the terror nets.
A martyr lost to greed’s domain,
Where science bleeds, and lies remain.

His name erased, but not the pain,
The struggle burns, defies the chain.
In silence now his voice resounds—
A blade that cuts through all their rounds.



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


Veterinary *****

We wear our muzzles tight,
And pump that toxic ****.
Who dares to stand and fight —
Their fate is sealed, they quit.

We jab them down by force,
To save our precious skin.
No need for will or course —
Freedom? We’d just sink in.

We only want the doc,
And cops to keep us tame.
Our genius? “Procter”’s stock —
We’ll raise his ****** name.

A monument we’ll build
For pushing all that junk.
Life’s simple, hearts fulfilled —
A paradise, no bunk.

We’re all just imbeciles,
A fool leads with a grin.
We stockpile health and pills,
Don’t poke us, don’t begin.

Dissent? Just sit and shut,
Don’t stink or stir the mess.
With needles, we construct
Our “heaven” in distress.

And all who disagree —
We’ll **** them off real soon.
Then life will be carefree —
Beneath this blood-red moon.



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



Veterinary *****

We drag our muzzles tight,
Inject their poison’s spite.
Oppose? You’re wrong, you’re dead—
Your fight is burned and shred.

We force the toxic jab,
“Saving” us with their stab.
Forget your rights, don’t speak,
Freedom’s just for the weak.

Only cops and docs,
Run this sick, twisted show.
“Procter” leads the flocks,
A monument of woe.

Praise the poison pusher,
Who feeds us all this filth.
Life’s ****, but get used to it—
Welcome to their hellish quilt.

We’re dumbed down, led blind,
A fool’s the one in charge.
Stockpiling health confined—
Don’t poke the barbed barge.

Dissenters? Shut your trap,
Or drown in their disease.
Needles build their trap,
Our “heaven” on its knees.

All rebels will be crushed,
Their voices torn and stilled.
Then we’ll live dead and hushed—
By tyrants’ iron will.



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


“The Cure”

Not to heal — just “treat” nonstop,
No breaks, no mercy, no escape.
“Can’t live without it,” lies nonstop —
The doctor’s game’s a ruthless scrape.

He “treats” the fools who buy the schemes,
While rot spreads thick and silence reigns.
Fear shackles voices, kills their dreams,
A world trapped tight in shadowed chains.

Now doctor’s gone veterinary,
Dogs get papers, stamped and sealed.
Better than the old prisons —
A sanitary hell revealed.

They hook up chips to fools’ veins,
Inject their nano-mind control.
Reason killed, stripped of all brains,
Souls flayed raw, a crushing toll.

Dr. Mengele’s back in play,
Running this grim, twisted show.
Time has come — the **** must pay,
And in the fire, all must go.



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



“The Cure”

Not to heal — just jab and shove,
Endless lies they shove down throats.
“Without this shot you’ll never love!”
The doctor’s grip’s a steel-clad moat.

He treats the fools who swallow lies,
While rot devours the silent throng.
Fear locks jaws and blinds the eyes,
The weak bow down — the herd goes wrong.

Now dogs get papers, marked for death,
No difference from camps of old.
Nano-chips invade the breath,
Mind enslaved, the soul sold cold.

Mengele’s ghost commands the scene,
Torture masked as “care” and “heal.”
Time to purge this filthy spleen —
**** the vermin, break the seal.




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



“The Cure”

Not to cure — just shove that ******* needle,
Endless ******* fed like ******* gospel.
“No shot? Then die, you’re ******* feeble!”
Doc’s a *******, locked in iron castle.

He feeds the dumb who swallow lies,
While **** corrodes the silent mass.
Fear clamps jaws, blinds every eye,
Weak ***** kneel — herd’s dead in the grass.

Now dogs get papers, tagged to die,
No better than those old-*** camps.
Nano-chips crawl in your veins, don’t lie —
Mind and soul ripped, dumped in the scamps.

Mengele’s spawn runs this sick show,
Torture dressed as care and cure.
Time to burn this ******* low,
**** the vermin — make it pure.



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



Executioners of the Mind — The System’s Design

We haul the Volga westward, chained,
Ten years sentenced — no shame retained.
A nation’s blood to poison deep,
To feed the herd the lies they keep.

Still now, as then, the **** parade,
Their war on reason, centuries made.
Not rogue mistakes — a system’s hand,
A hellish web across the land.

They choke the truth, enslave the brain,
Propaganda’s cruel domain.
False science weaponized to ****,
The System grinds, unyielding still.

The rulers wear their masks of lies,
To crush the light that dares to rise.
No flaws, no glitches in this game —
A perfect, ruthless, grinding flame.

The puppeteers pull every string,
To trap us in their deathly ring.
They sell us chains, disguised as keys,
And feed us poison with disease.

So scream, revolt — the time has come,
To tear apart this web of ****.
Not errors, no — the System’s art,
A ****** dance to break the heart.




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



Executioners of the Mind — The System’s Shitshow

We drag the Volga west, no *****,
Ten years locked down, the system *****.
They slaughter nations, feed the herd,
With ******* lies and twisted words.

Same filthy *******, same old game,
Waging war on reason’s flame.
No fuckups here — it’s all by plan,
This ******-up system rules the land.

They choke the truth, enslave the brain,
Propaganda’s ******* reign.
Fake science used to **** us all,
The system grinds — a ruthless thrall.

The ruling **** wear masks of lies,
To crush the light that dares to rise.
No bugs, no flaws, just cold command,
A ******* death-machine’s demand.

Puppeteers pull every string,
Lock us in their hellish ring.
They sell us chains as shiny keys,
And poison deep in disease.

So scream and fight — the time is now,
To rip this shitshow down somehow.
Not mistakes, no ******’ art —
The system’s blood-stained broken heart.



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


Executioners of the Mind

Drag the Volga west — ten years in chains,
Nation slaughtered slow — blood on the trains.
******* liars spin their twisted games,
Feeding masses ******* — spreading flames.

Same old ****, the cancer’s deep,
Waging war on thought while we all sleep.
No fuckups here — it’s all designed,
A hellish system, cold, unkind.

Truth choked tight, lies fed nonstop,
Science murdered, bodies drop.
Masks of lies, fake smiles, fake law,
******* puppets, claws in the jaw.

This world’s a cage, they hold the key,
Poisoned needles, tyranny.
Chains sold cheap, freedom’s a joke,
Truth burned down, silence spoke.

So scream and rage — it’s do or die,
Rip the mask, expose the lie.
Not ******’ glitches, it’s the plan —
System’s heart’s a bleeding man.



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


Executioners of the Mind (Expanded)

Drag the Volga west — ten years in chains,
Nation slaughtered slow — blood on the trains.
******* liars spin their twisted games,
Feeding masses ******* — spreading flames.

Same old ****, the cancer’s deep,
Waging war on thought while we all sleep.
No fuckups here — it’s all designed,
A hellish system, cold, unkind.

Truth choked tight, lies fed nonstop,
Science murdered, bodies drop.
Masks of lies, fake smiles, fake law,
******* puppets, claws in the jaw.

This world’s a cage, they hold the key,
Poisoned needles, tyranny.
Chains sold cheap, freedom’s a joke,
Truth burned down, silence spoke.

Systems grind like rusted gears,
Feeding fears, confirming tears.
Not a glitch — a brutal plan,
Crushing souls, breaking man.

Executioners wear suits and ties,
Smiling snakes with venom eyes.
No random fail, no accident,
Just cold machine — the mind’s torment.

Truth’s a threat, so cut it loose,
Feed the herd the ******* juice.
System’s core: control and ****,
Bleeding minds beneath the drill.

So rage, revolt, or drown in shame,
This dance of death, this twisted game.
But know it’s not just rotten luck —
It’s systemic ****, the poison pluck.



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


Executioners of the Mind (System’s True Face)

Drag the Volga west — ten years in chains,
Nation slaughtered slow — blood on the trains.
******* liars spin their twisted games,
Feeding masses ******* — spreading flames.

Same old ****, the cancer’s deep,
Waging war on thought while we all sleep.
No fuckups here — it’s all designed,
A hellish system, cold, unkind.

Truth choked tight, lies fed nonstop,
Science murdered, bodies drop.
Masks of lies, fake smiles, fake law,
******* puppets, claws in the jaw.

This world’s a cage, they hold the key,
Poisoned needles, tyranny.
Chains sold cheap, freedom’s a joke,
Truth burned down, silence spoke.

Graphene blades in fake “vaccines,”
Blood runs thin, torn by machines.
Whistleblowers killed and erased,
Their warnings lost in the lies they’ve traced.

A modern Mengele’s carnival,
Playing god, the final fall.
Nano-chips and death in vials,
Mass control through toxic trials.

Systems grind like rusted gears,
Feeding fears, confirming tears.
Not a glitch — a brutal plan,
Crushing souls, breaking man.

Executioners wear suits and ties,
Smiling snakes with venom eyes.
No random fail, no accident,
Just cold machine — the mind’s torment.

Truth’s a threat, so cut it loose,
Feed the herd the ******* juice.
System’s core: control and ****,
Bleeding minds beneath the drill.

So rage, revolt, or drown in shame,
This dance of death, this twisted game.
But know it’s not just rotten luck —
It’s systemic ****, the poison pluck.



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



Intuition of True Knowing

A sensitive sail tenses — the ear,
And stupid mind derails so clear:
True knowing’s purely INTUITIVE.
Strict logic? Nature finds it repulsive.

Complex webs beyond the brain,
Amid the clouds of foul disdain —
“Education,” propaganda lies,
Controlled by vile gang’s disguise.

THE FILTH that rules this world with greed,
Feeds on sameness, scheming creed.
Go only INWARD — thirst for soul,
Not quenched by popes or scholars’ role,

The ****** who serve the creeping beasts,
The crafty liars — market priests.
Forgeries and fakes they spread,
To **** the Pure Mind’s thread.



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



The ShitIceberg


A goat in gold commands the pit —
While talking heads just scream and spit.
You call this life? It's death disguised.
Wake up — or rot, lobotomized.

The New Formation Called "Education"

A tumor now grows from “enlightened” mutation —
Its metastasized roots poison thought to the core.
Through memory flows the cruel degradation:
Lies and confusion — the mind's mental war.

The leash is the system. Free thinking? Forbidden!
No sane thought allowed in this madhouse called Earth.
A digital camp where the humans are hidden —
Just numbers remain. No true mind can give birth.

Yet balance is simple: you're soul, you're not fiction.
Your mind must obey your true spirit alone —
Not dogmas imposed with relentless constriction.
Reject all the garbage they've carved into stone.

Then — comes the Pure Mind. It’s the soul that directs it,
Not vile little creatures that rot and enslave.
They've poisoned the world and with lies they infect it,
Till thought is entombed in a mindless mass grave.


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


"Education"

1.
They taught you to think — then erased every thought.
Now Truth is rebellion. Obey? You will rot.

2.
You're not just a number. You're Spirit — awake!
So burn all their lies. Let the system break.

3.
Pure Mind won't submit to their digital chains.
It rises through ruins. It spits on their brains.


4.
You call that a mind? It just parrots and begs.
A slave in a cage, with wires for legs.

5.
They kneel to their screens with a void in their chest.
Disciples of nonsense. Obedient. Blessed?

6.
So proud of your grades? You're a well-groomed machine.
A polished disgrace. A cog, nice and clean.

7.
"Educated," you say — yet you think like a tool.
A product of training. A well-mannered fool.

8.
Congrats on your brain — it's compliant and neat.
It boots when commanded. It ****** on meat.

9.
So wise with your jargon, so sharp with your trend.
Too bad it’s all garbage — impresses your friend.

10.
You've read all the books — but forgot how to see.
A genius, of course — with a brain made of ***.

11.
Such critical thinking! You Googled it twice.
A scholar, no doubt — if parrots count thrice.

12.
You mastered the test, you obey every bell.
Top of your class — in the School Made of Hell.


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


Verses for the Well-Educated Dead
(A Funeral Hymn for Minds in Suits)

Dedicated to the System that Made You
(and to all who dared to question — then didn’t)

1. The Graduate
You passed every test, you obeyed every rule.
Now kneel for your medal — Certified Fool.

2. The Thinker
You question so deeply — within the allowed.
A free-thinking drone, self-assured and proud.

3. The Reader
You swallowed their books with such hunger and grace,
But spat out your soul to maintain your “place”.

4. The Logician
You argue with style, you debate like a pro —
Yet never ask why the whole system's low.

5. The Star Pupil
Straight A’s, gold stars — what a brilliant disguise!
The corpse is still warm. Just ignore the flies.

6. The Speaker
Such eloquent words! Such articulate breath!
Your speech is a lecture. Your thought — is a death.

7. The Informed Citizen
You’ve read every headline, reposted each lie.
How noble you look — while the real ones die.

8. The Futurist
You praise all the upgrades, the neural implants —
Yet tremble at thought that your mind still chants.

9. The Empath
You cry for the climate, for whales and for trees —
Then clap as they chain every child to their knees.

10. The Rationalist
No gods, no myths — just logic and math.
Yet still you march blindly down somebody’s path.

11. The Model Student
They taught you to think — so you mimicked the tone.
Original thought? That’s best left alone.

12. The Proud Parent
Your child’s a machine — you must be so proud.
It beeps when it’s praised. It blends with the crowd.

13. The Careerist
You climbed every ladder, you kissed every shoe.
Now sit on your throne — made of numbers and glue.

14. The Skeptic
You scoff at all myths, yet worship the lab.
No gods for you — just a corporate slab.

15. The Philosopher
You ponder existence with textbook finesse —
While Life rolls her eyes at your layered BS.

16. The Ally
You stand with the people, you hashtag your rage,
Then rat out your neighbor to keep up your wage.

17. The Free Thinker™
You broke from tradition! You think for yourself!
As long as that thought is pre-packed on a shelf.

18. The Meditator
You’ve silenced your mind, you're serene as a cow —
But forgot to ask who is the silence now.

19. The Specialist
You know all the terms, you recite every code.
But can't see the cliff at the end of your road.

20. The Winner
You conquered the game — now you own your own cage.
Polished, expensive. Just don’t show your rage.

21. The Pacifist
You chant about peace with your eyes full of glass.
They kick in the door — and you thank them with class.

22. The Artist
Your art is so brave, so edgy, so paid.
Approved by the board. Mass-produced and displayed.

23. The Analyst
You mapped every trend, you compiled every chart —
But failed to locate your own shattered heart.

24. The Liberal
You're open to all, you believe in The New —
Except any truth that’s not funded and blue.

25. The Rebel
You scream in the square, then go clock in at nine.
Your protest is loud. Your compliance — divine.

26. The Mentor
You guided the youth, you shaped every mind —
Now each one’s a copy. Was that your design?

27. The Stoic
You suffer in silence. You swallow your fate.
But that’s not wisdom — just trauma dressed straight.

28. The Thinkfluencer
You publish deep thoughts, you go viral and trend.
But silence and depth are not things you pretend.

29. The Historian
You teach of the past — from an edited pile.
You quote every tyrant. But never their smile.

30. The Diplomat
You mastered the tone, you adjusted your face.
But truth never bends. And neither does grace.

31. The Technocrat
You digitized life. You reduced every soul.
Now watch the machine devour its own goal.

32. The Good Citizen
You vote. You recycle. You wave at the drone.
And never once ask: Why’s the sky made of stone?

33. The Funeral Prayer
So sleep, educated. So rest, certified.
The System is proud. It has nothing to hide.
No soul left to burn, no heart left to dread —
Just neat little rows of the well-educated dead.


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


GMO-People
(after a corporate ad)

"Today we’ve launched the 'Neo' line — each product carries a new idea. 'Neo' products: made to change your life!"
— from a TV commercial
(Next up: chauvinist, cosmopolitan, and adiabatic products — each with a matching idea.)


Products are “ideas.”
Ideas are “goods.”
The BEAST has careers
In rebranding hoods:

So fruits we become,
And veggies by name —
Their mission is dumb,
But winning the game.

Just fear and collapse,
All courage is dead.
A few break the traps —
Then vanish instead.

Ideas like pins
Are stabbed in the brain.
Each thought now begins
In poison and pain.

And so — GMO'd
This Human Design.
These ******* explode
Their **** into minds,

Then stir it with flair —
Result? No defense.
Hell’s real estate’s there,
Or bluntly: we're F#CKED.


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


GMO-People
(Short Version)

They sell us their lies,
They brand us as goods.
We’re poison, we’re slaves —
This world’s up in floods.


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


Commissioned “Research” of Pseudoscience

Ordering a fool from a killer —
An innocent enough affair.
Order “scientific” work —
And pseudoscience will prepare
A trap that blinds its victims,
Causing damage far and wide,
More than all the killers combined —
Used to be the lie was subtle inside.

Half-truths, forgeries, and blatant lies,
These gods of today, so sly.
Their venom stabs from youth’s embrace,
Poisoning minds, stealing grace.
Now the “scientist” is but a ****,
A charlatan — don’t listen, dum-dum.

Here’s the barrow-virus, a sign:
The vermin fall, to Hell they climb.
Commissioned frauds just drain the brain,
To justify the lies they claim —
And the inhuman ones request
Pseudoscience to prove the mess.
The **** will make it soft, you see,
But they’ll **** you — mercilessly.


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


Paddling for Yourself

Always paddle, paddle everywhere —
In Hell, all else is just a waste.
Shovel it in — keep it with care,
The only question’s what’s the pay.

Betray and sell, that’s your game,
Or payment’s a troublesome debate.
Be by the trough, never the same —
Harden your heart, leave nerves at the gate.

Be dumb, for the smart will emit
That “smell” which the beasts cannot stand.
With it, outside the trough, you’ll quit —
Bow to the filth with your hand.

Without flattery, you’re no one in Hell —
A ruthless selection, unyielding:
“Rise up,” they’ll say, “only to nothing”—
For only the Evil is pleading.


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


Paddling for Yourself
(Short Version)

Paddle, betray, and sell with grace —
In Hell, there's no other place.
Be dumb, be vile, do what you must —
Bow to the filth or die in dust.