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Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
i swear, the biggest anti-ageist
comeback missing
from the script of we **** the old way
lies with the scriptwriter's
phobia of o.c.d.,
                 i'm guessing he experienced
it personally,
              i wish he experienced dementia
clearer of his granddad
   succumbing: o.c.d. in old age?
it's not big deal... it's no big deal...
             enough botox and soon all that glamour
and paying your respects soon fades,
fattens up and chokes on the artistic
rubric: you need rich artists to
satire rich people... stop nagging
at Katy... be, *******, thankful,
you little cat-whiskers for a ******
moustache kitty-fiddler...
           ever **** at a girl taking a selfie?
let's say it's a blank canvas, and
you're working on it...
        how can this girl can become a
crown or the abhorred fling with
missing Welsh fetishes of excess
           ****** dangle-bits?
                       i have few entry points
i like i consider...
                 before she shaves the *****,
but did you know my godmother
           is a doctor and she doesn't shave
her legs?
                     i joked at that,
i joked for the simplicity:
              why do i have to don mine
and the theory of Darwinism is never
complete? because of aesthetics,
there's a natural instinct, a natural bound
contraband that IS NEVER, EVER TINGED WITH
CHRISTIANITY... **** Radio Maria and
Priest Rydzyk too along with
                John Paul the Tarmac Kissing Saint...
popes like pop-stars: the world's a stage:
better look the prettiest...
             thank Katy... she got cool and rich
enough to covert any criticism of wealthy kids
of Las Vegas...
                          if she wasn't here i'd be dead:
i don't love her like a girl might love
the next best: never-left high school bestseller
for young girls...
                                     my black horse is
quirky and still working on working smug
rather than donning a thong at a cat-walk...
                 but my point?
the comeback the gangsters should have served up
those ****** lips?
                                rapper movie
fakes never taught you how to shoot...
                the gun goes linear: shoot, vertical...
not cool-sly horizontal...
                         you're shooting with a blind spot...
rich girls' songs for poor girls to
cat-fight over who's the better gimmick
of impersonator...
                      but the old Hackney farts still
don't have the quick-snap-comeback...
                  the colts keep referring to E2...
a postcode...
                       the old ladies should have said:
i better move there, seems like a hot-spot
for the postcode lottery!
                           the colts keep referring
to the E2 club....
                             the crew, the gang...
i'm still thinking about these pensioners
nailing them to chairs and drilling through their
bones to the marrow for the Moscow ladies
acting out the faint in the hands  
                       of chevaliers of her retirement plans...
E2? is that a postcode lottery for
                 the losers?
and the "sad" story is? in Poland we all came from
a Communist housing estate...
            only peasants in semi-detached housing...
i guess all these smart-*** young folks
are pretending to be gangsters when all they're
all aspiring to is own a pair of shoes with hay sticking
out of them: and i.t.v. come november...
               well, the casting was smart,
the accents 10 out of 10...
                   but the final point of the accents
in talk?              slow math...
                            is      E2 designated as
the case for a joke about postcode lottery?
                 one thing they're loudmouths...
another that they're also foul-mouths...
                             can't be one and the other...
                  if you're going to be a prop'ah
foul-mouth, better be a slow-mouth
               or a shush-mouth...
                                  and if you're going to
be a loud-mouth, i'd prescribe you Southampton's
away-support choir: oh when the saints...
oh when the saints come marching in...
                                no wonder gang culture
never picked up from loud-mouth birthrights of
the suggested History X...
                               borrowing from History ***:
flash news! there are more things on
my head than just hair to play toothpicks with concerning
self-doubts and the easiest solution:
            a man was crucified...
                               some say we never perfected
democracy as the civilised peoples of the world
as the Jews never perfected plebiscites as the
              "backward" peoples of the desert...
           if race coordination can't be joked about
but getting offended at:
           i'd love the Irish potato diet and the
dates served for breakfast lunch and dinner in Israel...
or in better representation?
the Pig of God... Jesus stinking like a pig
                 before the perfumes of Pilate...
skew: north-by-northwest: a good Hitch reminder:
sheep up toward Scotland...
                           but pigs that north and east...
well: pigs...
                         or how to make words
holy and meaningless when talking about the price
of butter...
                     but that's beside the case for
a quick comeback about the postcode lottery...
           or the grit of Bronson - the film,
esp. the nurse scene...
                       no spoilers... you never know when
it's happening...
                                 the greater the film,
the more monologue orientated...
                                    claustrophilic -
                                                   so you wonder
shoving that **** into the craniums of little boys:
why are they making them do it...
                        and at what point is it legal in
the social realm of guessing at all the rainbow possibilities?
   my theory? most paedophiles had failed
relationships in their teens...
                                  and they never wanted to
experience the complexities of a woman who finally
realised: ****! daddy died! i'm not a princess!
                   it's not a fear of being inadequate,
it's the fear of an inadequate woman...
                  the most adequate woman is a woman
who still resolves to the idealistic world,
rather than the realistic world -
                                   i never understood the
criminal hierarchy...
                                       in the criminal ring it would
appear no moral superiority is akin
   to bullying in school...
                                              choose the easiest
loss of moral judgement and bash it into the head...
    or what Marquis de Sade taught me...
               for most men it's the pink elephant in
the room...
                              or a light-bulb...
****** and theft is still all Robin Hood, the instilled
   heroism: moral ambiguity...
               i don't see how the other crime isn't also
an ambiguity...
                              the *** of man is already displaced
from the *** of woman...
                      why wouldn't age by that ****** ambiguity
not be squared? and doubly unfathomable?
   what made me write this?
               standing at a bus stop...
a girl coming back from school...
                                                 what?
this is a cognitive ping-pong...
                                     what?
                                                   what?!
               i'd dare David the Naturalist come out
from his comfort environment of
                 two monkeys *******, gorillas
with harems and all that easy gesture...
                   man and woman? eyes.
     all the limbs and bones captured by the eyes...
it's not that i don't spend enough time among people
to start imagining these quirks...
                 it's that i spend enough time
                 among people to not start imagining
quirks.
Your reluctance to greet
the loudmouths who've come
to silence themselves with a
combo, pulled from a grease lathered iron shelf
is palpable, even with
the smoke pouring in
from the hissing grill.

I can't resist to wonder,
behind this façade of yours, what is felt
in the hours you ****?
Is your mind content
idly whistling to the tune
of a humdrum existence?

If these inquiries parted from
my incessant curiosity
are met with your resistance,
I insist you breathe in,
breath out.
& either
a) find virtue in persistence
or
b) leap into clamor, run out those familiar doors, with no doubt
that this is the end
& the beginning.
David Nelson Jun 2013
If you don't know me by now

I am gregarious
I am a loner
sometimes hilarious
other times a moaner
sharp as a tack
dull as a dark cloud
sitting quietly in a corner
other times I'm too loud
I'll lay heaps of praise
I'll call you out
wanna know what's on my mind
I'll leave no doubt
I'll give you kisses
call you an ***
never been confused as one
with too much class
I'm a hard worker
and a lazy ***
I can be your lover
I can be your chum
don't like being played
but crazy about games
don't like loudmouths
love **** dames
have fancy suits
and cheapo shorts
like tasty *****
but no ***** or snorts
oh I will take a hit
off a Columbian joint
get high into a trance
laugh dance and point
yes I am this
and I am that
if you need a friend
I'll be more than that
just treat me right
don't pull my chain
then I'll be there
again and again

Gomer LePoet ....
just in case you were interested :)
Katie Doe Mar 2013
Well a person can work up a mean mean thirst
after a hard day of nothin' much at all
Summer's passed, it's too late to cut the grass
There ain't much to rake anyway in the fall

And sometimes I just ain't in the mood
to take my place in back with the loudmouths
You're like a picture on the fridge that's never stocked with food
I used to live at home, now I stay at the house

And everybody wants to be special here
They call your name out loud and clear
Here comes a regular
Call out your name
Here comes a regular
Am I the only one here today?

Well a drinkin' buddy that's bound to another town
Once the police made you go away
And even if you're in the arms of someone's baby now
I'll take a great big whiskey to ya anyway

Everybody wants to be someone's here
Someone's gonna show up, never fear
'cause here comes a regular
Call out your name
Here comes a regular
Am I the only one who feels ashamed?

Kneeling alongside old Sad Eyes
He says opportunity knocks once then the door slams shut
All I know is I'm sick of everything that my money can buy
The fool who wastes his life, God rest his guts

First the lights, then the collar goes up, and the wind begins to blow
Turn your back on a pay-you-back, last call
First the glass, then the leaves that pass, then comes the snow
Ain't much to rake anyway in the fall
L'Cie Oct 2015
I count by meters.*

One, a blurry woman with a black bag
black hair, white clothes
who knows
if she's an old hag

Two, white teeth, black, short hair
folded papers, talking to the others
I wonder
if he's seen me glare

Three, long nose, thick, succulent lips,
flaccid, shiny, black hair.
Big eyes, blue bag, with a tad of flowers
Has she seen me stare?

Four, two loudmouths, east and west.
Murmur here, gossip there,
blah blah and blah,
stop talking or else

Five, three musketeers, east, west, south,
looking at me like I'll growl
squeak and squeak
moan and shriek

Six, one man, one book.
It read: "Hands off!"
I ran up to him
and he vanished.

Seven, one man, one book
One chair, in front of a mirror--
pressed his chin against his finger
He said, "God, let me rest!"

--- and I slept.
I don't really know if this is any good..
Tim Jan 2021
Wasted and wounded, I still adhere to wishing to be some new state
This country made his compatriots buried in the mud
This county slived hopeless ones until they broke into crumbles
This street has no vision,
It’s useless to bond each shambles together, rife with unrecognizable blood stains and toils
No one can creep into the dragon’s nest and see the deflective meanings on his unsharpened teeth anymore
I’ll die here against my will, and I’ll stock myself in a pine box
And collectors gonna collect me someday, so I’m not here to judge

Everyting’s primal, all the pride’s esteemed
My gun sleeps like a hunter’s, my pleasure gets lost
My deeds are tangled, time lays in a deathbed
My loved ones are ghosts, slaying themselves and wearing skins
I’m an antique sculpture that stands still in an antique pose
I got punched by so many weathers that keep changing still
Amongst so many individuals that think they have a style of their own, I made my stand
I’m broke down like a fortune globe but yet not broke in pieces
And collectors gonna collect me someday, I know I’m not ready

I have not to call someone that I think I scarsely know
“That’s not the real news” would be said,                                 “These not the real words”
Plenty things wouldn’t be dawned on if they’re not forgotten
Swear to god I’d know they’re true but they were stigmatized by the realities and brokenness
I’d know it’s fine to get involved in something I feel that I don’t know
Now the best I can is the worst they can’t, the tapsters got stiffed, too many thing’s wrong
And the first break of day turned to be the last spark of ray, I can’t even tell myself that the day’s done
******* collectors gonna collect me someday
I’m pretty sure

The sheriff eats his last supper, he’s going downsouth
He missed his target for 28 times, 24 times he lost attention
Neighbour mumbles :”frankly dear, I don’t care”, now I think he’s freed of wrong tries and right mistakes
Now he thinks he tries his last wrong chance to leave his girl hung on a crucifix, he knows she won’t die
Some details changed about the things fellow citizens talk about, they miss the closures for the each drag-to-death breath, they miss the infinity
They miss the times they would never know they’ll go astray
I’m blinded and I’m bored, far away from the grave-of-soul shores
Collectors gonna collect me someday, and I don’t give a ****

Fies, lo and beholds, invitations to a brought-down loneliness by a downtown girl
Fies, honking mouths and screaming seats
These streets got a lotta work to do with late-night loudmouths
They tuckle and thumb the gaps on the after-rain grounds under the scrapped magazine papers
Over the jacuzzi of draining blackness, under the trees, under the vast, they seek pubs and jobs
As a fact of no matter, I don’t sleep better compared to two days ago
My bed’s not cold yet, blackmen still arresting the quiet ones of bad-aftermathed jigglers at the blue ridge
Oh, baby, somebody’s gonna collect me someday
I don’t care
Odd Odyssey Poet Oct 2024
Government officials weave their words into riddles –
All your secret crushes, gaze at you, with laid bare feelings
Forever searches endlessly, all around for its dreamers.

“Going out to multiple,”
Aspires to make a lasting mark on all of its creatures
Beloved skins still ache for the warmth of bygone touches –
All the diamonds within you, long to be called precious.

A thankless toil, is inscribed by the silent prayers of regret;
As faith tenderly draws to those who embrace fresh beliefs –
The roots of our lineage all stand as reluctant witnesses.

While debt is the secret lover,
You so desperately try to conceal from both family and friends
Poverty, the only hidden vice, lurks quietly beneath all of
our best efforts

Suicide is a simple fate for those who have sadly lost all hope
Indulgers in life's fleeting pleasures- their souls have unfortunately
surrendered as well.

Enemies seem more trustworthy, their malice clear; unmistakable
Those we hold dear can betray us, their misdeeds cloaked in the
guise of familiarity.

The essence of our character is scrutinized by the judges' gaze—  
As the loudmouths clash with the silent observers  
Time wields a battalion of uncertainties when it’s scarce,  
And though words can weave exquisite poetry, we often  
Rush to voice our thoughts without a moment’s pause.

                                             Pause- and read that all again!
The Rapid Fall of Rashism

The vile ones strike Kharkiv again —
Hit the dorms, the towers, the heat.
The RuZZian swarm is drunk on disdain,
But doom crawls in on stealthy feet.

That Pootin, the dwarf full of lies,
With his doubles and rotten parade,
Sent a horde off to slaughter — surprise! —
Just more widows for mass cannonade.

Fools will rot in the soil they defile —
There’s no glory, no righteous fate.
“Poor conscripts,” some say with a sigh...
No! They’re traitors who marched with hate.

Their own land's been crushed by a boot,
By fascists in power — it bleeds!
They should fight for their roots and their truth —
Not commit filthy war crimes and deeds.

The vile ones strike Kharkiv again.
Where are “Nazis”? In power plants, right?!
Let the battlefield settle the claim —
Rashism will drown in the light.



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




They bomb the weak — and boast with pride.
But Death’s already on their side.
Rashism’s hour ticks away —
And Hell prepares a grand buffet.



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



Fascism

A fascist regime —
A monkey’s *******.
The **** rages loud —
Where Reason is cowed.
No lower to fall —
It’s Hell’s very maw.
The idiots reign,
Their nature — pure pain.
And evil’s parade
Becomes the “new grade.”

Is that what you sought?
You waited for what?!
Kept silent, half-dead,
Let lies rot your head.
Your soul’s in your heel,
You forgot how to feel.
The liars, the beasts —
Their falsehoods don’t cease.
To be honest? A fight.
To be wise? Full of fright.
To stare at this plague
Demands nerve, not vague.
But truth has its cost —
Responses get lost,
Or sneak 'neath the skin —
Corruption within.

Then search for a door —
From Hell’s filthy core.
For mind's decomposition
Leads straight to perdition:
To beasts, to submission.



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




When reason is slain and the liars rejoice —
The beast is unleashed, and silence — your choice.
Want out of this hell? Then sharpen your voice.
Or rot with the herd, without will, without voice.



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



Execution

Collective Pootin — the plague,
Cops and doctors turned thugs.
All this filth — the whole brigade —
Drives one mad with rage and shrugs.

But this “people”? They’re not brave —
Just submissive, beaten down.
Those who rise are sent to graves,
While brute force still wears the crown.

Only loss upon the field
Can restore a shred of grace.
Till then, in decay they yield —
Rotting in a sunless place.

Can’t endure this filth and fear —
Pootin, cops, their soulless games.
This is not a life — it’s clear:
EXECUTION cloaked in names,
Turning humans into swine,
Step by step — by grand design.



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




It's not a life — it's slow damnation,
A beast parade, a fake "nation".
To rise, they need a war’s defeat —
Or rot beneath Pootin’s deceit.



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




The Kremlin ****

The Kremlin **** — so vile, so loud —
Mocks the beaten, broken crowd.
Filth on high, and down below —
Half the land’s a madman show.

First — the fake disease parade,
Then — the war, its next charade.
Now the country hits the floor —
Rot, collapse, and nothing more.

It’s them — the **** — or those who bleed.
There’s no third path, no noble creed.
If you bow and call it “fate,” —
You're helping monsters seal the state.



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




The **** still rules, the herd still crawls —
Through lies and war their empire sprawls.
No hope remains while cowards kneel —
Just rot and chains, and “make it real.”



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



Censorship

The "free world" sinks in censorship —
Like filth within a clogged-up drain.
Thick fascist skin — can't take a slip,
Even thought now brings them pain.

A war is raging in the mind,
But Reason’s last stronghold has died.
They dumb us down, they’ve redefined
What’s “sacred” — hollow faith and lies.

Fake virtue floods the public square,
While chains grow tighter on the soul.
True knowledge? Banned. No one dares care —
Just junk that sweetens mind control.

No filter for the mindless trash,
But truth gets gagged without regret.
No art remains — just plastic flash,
And sugar-coated brain-debt.

So seek the answers all alone —
Let sharpness be your inner guide.
This world’s a swamp of fear and drone,
Where chaos rots the soul inside.



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




They ban the truth, but feed you lies —
Sweet poison dressed in moral guise.
So think — or rot beneath the weight
Of fear, control, and fake debate.



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



The Sacred Glue

Obedience — the sacred glue.
All else is mocked, dismissed as fake:
Like honor, truth — outdated too,
In this dumb world the tyrants make.

Their “sacred realm” is off the chart —
A madhouse for the brain-dead mass.
The stench of lies infects the heart,
It’s piled so deep you cannot pass.

No way to climb out from the dump —
Just rot beneath the filth and fog…
Or get detained by beasts who hunt —
The cops, the jailers, savage dogs.

They drag you off to war or cell
If you resist their sacred chain.
The “glue” is just a prison shell
For dimwits who embrace the pain.

To think is now a deadly sin
Inside this world of chains and screams.
Their “glue” — no meaning lies within.
It’s Hell for fools who live on dreams.



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




“Sacred glue” of state? Obey —
Or cops will drag your soul away.
No truth, no honor — just decay,
And herds of fools who call it “way.”



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



FuckYandex and Googlecrap

FuckYandex, Googlecrap — for the fascist crimes
They must be tried with the Putler slime.
Censorship’s rule is far worse than ******:
With poisoned minds, it's easy to **** ’em.

Their bot-boys will “rate” every line you write,
Scan every comment — or bug it at night.
It’s torture by silence, by bans, by distortion —
LIES! now rule Earth like a sick *******.

That’s why FuckYandex and all their spawn,
From lowliest clerk to the top-level pawn,
Are complicit in war — in all that’s been done.
They sell us fake words — and Truth? There is none.

The price they demand? Your freedom, your mind.
Your soul in a cage they gladly will bind.
FuckYandex’s pit — the higher you climb,
The more you shovel: war, plagues, and crime.

For the top — a bullet. For the rest — a cell.
And they all helped build this digital hell.



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




Censorship kills — it sharpens the knife.
Google and Yandex? Co-authors of strife.
They traded the truth for profit and pride —
So jail every bot and let justice decide.



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



The Maestro

A piston ride from Hell to Hell —
This engine roars, it never sleeps.
The longer in it you dwell —
The deeper into filth it seeps.

"Progress"? Just a blot and stain.
No Reason left — just tricks and flair.
Putler's bluff sets the refrain,
A double, too — his hollow stare...

Like mastodons, once strong, extinct,
Truth's bones lie buried in the grime.
Now size means lies, not what you think —
And truth is punished as a crime.

Today’s “maestro”? Brazen fraud —
With horns that grow, if not in flesh.
He lies with confidence, not awe —
And that’s the mark of modern “best.”



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




The modern “great” is proud to bluff,
His lies are bold, his tone is tough.
From Hell to Hell we ride this path —
Where truth is lost, and gods just laugh.



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



Kinda Hell

A screen-made diva —
Then came the “fever.”
Next — monsters rise,
Sharp-tongued with lies.

The diva’s now gone,
Just fake going on.
Fake states, fake names —
And fascist games.

They’ll fake a famine,
Bring frost and cannon.
A lovely war
To lie some more.

Goodwill’s erased,
The world’s disgraced.
Bye, diva, fake spell —
Now welcome to Kinda Hell.



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




Fake queens and fear — then war and fire.
They sell us doom, dressed in desire.
The mask is off, the lies all fell —
What’s left is ****. And kinda Hell.



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



Sociopaths and Degenerates

A hyper-charged
sociopath —
Crawled from the dark
with twisted wrath.

The ****** freak,
the heartless brute —
They run the world,
while the mute,
the dumbed-down herd,
serve on their plate —
A feast of fools
the beasts call fate.

And what’s a feast?
It means: devour.
Degenerates?
They bloom each hour.
The table’s set — the ghouls don’t rest,
There’s endless meat
for endless pests.



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




The freaks now rule, the weak obey —
They feed the beasts and fade away.
A world devoured by soulless rats —
Run by psychos and sociopaths.



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



Arrival and Struggle

Dragging “forward,”
“Hoping for best.”
Arrival — chaos,
No place to rest.

Surrounded tight
From every side.
Like wolves? No — the dog’s
Decay inside.



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




Crawling ahead with hope so thin,
But chaos waits where we begin.
Surrounded, torn — no peace, no throne —
Decay’s the dog, and we’re alone.



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



The Idiots


Idiots,
Existence —
They’ve ****** it all away.
“My own life” —
Nothing but decay,
Dirt, fear, forgetful sway.
And harvest —
Food to prey —
Almost gone... Oh, ****, the fray.



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




Idiots lost what life could be,
Just rot, fear, and obscurity.
The harvest eaten, none remains —
Their world dissolves in filth and chains.



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



Dyrkin

Girkin —
Holes —
Wants to patch them with meat.
Doesn’t care —
**** more to repeat.
To hell with the cost,
The whole Kremlin will hang at the last post.



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




Patch holes with blood, he calls the shots,
Killing more — ignoring costs.
But in the end, the traitors’ fate —
The noose awaits at freedom’s gate.



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



Search Cage — Googlecrap, FuckYandex, and the Rest

Censorship and propaganda —
Nothing more than “search engine” drama.
A startup gang, a worm inside,
That spreads and digs where truths must hide.

It generalizes simple things,
Creates illusions, false beginnings.
Pretends there’s search — but lets decay
All that triggers get swept away.

A “trigger” flags the banned, the banned,
Hides problems, silences the stand.
Excludes, deletes, or sinks it deep —
So no forbidden thought can creep.

“Economic cattle” — prime example.
Research galore, but too much sample
Is banned for old-school pioneers —
Too vile, too harsh for their ears.

So all your queries get reduced
To freak shows in this twisted noose.
Only safe answers come around —
Fed by fools who ask unsound.



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




They censor truth and bury thought,
Their “search” a trap, with lies well wrought.
Ask wrong, you’re lost inside their cage —
A grotesque, rigged digital stage.



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



The Steamroller

Across the land, a steamroller rides —
A beast that crushes all it finds.
Submission’s crown, the ****’s success,
Where fools and liars rule the mess.

They press with fear, with greed, with lies,
A darkness thick as endless skies.
All turns to dust beneath their reign,
The ******* grow more bold again.

A darkness built of traitors’ breath,
Fascism’s shadow, death by death.
Forgetfulness and hopeless cries —
Satan’s hand that rules and lies.

It rots and twists both flesh and bone —
But break the gears, and shake the throne.
The Earth will tremble, blaze the night,
The sun will scorch fascist blight.

With slavery’s chains destroyed at last,
The masters fall — their era passed.
No more to turn the free to beasts —
No more to feed the slaves’ cruel feast.



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




The steamroller crushes lies and fear,
But break its gears — the end is near.
The sun will burn fascist flame —
And free the world from tyrant’s shame.



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



Fascism Cubed

There was the sheep virus,
Now war’s on stage.
Reason takes a hit,
Evil’s cubed in rage.

Souls are the price —
Why cube, you ask?
Hunger grows sharp,
As that oak grows cracked.

A slave-born breed,
Enduring all pain.
Like a flood that sweeps,
Evil breaks the chain.

There was the sheep virus,
Now war’s the game.
Brains are blown out —
Truth’s cheap, with no name.



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




Sheep once infected, now war’s the rule —
Reason crushed, evil’s triple fuel.
Slaves endure while darkness thrives —
The price is souls, the cost: our lives.



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



Fascist Cops

We sow no seeds, build no lands —
We serve as dogs for Kremlin bands.
Armed with fascist ranks and fear,
Cowards crawling, vile and queer.

They strike at students, old and frail —
“Cosmonauts” with brutal hail.
Monsters serving filthy power,
No care for curses in this hour.

Fascism crumbles, history shows —
The fallen reap what evil sows.
The ones who brought the world such pain
Are met with justice, clear and plain.

Punishment fits crimes so dark —
The ice beneath these **** will crack.
Retribution comes in time —
The end of tyranny’s cold crime.



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




Fascist dogs with coward’s bite,
Crushing youth and old alike.
History will make them pay —
Ice grows thin beneath their sway.



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



The Human Edge

There’s a limit to patience —
The edge of a man’s soul.
Cross it — corruption’s
The spirit’s cruel toll.

Decay of the mind
Will surely follow.
The soul’s final fall —
A hollowed shadow.

Satanic filth will rise
To stand before us.
Slave patience ends —
They’ll turn to beasts among us.



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




Patience breaks — corruption spreads,
Minds decay, and souls lie dead.
Satan’s filth will claim the day —
When slaves become the beasts’ prey.



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



...It Creepily Approached

Doom crept up soft and slow —
Critical thought erased,
Sticky fear began to grow,
Long submission traced.

A broken fool emerged —
Logic gone, soul shrunk tight.
Personality diverged,
Fading out of sight.

Decay goes on its way,
Till man dissolves in lies.
Resistance crushed to clay —
Gone, under darkened skies.

Soon slavish beasts appear,
Ready for anything grim.
Brainless creatures ruled by fear,
Lost in endless dim.

And obedient vermin herd
Are driven to the ****.
War and filth — the deadly word,
Burning all with will.



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




Doom sneaks in, thought fades to dust,
Man dissolves in lies and rust.
Slaves become the beast’s own prey —
Burned and lost along the way.



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



First Ones

“Someone’s gone off to a contest in Varna,
While I’m stuck just a block away.
‘Come on, girls!’ ‘Come on, boys!’
They all rush first — it’s madness at play!”
— Vladimir Vysotsky


“Come on, boys” — now locked in the doghouse —
Filthy cops and the prosecutor’s fangs.
“Come on, girls!” at the station's dark corners,
Selling bodies for Kremlin’s gang.

Today, the first is a thief of the worst kind,
Others just grime fit for slaughter’s hand.
A bucket of filth — you have to devour:
That’s fascist war’s vile command.

A few stand firm — the fighters alone.
They’re the last — all pushed down below!
More often they bathe in blood unknown,
While one stinking pile claims the show.



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




The first are thieves and ****** alike,
While few resist the creeping strike.
Blood stains the last who stand their ground —
As filth and lies keep spreading ‘round.



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



Disposal of Bio-Waste

Bio-waste disposer —
Now disputed honor stands
For the Armed Forces’ fight.
****’s forced to crawl from orcish lands.

A normal man won’t bomb or ****
Kids on highways as they ride.
Scoundrels all! They’ll pay the bill —
Justice soon will turn the tide.

A decent soul won’t shell the homes
Of neighbors, hospitals, or towers,
Driven mad by fascist drones,
And lies that poison peaceful hours.

All the fascist “iron tongues”
Spew their lies and sow the strife.
But the Forces will burn their **** —
In Bucha, fury’s come to life.



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




Bio-waste dragged to meet their fate,
**** who bomb and desecrate.
Lies may roar, but truth will rise —
Justice burns in angry eyes.



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



Cops, or The Whip and the Carrot

Twist the screws — everywhere, always —
To please the masters’ cruel game.
Keep the people bound in haze,
The whip’s for those who bear the shame.

But better still — the carrot’s sweet —
Cops get treats by their own code.
Not enough for all to eat —
Some must bear the heavy load.



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




The whip cracks down, the carrot’s given —
To keep the crowd subdued, driven.
Not all get sweets; some take the pain —
The cruel game goes on again.



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



Death to the Rot!

Propagandists to the wall —
The only way to break
The world’s dark prison hall,
This nightmare we must shake.

These fiends feed lies nonstop,
Bold lies that grow and spread.
To let the chaos drop —
Multiply their poison spread.

The sheep virus, plain and clear —
Just lies and lies again.
A mindless flock, gripped by fear,
Junk fills their brains like rain.

The world’s become a madhouse now:
Just howls, and howls, and howls.
Cunning liars take their bow —
Then lead us to the slaughter.

Propagandists to the wall,
Fascists all to the noose.
No mercy for their crawl —
Death to rot — the sole excuse!



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




To the wall, the liars go,
Their lies bred pain and woe.
Fascists fall beneath the rod —
Death to rot, the cleansing sword.



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



Putler and ******

Putler seeks to fulfill
******’s vile plan.
A weak twin — no skill —
What can come from such a man?

Gray ******* stand behind,
They’ll **** themselves in fear.
No jokes now — the time’s aligned —
To purge the fascist smear.

They’ll hunt them down, all ****,
And justice will be served.
But those faces, full of glum,
Lie, and lie, and swerve.

Only here has ******
Been truly surpassed.
But lies won’t save from final
Shots fired fast.

Delirium and chaos spread,
The people torn apart.
Super-lies have done their dread —
Freedom’s fire burns their heart.



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




Putler’s plan is ******’s clone,
A weakling ruling from a throne.
Lies won’t save the fascist breed —
Justice comes with final deed.



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



Super-Duper

Super-ego,
Super-g­reys,
Super-mice —
That’s the craze!
Mice are many,
Brave ones few,
Truth is softer
In Evil’s view.



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




Super-ego, super-grey,
Super-mice that fade away.
Truth is quiet, courage small —
In the world where evils call.



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



Putler’s Speeches

Mad speeches by the caudillo,
Compiled from ******, Goebbels’ scroll.
Kremlin’s roofs all spring a leak —
While sheep are duller than Teutonic folk.

History repeats as farce,
Madness wildly overflows.
The god of war once wore Mars’ scars —
Now Set rules, whose madness grows.



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




Putler rants in twisted play,
Echoes of dark **** ways.
Madness grows, the past returns —
As war’s dark flame still fiercely burns.



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



Let There Be Light?

"Let there be light!" said the old electrician,
And cut the wires with cold precision.
Common folk are just like trash,
In darkness herds keep moving fast.

And growing still this veil of night —
A rising tide of blind despite.
They’ll teach you only filth and lies:
Believe in Evil — then you die.

False religions cloak their sin,
Satan’s mask worn thin within.
False science plants its rotten trees,
Spreading cretinism with ease.

The “tree of knowledge” — all a lie,
Material hell where spirits die.
The fool cries, “Don’t touch my gain!
I gladly serve this twisted reign.”

To multiply “knowledge” when
The Pure Spirit’s wiped from ken —
Breeds only ignorance, and breeds
A flock of Satan’s cursed seeds.

Find your primal, sacred face,
Given before ignorance’s place.
And never yield, nor bow, nor fall —
Or else you lose your soul and all.



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



Nonsense Questions and False Answers

To sort it all on shelves,
To prune it all quite small —
What stops them? Scoundrels lie,
Deceiving one and all.

So-called simplification —
Is worse than theft outright.
Excluding Spirit’s essence —
Denies the core of light.

They crave one single truth —
A fool’s dull final score.
Evil’s many tasks —
Stupidity their core.

To **** the Spirit too —
Just another scheme:
Become a dung-fly’s slave —
Your own executioner’s dream.

If you believe their lies,
Submit to Evil’s call,
You open gates to Satan,
The Horned One’s dark hall.

Falsehood’s vast dominion —
A school for this they build.
Consciousness trampled down —
False answers all fulfilled.

No questions left to ask,
Yet answers stand prepared —
From verbal diarrhea
Comes damage undeclared.

This world, they say, depends
Not on us or our minds.
If brains have gone to mush,
Emotions are their binds.

Fumes and miasmas spread —
A global haze of lies.
All’s gone mad in this world —
Ill minds wear the disguise.

The whole world now’s a target,
Held hostage by deceit.
Step out of line — they’ll shoot —
Their aim cold, sharp, and fleet.

So “unchanging” postulates —
Are but a web of lies.
The sun, a raging force,
Destroys their dark disguise.

Darkness miscalculated —
Light grows beyond their law.
Burning every stump —
Their reign will meet its flaw.

Reason works, like Earth,
Clearing madness from the land.
Insane must leave this world —
Like lice at Earth’s command.

False “laws” built on lies —
This crooked, lying sphere,
For fools and loudmouths alike —
The end of lies is near.

The time of burning’s come —
Beyond deceitful schemes.
Spirit’s decay ends now —
And justice follows dreams.



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




Nonsense questions, false replies,
Lies that blind and truth that dies.
Light breaks through the darkest night —
Justice comes to end the blight.



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



Bread, Spectacles, and… Incantations

Here reign the INCANTATIONS,
The trigger for the dogs’ reactions.
“Attention!” — and straight in line,
All march dumb in dull decline.

Enough experience to see —
You’re trapped inside a hellish spree.
Like test rabbits, we’re all caught,
But rabbits sane, at least, have thought.

The madness vast, if summed and weighed,
Consciousness here’s a beastly shade.
Animal minds rule the day —
Nearly all lost their way.

Don’t listen, don’t respond,
Seek answers deep and far beyond.
Register thoughts, but stay composed —
No twitching saves you from exposed.

It saves your mind and your awareness,
Reactions keep you chained in madness.
Spirit tortured, trapped on hooks,
Escape is light, if you unhook.

Clear your Reason of the heaps
Of brazen lies — poisoned heaps.
The “school’s” aim is all too plain —
To dull the minds and dull the brain.

To sink the spark of the Creator,
Pollute the minds to feed the traitor.
But calling terror by its name
Is banned — they twist the terms and shame.

Where “civilization” howls, beware!
Sharp ears catch the counterfeit air.
Under masks of “good and right,”
Lies and evil cloak their blight.

These are the games they always play
In worlds of “wise” fools led astray,
Where fiends spew lies with cunning skill,
The base of “sound ideas” they ****.

So all “revolutions” fake,
“Reforms” just chains that bind and break.
Constitutions, empty cheer —
Distractions for a duller sphere.

That “bread” is poisoned, shows the state,
And “spectacles” for fools await.
Yet fools devour with eager greed —
Their lies send them to death’s stampede.

And at the core — the incantations,
The master of the fog’s creations.
Awareness minimal, so why
Do fiends hold power, rule, and lie?

Expand your consciousness each day,
Multiply your spirit’s ray.
Or else you’re just a sheep for slaughter,
Or vegetable — their twisted fodder.

Their poisoned crop won’t grace a show:
They’ll burn, trample, feed it low.
The harvest all is tainted, dead —
Consumed by vermin, lies instead.



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




Incantations start the flow,
Lies that chain the mind below.
Grow your spirit, break the cage —
Or fall to darkness, slave of rage.



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



Ceilings

The ceiling presses heavy on your head —
This burden’s always hanging near.
And people soft as molten lead —
That’s why the misery is here.

That ceiling — false “knowledge” forced inside,
Pushed hard into your mind’s dark stall.
Like lambs we march, no place to hide,
Just fodder for the mind’s grim call.

Fears and hatred, vile creations,
Breed darkness, artificial blight.
This world is drunk on lies’ temptations —
Propaganda leaves its blight.

That PRESS will push the ceiling down,
Fascism’s “law” will soon decree
That all will bend beneath the crown,
And poisoned books fill this lunacy.

Dumbing down and schizophrenic haze
Are raised to norms, the chosen way
To drag us to Hell’s stagnant maze.
Few humans left at end of day.

A new breed — servants, dull and bleak,
They’ve taken all the posts and roles.
But lies alone make power peak —
For beasts, we’re cattle, not souls.

This stupid herd is driven to slaughter —
And now it’s started, clear and loud.
We bear the horror — we deserve no other.
The prophet’s words have formed a cloud:

Nine sick have paved the way to health,
They call it CowID — the new stealth.
And creatures craft new false diseases,
Like once again, the “AIDS” thesis.

Nine-tenths are mentally broken,
The last too weak to fight the yoke.
Against the cursed fascist token,
They’re dumb, enslaved, and tightly choked.

They crushed all life beneath the mass.
Only carcasses will pay.
If you don’t fight, life’s chance will pass —
You’re just a broken soul, decayed.

Build your commune, smash the lies,
Seek fresh paths to save your soul.
The beasts have learned old tricks and spies —
So tread new roads, regain control.

The Light is hard — the Hell is near —
That’s why the **** rage so and shout.
Though dark and scary, fight your fear —
With Spirit’s link, you’ll break their rout.

Pure Spirit is our fortress, rock.
The ceilings fall like crumbling floors.
A mighty cataclysm will knock,
And sweep away the rotten sores.

A new world — Spirit’s dimension —
Will come to those who save their soul.
To fools, this’s only rumor’s mention —
Let them laugh: the fool’s Hell’s goal.



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




Ceilings press, false knowledge spreads,
Minds are fodder, Spirit dreads.
Fight the lies and find the Light —
Or fade away in endless night.

— The End —