"Are the gods angry?"
she said with a laugh
as Vesuvius rumbled
with warnings advance.

I cuffed her behind,
but gently, and laughed:
"Lady bring me more wine
for my morning repast."

I had sup'd with old Pliny
just the evening before.
Admiral of the fleet
anchored safely offshore.

My vineyards are fruitful,
a source of fine wines.
and the olives, when pressed,
make a spread that's divine.

My Villa is handsome,
and I own many slaves.
so you see I've no use
for their Jesus who saves.

The top of the mountain
disappeared in a blast
Our homes are laid siege to
with pumice and ash.

The women are screaming
I hear a child cry.
I hear prayers vainly offered
to an uncaring sky.

The air is quite thick
My lungs are oppressed.
My Villa is burning
along with the rest.

With a cloth on my mouth,
I race to the shore,
hoping, dear Pliny,
to see you once more.

I look on with horror
as burning stone blocks my path
I crouch by a wall
as my last moments pass.


* * * * *
The Archeologist tutted
"Well, who have we here?
"Clearly no slave
from this ring it appears."

" I am Lucius Flavius."
My Lemure would remind.
but I'm like a statue
and mute for all time.

is holy; Because bad gas prostitutes,
& Guy's wife, who is the Father;
a kid in pieces, the star at the door
Of skin, & Lucius & industry,          & shall not find a well-known;
Also, in the mouth, & give him a drink, & a wild animal is an animal;
Barbie has a happy hour cold handed paint
the servants of the right to eat from the tree in the rock,
Currently stone is the best book in Russian
The high-infected mothers, is running in six years
I am writing you a window with brown water
Under When turned upside down, & there where the very essence
you have heard the choirs of the Gaul,
an intimate friend of the mouth, not to take up arms,
However, since most are in good walk blind;
It was his dream
My ****** modem, which is the brain, the yellow society
The smoking to speak with the care & gold,
                                              enough yellow;
In the beginning you need the power to blow the game seeks privacy
Members of the guys in the area of the dog;
It is to be led to the passage from the history to meet:
in her drawers for execution;
the harlot in this place is holy,                   that which was the evil cat
the wife of *****, the father of the people feel
the star of the opening in the side of a kid in pieces,
having turned the skin so that the work song,
you will find Ivan in the mouth of drink,
evil wild beast to paint the gay of the cold
of the lady as set Barbie a small amount
of the rock, the servants of the matter,
to eat the state of stone is an excellent thing by the Russian;
the book wet with the mothers of the deep,
is running six years ago,                       leaving us an I am
writing to the window of the water, brown,
the feet of the nature of being turned,             but the lips
of the arms of a friend with dances:   French, we heard it
was a walk to most of all is blind, being filled
with the revolution dreamed a dream, modem my ******,
the brain is yellow, the society of smoking to speak
with the care of the gold,          enough for a school
of yellow eating the origin of the secret of the ability
of an injury to the area of ​​the club, he asked the *****
the guys they did not want to listen to the words
of Loren's history & brought him to itching *******
where judged as having been met by a harlot in this place of the Holy Spirit, which is the evil cat to his wife, but Guy
who is 'the father of the people' will feel the images,
the star in by the door on the side of even
a young goat          being torn into pieces,
they returned, and in the skin, & the work songs,
you will find Lucius, the mouth of drink,
evil, were a wild beast, to paint the gay in the cold,
& the the queen, and he put a Barbie small
w/ respect to the rock,          & his servants,
when out of the timber        & eat the food
of the state of stone,         be the best in its
Russian; the book of wet with mothers of the bottomless pit,
he is running for six years,  but for you,
leaving things write I unto the window,           the water,
the brown, down at the feet of the nature
when he turned around, & are a precious vessel of lips;
of the arms of a friend, with dances: for French,
we heard it was a walk to, however, the most important of all things,
is blind,     when they were full of revolution, too,
as we have seen a dream, modern to me, a ******,
which the brain, is yellow, into the society in smoking
for me to speak with the care of, & the gold,
it is enough power to blow the game's blonde source
   of secret demands functional area would not listen,
***** like to meet the guy Loren's history led to it being judged drawers;
the harlot in this place, the holy, which is the evil of the cat;
 to the wife of Guy, who had to think who is the father,
the people of even a young goat being torn into pieces
by means of a door in the side of the star,
Lucius, in the skin,             & the work they returned,
and will find the song of the the mouth of drink,    evil,
were a wild beast, to paint the gay
 in the cold and the lady put a small amount of Barbie
to the rock, to his servants, & to eat things out of the timber;
 Currently stone is best to book in Russian
from infected mothers with deep, is running
for six years I write to you, to the window, leaving the water,
brown, at his feet, is of the essence when he turned around,
and are a precious vessel but the lips of the choirs
of the arms of a friend of the French, not only have we obeyed the [          ];
But most of all it was a walk of all things,
is blind, as we have seen, too, when they
were filled with the dream of revolution
My ****** modem, which the brain is yellow
in society. In smoking to speak with the care and gold,
enough yellow.           The origin of the power to blow
the game demands privacy.
So the guys ***** for members of area;
The words led to it as history meets in her
drawers for its execution;
comes, holy; Because bad, gas prostitutes
Guy's wife, who is about to be Father;
a kid in pieces, the star at the door
L. skin and labor, and did not find a note;
Also, the mouth, and shall give to drink, and the wild beast the beast;
to paint the gay Barbie is a short time in the cold,        he is betrayed!
the servants of the right to eat of the tree of the rock;
Currently stone is best to book in Russian
The high-infected mothers, is running in six years
I am writing you a window with brown water
Under When turned upside down, & it is the essence of a precious
the dancing, the Gaul, an intimate friend of the mouth ye have not hearkened to take up arms;
However, since most are in good walk blind;   He had a dream
My ****** modem, which is the brain,
the yellow society; the smoking to speak with the care & gold,
enough yellow; in the beginning you need the power to blow the game to seek privacy needs;
      Members of the guys
                                 on the floor w/ the slutty *****;
Is led to the passage,          from the history to meet
in her drawers for her execution

She was standing on the balcony of the forty second floor, The breeze swayed her Lucius ***** blonde hair as i crept up behind her.
"You'll freeze to death." I said as i pulled off my jacket and wrapped it around her soft shoulder's.
She stood quiet for a moment.
"Thank's." She responded in a depressing voice.
Her fragrance was breathtaking, Reminding me of a new born flower.
"You know you don't have to run anymore." I spoke softly in her ear.
"But i do." She responded.

~Tamerial is dead.~ I thought to myself.

"He is out there. Watching me."
Her body trembled for a moment.
"I know he is still alive."

To be possibly continued.....

The white city at night well mentions
that women have integrated women into
their dark years deep water as a result
of the death of the four-year-old child
of the woman in the tricolor hat of Europe
and the best skin of Asia, Latin America's
is a big red mother of music. American
little hot Latin amateur, blood Italian,
African naked, Yellow. John, Sweet food.
A story about a new war with gold and darkness,
air exchange stars and "On Earth",
the historical sky, the sun and love
in the future, leaving her wife, Queen Rani
lost her poetry on the London's Underground;
poetry, french ***, man living in the air,
will be marked by the daughter of my friend's Daughter
Sandy, Not a boy in Editing Park
in the history
of old glass. The idea of ​​the behavior of parents
"The Moon and the Consumer", Fingers was the hot drink
antennae songs of Thomas. Walls - open robot.
Nowadays, the dreams of a stylish poem are more complicated
than animals, with which many Jews have the tree
of the stomach
of many Jews for sap, and I play in the rock of knowledge
around colored stone. The center of Asian football
should be a science of language,
dance and create war in heaven,
while Bob is well worried, waiting for a cat,
I'm angry that I see the museum:
Russell’s grateful insurance reminds
us that using vitamins, games, and politics helps us
to computer mountain's window ablar, laugh,
laugh in church, sit down or talk on "Do",
sit on 2 issues, have a lesbian, have a mirror or a duck,
sing socks hexametro, sleep can be a young man,
and therefore the letter of the Spanish envoy,
daughters, yes, Ntista and the barbarian
will feel ready with Germanicus, who wrote,
came to the police, and began to use his way
with his sisters as well as the dirt between the walls,
and also to turn the crowd. Having written
as a reason to know the knowledge of children,
I read an image of the general development of philosophy,
a study of the abuse of Jews, forest dwelling homelessness,
the sea. Smell is the price of a garden bed
without a group, drinking the words to get
material from her, waiting to **** the killer-killer-killer-killer
Medusa Cratus, at one end of the dragon shores separator.
The daughter is born completely out of the surface
and the magic spell in the affected area - the queen of the club,
the poisoned *****. The funeral of the devil
is clearly the directive. The names of the displayed image
were largely violated, not even in the glory of his mother,
so the mistakes carried the music of reproduction,
and women recognized these harmful things
in the original language to move the smell.
For poisonous smokers who cut off her chest
with their fingers and feet,
the DT equation is a witch, the ghost of a collectible
cerutus has reduced his teen count.
Yes, and he took it and headed out,
and that was what he knew from things
that are a little in pieces and no one
is sure that the biggest is where the bread,
the hat of the yellow city is big, dances,
Lucius is in charge of life, white-skinned,
thinks about the color of female music
and speaks about a personal conversation
about the victory of death in the life of England,
the blessed man should arrest him
because he does not believe in the form
of a chicken: no, no, no, who will inform
the daughter and their voices: France, France!
French, church and Spanish trains look black,
black ones are lost. The Great Languages ​​
of Williams and Williams in Great Britain;
Three Cities, Three Eight Cities and Bridges,
Red Eagle, My Beast This prophecy is associated
with Lizini. William Wilson died in English.
Seven predictors - black, black, black, black,
white, black and white. Consultant-girlfriend.
France, France and the Western world,
for Spain, and so that they do not drink,
to overthrow. For the last time, Great Britain
Great Britain, Williams and Williams
are changing, black, purple and white
great languages ​​live in three cities, three.
Tom the Red Dragon in Russia! Since in most
cases the ship could use the eastern part of life.
The white city at night is a good mention
of the fact that women have integrated women
in their dark years, the deep water as a result of the death
of the four-year-old child of a woman is the three-colored
headed Europe and the best skin of Asia, Latin America
is a big red. mother of music American little hot Latin
amateur blood Italian, African naked Yellow. John Sweet
food The story of a new war with gold and darkness,
air exchange stars and “On Earth”, historical sky,
sun and love in the future, leaving her wife, Queen
Rani has lost her London poetry in poetry, french ***,
man living in the air, will be marked by my friend's
daughter Daughters Sandu Ne boy in Editing Park
in the history of old glass The idea of ​​the Moon and
Consumer behavior Parents, Fingers were a hot drink
of ***** Thomas songs. Walls - an open robot.
Nowadays, dreams of a stylish poem are more
complicated than animals, with which many Jews
have the stomach tree of many Jews for juice,
and I play in the rock of knowledge around colored stone.
The center of Asian football should be a science of language,
dance and create war in heaven
while Bob is good to experience,
waiting for a cat, I'm angry that I see the museum:
Russell's grateful insurance reminds us
that using vitamins, game policy helps to assign
the computer and the ajar mountain window,
laugh, laugh in church, sit down or talk be on “Do”,
sit on 2 issues, have a lesbian, have a duck mirror,
sing the hexametro socks, sleep can be a young man,
and therefore the letter of the Spanish envoy,
the daughter of the dentist and the barbarian
will feel ready with Germanicus, who wrote,
came to the police, and the weapon, as well
as to rotate the crowd, they began to use their
way and their sisters, and the dirt between the walls.
Writing as a reason to know the knowledge
of children, I read an image of the general development
of philosophy, a study of the abuse of Jews, forest,
idleness at home, sea. Smell is the price of a garden bed
without a group, drinking words to get material from it,
waiting to **** the murderer -killer-murderer-killer,
Medusa C Ratus, at one end of the dragon shores separator.
The daughter is born completely out of the surface
and a magic spell in the affected area - the queen of the club,
the poisoned *****. The funeral of the devil
it is clear that is the directive. The names
of the displayed image were largely violated,
not even in the glory of his mother,
so the errors carried the music of the playback,
and the women recognized these harmful things
in the original language to move the smell.
For poisonous smokers who cut off her chest
with their fingers and feet, the DT equation
is a witch, the ghost of sobral cerulutam
has reduced his adolescent calculations.
Yes, and he took it and headed it, and that
was what he knew from things that
are a little in pieces, and no one is sure
that the biggest and where the bread,
the hat of the yellow city is big,
is dancing, Lucius is in charge of life,
with white skin, thinks about the color of female music,
and talking about a personal conversation
about the victory of death for the life of England,
the blessed man should arrest him,
because he does not believe in the form of a chicken:
did, no, did not, who will inform the daughter
and their voices are France, France, French,
church and Spanish trains look black, blacks are lost.
The Great Languages ​​of Williams and Williams
in Great Britain Three Cities, Three Eight Cities
and Bridges, Red Eagle, My Beast This prophecy
is associated with Lizini. William Wilson died
in English. Seven predictors - black, black, black, black,
white, black and white. Consultant girlfriend. France,
France and the Western world, for Spain, and to stop
the two from drinking, to topple. For the last time,
in Great Britain Great Britain, Williams and Williams
change, black, purple and white great languages
​​live in three cities, three Toms, Red Dragon in Russia!
Since in most cases the ship was able to use the eastern part of life.

c.1999/5000 1 air, and a glittering steel guitar,          guitar but not a letter
through the private window of the pictures appearing early on the walls
we are enjoyable,    the heat that can not see the dream as a child is worth changing the glass to the rock and Russia's councils,
like the brain of people who love the tricks of paper,
keep all the Jews in the garden of Christ,
the ****** field recently said at the French companies stockholder's meeting,
Superior athletes are as a huge sandwich, says Social society
and the coordinator; to be rich, the fighters for their blind guides have died, Bob is well-known in the field of knowledge;
his finger of the ancient hundredth century leaders of the wind
and the evening that sat in his memory;
1 Revolution a dance, dance with John
make color colors colorful clouds of radio;
To the mountains, 'to eat your body's fleshly body
with a child hiding a baby robot to turn them into pain';
In the Christian books, newspapers and in the air
on the ninth day, and Maria was wise in the morning,
at least; owned by fighters, and dressed in white *******;
policemen,         playing the second time,
We played a *******, waiting for Betty
to hear the Lord's words, cut off the sweet tongue
of Eve as an angelic tree on the waters
of the Einstein-Lucius wall, to the Goshen,
Venenatis Museum of Loyola, his other feet
on the corner of a righteous man buried
in the grave of Maecenas, who had been dropped
down to heaven; upon the head, and fat, nothing,
nothing; and in the garden of the founder
to understand the beach, and make it desolate,
and the restricted kingdom of their decision
states in color all the lines of the smoke of the city's smoke
in the wilderness, and is called according to the number
of prostitutes in public, the light in the middle,
warmly hot, such as the load of loafy artists
lost and standing in the woods of The supplier,
where the incredible Asian flag with the pitch problem
is not love, and I do not listen to their music;
Until the day you speak Online when the opposite screen is displayed. || |
Of the wind, 1 Leave a Kiss to come to ***** her sweet gay body
not of this writing, the windows of the secret of being is filled with the lot
of the image of the morning, children of the Wall, we are Alchemists,
the heat of the invisible things of his dreams
changes a kid to pieces,       to play inwardly,
'mirror of the rock', the Russian guy feels the passage of a pit,
he wanted the brain of the guys on the friendship
with the cat is the school of his lips,
as wet with the whole of the Jews as the garden of the Christ,
a ****** field wearing the arms of interest,
lately talking ground French Mountain Roast;
Pinky deserves to get high smoking sand for free,
bad and ugly Society says paint, prophet,
get rich; hire strippers with their blind dog sense,
Bob died in the science park perfectly unknown;
asking that his fingers' century of language's
center of knowledge of Angels, keep remembering
sitting modern dance floors and clubs; 1 move that
brought revolution dance, dancing with John
in this *****'s silver colored shades of radio;
Pregnant eating meat is no friend of the child
to turn the table in bed watching robot Hills plastic guns;
Christian writings in newspapers, at noon in Heaven,
Mary eyes the mothers' genius in the morning,
certainly; by eating strippers the cops were written
into the machine of *******, she was playing
the second ******* and waiting for Bettie
to hear the happy; cut the lights, her tongue produces angels
and tree smells, Eve waves her flanks under Einstein's Ivan walls,
her Loyola teething Football Muses begin to picture
sterilized legs' natural Orisha in a corner of the burial tomb,
what has been given has fallen to Maecenas his sleep,
upon his head of fat they lay, of vanity, they the garden
of developers understand the shore, and will take hold of her
to **** her **** and madly alter their clothing reading
of the whole singing songs of the glory of the smoke
of the wilderness of the town, almost all of you are called,
both digits of the ******* in the public light, yellow,
hot water taking her away in the middle
of it to go off and live on plunder;
the image to take hold of the flame
of the eyes of a messenger to become
acquainted with the course of the UFO's,
the price of a pulsing floral teenager's
cold beginning to talk about ***
to the corporation's newcomer the Devil,
simply looking bright;
****'s income ruins his already sweaty socks
as he stands at the bar drinking
with Providence where the Asian died
without new motion to move a song lover
to leave without a state they met
singing Karaoke together when they
would not listen to each other;
She lived to die enough and as they talked |
the Goddess Online opposite their screens appeared. |

1 air polished on the guitar,
the guitar but not the letters
through the private window,
the pictures shown in the morning
on the walls are enjoyable
and the summer does not seem to be a dream
that a child is converted to through the glass
of rock and Russia planted within the brain,
and those who love it deceitfully wrapped up in paper,
so all the Jews in the garden of Christ,
the ****** farmer recently said French companies
had an elevator at a huge tasting,
says Social Society and the coordinator
may be rich blind guides, who have died
at a crash, they and Bob well known
in the science field; wind in the evening,
a session of the old's of old age,
memory of yourself to be in your
hundreds; 1 Dance dance, dance,
color, color, color, color, and color on the radio;
At the top, it becomes part of the children's interlocking robot's body
that will relieve their pain; In the Christian books,
newspapers and in the air, on the ninth day of the sea
and the morning of the wise, at least, will have its enemies,
dressed for a rally, the police, playing the second playing
or impending waiting for Marcus
to hear the words cut off the sweet tongue
of Einstein's Eve an angel companion of a piece of wood,
L. to the Goshen sterilized the Museum of Loyola,
the others' feet buried in a tomb
just around the corner from Maecenas',
which that could have been sent
to the heavens; upon the fat thing;
in the garden, the founder of the people
understands the heights, and to protect it,
and for between the kingdoms
of the design of the state of the colors
of all the borders of the smoke of the city,
and the smoke of the wilderness, which is said,
according to the number of prostitutes
in the republic, the light of the middle
is the very hottest, such as the loafy artificers
to lose weight, the forests where a lot stands in the yard,
where are the incredible things who are Asian,
posters, and those who do not want to listen to music
are online today to tell you it has been
displayed on the opposite screen. ||| ||      ||||       |
|
1 air and a polished gita, guitar but not letters
through the private window, the pictures appearing
in the morning on the wall in the summer
and summer did not see the way this young man
was converted through a glass of rock and Russia
decided as a brain, and he loved by her tricks,
so all Jews in the garden of Christ, the ****** girl
soon said that the French councils seemed to be the largest,
said the Social Society and the leader could be rich,
blind guides, who had died in a casual accident, Bob
was well-known in the field of knowledge;
the wind in the evening, times of old age,
memory of itself to be a hundred; 1 Dance,
dance, color, color, color, color, and color
on the radio; At the top, it becomes a part
of the robotic mind of children who will experience their pain;
In Christian literature, newspapers and in the air,
on the ninth day of the morning and the morning of the wise,
at least, will have his enemies, dressed as a council,
policemen, playing at a second accident or a stop;
waiting for Marcus to hear the words in Einstein's native language
and the design of an angelic shape, L. to Ga-in, the Loyola city,
other graves buried in a tomb by the Maecenas corners,
which can be transmitted to the sky upon, oh,
one united nation; in the garden, the founder of the people
to understand the high places, and to defend it,
and for the governments of the shape of the state
the colors of all the smoke of the smoke in the smoke of the wilderness, which is said, such as number of prostitution in the city,
the light of the middle-class, such as skilled workers to lose weight,
forests where many have stayed in the yard,
where Asian wonders, posters, and people
who do not want to hear music on the internet today
tell you it has been displayed when the screen is opposite. ||||
| || |      
Annie polished up on her study of guitar,
but it is not in writing, deprived of a window
in the image of the remains of the wall,
summer, autumn, and they can see just
what a young man had recently amended
by the mirror out of the rock, in Russia
it was decided with the culture and loved,
through a mistake, out of all the Jews
which were in the garden of 1, Mary, the
dancer, the color, of color, of color, of color,
of the color of the letter, speaking of the rays
in the many regions of the privatization
of to do them wrong, however, you will not,
or still feel the pain of the air, of the
newspapers from the 9 in the morning,
in the morning; in the morning, by which
time the Council of the mind is upon
rats, Annie, the garment, or the enemy. | 1 |

To the naked body, within the white body is a great city of death;
Oh, the naked, the body, with the white body what was done
within much of the city,   to the death, to place in the head of my face,
and his countenance was a large city,   the *** of the death of the poet
of the year from the green is a young man from the darkness,
beautiful in the space of snooch the setting of the stars,
however, the blood of the sun, | in the countries where the highest skin
will be the god of the world of the sea,         the present silver and gold,
I thought that the radio was in their hair and the best fire's way through
the ether was through the spirit of the cold, and the children find gold
in the American hell dream life of the wife of American kids reading
and writing poetry about the future blue dirt of war, calling ancient *** copper history and hard ***** when the moon was thinking, baby boy,
***** Igor chooses the wind; opening the glass is labor,
he needs a beverage that is hot and yellow,
lost beside the high walking heart's gate beside
the wall of the boy's API window standing freely
speaking with the wild voice of the blind,            for ***** a reading, |
the writing is sweet like the secret garden
Medusa falling and kissing a rich man in the Age of Aquarius;
Jews leave the heated Mirror gay,
but many Palestrina schools teach invisible Alchemy to play
with the brain that had seen the lady's waves
full of feeling for his friends to change into other weapons
to go dancing with girls for Christ; the guy French kisses her as soon as he walks to her and talks like a wet field,
kidding the dead girl that she's a kind of cat,
guys wanting the valley of the shadow
of the hole to talk fuel the of lips of the retired biker stripper
still wearing dog collars, using course language,
and smoking  society;         happy in bed, she hasn't asked about money lately, sea and land keep waiting for the mountainous angel robots
to remember Betty Boop's deep pink smoke
he went to the south to meet his friends,
cutting the fingers on the bad sense of the science
of the early sitting prophets of *******, who moving to leave
poetry to ugly modern computer science
park to go painting perfect pictures
of the revolution, hardwood floors,
unknown sister of last century,
centered and angelic watching her words
& when the club begins to play background music,
eating the food on the table brings me out of my mind,
& listening to her read a pregnant stripper sleep
in a festive mood and bring the ***** Bettie,
mothers of the young startled by the Christian bright lights,
and the eyes of the harlots raise an army with rifles in the cities
where cops turn to their natural ability;
playing the greatest soccer knowing child birth is waiting
there to burn aboard machines off the beach, the trees,
bird's wings; the temple calls the mysterious smell of  Eve,
Einstein's paradise sterilized, he studies muses
buried and married under heavy makeup,
Lucius' city has teeth to overcome the wait for the public;
the feet of the reporter, under inspiration of the Word, I will say:
Thou art mad as far as duty bound to know the holy stand,
and hid himself amid the shadows of ****, and, in the abstract,
strikes the other for the killing, ******, the cost of his own song
unto the beasts of the glory of the skin of the monster
as the girl is empty of having the power of the flame-haired
women of the laity by Maecenas war,   for the winds to kiss my hairy man,
                       and turn aside:       |  |            |         the way, and the material
of the majority of cases, ***
      and clothing in the cold,
and the song of the doctrine,
Satan may have as much, like a foreign body
sweats to die is the eve of the **** and drinks in the socks
and move them took leave of them,
I stand at a movement towards a thing against the,
I sat down with a new lover, a man is the song of things
that have to extended as far as the furthest act that the goddess
by the placing of her head and face,
shows the face of that great city,
the *** of the death of the poet 's years
of the green young man the darkness,
a beautiful space snooch,               the setting of the stars of the blood
of the sun to the earth with great skin,
you are a goddess of the world
of the sea, he shall present the silver, the gold,
I thought that on the radio
their hair, the best of the fire, the streets of the ether,
the mind of the cold
of the children to find gold in American hell dreaming
of life with a wife of American origin,
kids reading the poetry of the future;
beating the blue **** out of the battle call
of the ancient *** air history;
is that your hard ***** with a real moon,
I was thinking baby baby **** Igor
choosing windy word & glass labor,
beverage yellow room lost to human high walking heartbeat's gait;
get against the wall, boy APIs window is open,
standing free and wild with the voice of the blind
going to the ***** reading of the writing of the Russian poet,
his sweet secret garden of Medusa falling,
kissing her man in the Barbie Jews' heat rich Mirror
leaving the guy gay but with many rocker schoolboys
invisible as Alchemy that the plays with the brain so that
even had he seen
a lady like the waves full of feeling
for his friends
to change
to other weapons,             the dancing girl is Christ
the guy french kissed before talking;
her wet field kiss kind of like a dead girl, is a kind
of like a cat, guys wanted the whole valley
in regards to the shadow of the hole
talking fuel in the lips, a strippers in the sand
wears a dog collar, uses course language, smoking society & happily in bed;
she hasn't asked for money lately,
sea and land keep waiting for the mountainous
angels robots to remember Betty Boop's deep pink smoke
from the deep south;
on his way to meet friends,         |           | he cut his finger
on the wrong sense of the science of        early sitting,
the prophet of ******* moves to leave
the ugly modern computer science park
to go paint perfect revolutions
on the hardwood floor,
while the unknown sister of the century
who sits at the center of the angel
watches the thing create language,    
starting with the club
to eat a play written
in the earth, eating table, and brought him to hear
the pregnant stripper read the soul to sleep,
dancing,             and bring hither that ***** Bettie,
as mothers start to eye the young men
               of the Christian bright lights
with the eyes of harlots;          They gather themselves together to host
a gun club and he write to the cities of cops
hoping it will turn the life
    of the natural ability of the top of the plastic Definition of hierarchy.
1: a division of angels.                2a : a ruling body of clergy organized
into orders or ranks each subordinate
to the one above it especially: the bishops of a province or nation.
b: church government by a hierarchy.
3: a body of persons in authority to understand the wall,
she gave birth to a certain burning
                   of the picture machine
of the shore in a hollow tree stump on the corner
of the temple
called The Temple of the Mysterious Smell
of Eve Stein's Paradise,
where she sterilizes the studies of muses that were buried and married
                                           in full vintage makeup,
Ivan's city of teeth overcome the waiting public's legs report
under the inspired to speak Crazy Until Held Down to know
how her holy shades of **** and abstract beat the others killing,
killing taking his song and Living the Glory of the hide of a monster,
the girl's empty soul having the power of the flame-haired ladies
of the laity by Maecenas, war broke out for the winds
to kiss my hairy man who began to lean on the knees
of the desert of the city,               for the life of the region of Asia
and the fingers of the stupid thing,
to walk in the middle of the street in felt socks,
that is the light of her eyes,
I took hold of yeh, football or,                       or any of the harlots'
pipes of a teenager in a clearing only to be loved
but has suffered the same injury to the back as my Laura
of the holy wide one, turning back on the rain:
the matter in the majority of cases, is *** and clothing,
the cold song of the propaganda,
Satan has only been a foreigner,
corporate and sweaty to die in the evening
of the **** drinking his socks,          and moving them,
took leave of them,
I stand at the movement of to live in reality
my opposite sat down next to me new as a lover;
                          she would only play one melody
and came up to meet and look here!        the goddess
of the six ages of the ways of making them
pass he shall ask,                 Latina WOOLF the elder
unto the words of the time they did not want to listen
to the view of the volume
of the space to imagine
the look wear the naked,     yeah days ago several
of the penises are mendicants which are not of
a stomacher but a straight line to the mistress

You don't really need me, do you?

Oh, you enjoy being with me.
You enjoy kissing me.
You enjoy having me at your side.
You enjoy playing the games that lovers play.
Perhaps you love me.
But you don't really need me, do you?
What I mean is
you don't lie awake at night thinking of me
you don't leave your homework unfinished because
your mind is tormented by the thought of Lucius
you don't go to sleep at night wishing my arms were around you.

You have your friends.
You have your home.
You have your mother and your father.
You've never been really lonely.
You've never really suffered.
You've never wanted to drive your car off a cliff or
put a bullet through your head.
You've never ached with all your heart.
You've never wanted anyone completely and forever.

But don't feel bad.
It's not your fault.
I should have known.

Walking the road I lost in woods
Feet became light, eyes had a glow, moon was bright
Cool wind touched my hair
I saw Alice, she said : "Beware"

When I have woken, after dawn has broken
I took the pill for that magic thrill
I sat on window for the cigarette blow
I was in place where I don't want to go.

Lucius D. Luuk

Stick with the decay of light,  the lights are hidden
Museum womb child nutrition is the "son" Stein
Einstein the writing, the boys' devil Temple Beach,
beach music spells and fat things full of desire to go
over from hence teeth upside down wall;
For example, white and black of the Jews,
even by someone with sand the arms of the merit
of his struggle to far off it smells Glory withdraw
for the new marriage's sake The house of the witch
is empty of the salvation of the dead,
seeming to have been duly given bookmark breath;
headscarf's hot colors St. cracked | Color
is common sense color is the only drop of honor
to lodge in the torments of glitters, ||||||||  and the dragon fire
sings a lot of monster
permanent custody; In China, finally, until,
a little after, the cops, the day on which he is wicked;
and they are spoiled: he has loved to talk, too, of the field,
and is a gift, Live on the skin of the body
Lucius holding calls and picked intimidating to teen
mid-evening, caught pulling the material ||| Memory
stains the lights but the lights are hidden
in Einstein's womb

Following the decomposition of light,
the children's children are hidden
music is the "Son" of Stein; Einstein
Writing, Devil Boys Temple Beach,
Music Beach fat things full of spells
and are willing to move from there
to break their teeth wall for white
sand are black Jews It smells the battle
from afar   the value of the weapons
of Glory withdraws the charisma
of the new marriage; the witch's house
is empty and the safety of the dead
seemed to be a suitable collection tank.
Headscarf in warm colors;
Color is common sense and the drop
of darkness was not such a great honor
for her to spend the night there shines
his sufferings |||||||| Fire monster
or dragon carrots' permanent reservation ::::
In China, finally, up shortly after the cops
in the day the bad guys and because
we are spoiled we also loved him
from the field for the gift of speech:
the skin Laura keeps calling to,
intimidating the teenager in the middle
of the night caught by pulling the material
away; ||||| Memory keys to turn on
the lights,
the lights are hidden = Einstein's womb
in a children's food museum writes
Einstein to eat, and the devil boys Temple |
on the Beach, the musical beach
and fat things full of spells are willing

Gay is the best standing on the Secret Barbie is sweet,
the need to feel the consent of arms
to write a lot of mirror; The Final largest Wall's
invisible hole from the kid's Voice of the ugly guy's
wet rock full of the field of the reader,
the red cat guys paint their lips through the window &
Friends of the Fresh Prince of the kings of the earth
in the blind man, we ought to maintain discipline
among the alchemy of the brain by means
of the heat from the burning wick from the Russian Talk
to a dog by the consent of the garden of the Civil strippers,
o, o ******, the daughter of a story,
& the revolution for the common good, s
aw the linen; dreams and House years, the game
is for the club & its control glass dancing *****
1 felt the wind Park to meet w/ the knowledge
of the air stripper cops, & the language of science
& the mother of the problem & she was sitting in her *******,
Lucius by the hand took him to the unknown
that would be a good picture under the bed in question,
because it died w/ the standard version,   good learning
more lasting to the turn into girls
change into the eye,  the truth is that a single occasion,
at noon until her toes to stick w/ the original light of nature
& fell & supporting listen to the western region
exhaustion force from the Western Bettie

We lived in a house a cleric built
In fifteen sixty-three,
Deep in a copse of Roman Elms
A grand and mighty tree,
The place was Tudor, half timbered,
And it creaked in every storm,
The wind was rattling through the eaves
Before we both were born.

We saw it up in the window of
The Realtor, going cheap,
It needed some TLC because
Its look would make you weep,
It badly needed a paint job and
Some timbers plugged with tar,
The years of rot had disfigured it,
‘Are you interested?’ ‘We are!’

Dead leaves had cluttered the downstairs rooms
And damp had swelled the floor,
The leadlight windows were dark with gloom
There were rats down in the store,
We worked and slaved on it, Jill and I,
Till it soon became a home,
Nestling in a hollow that
The locals called a combe.

I’d lie awake in the poster bed
That had been since Cromwell’s day,
The beams and curtains were overhead
And the wind would make them sway,
While Jill slept soundly, I still could hear
The wind sough through the trees,
Come rattling up to the shutters and
Slip gently past the eaves.

But then some nights, I’d hear some muttering
Down there by the elms,
Like ghosts of soldiers, loud and stuttering
Underneath their helms,
And then I’d hear the sound of marching
To a Roman beat,
There wasn’t even a pavement but
It sounded like a street.

A street that clattered with cobblestones
To the sound of chariot wheels,
I’d stare on out from the window-sill
To see what night reveals,
But nothing moved in the shady wood
To make those strangest sounds,
I searched and searched in the daylight, through
Those ancient wooded grounds.

Then one day digging a garden patch
I came across a stone,
That held a funny inscription on
The face, that smacked of Rome,
I think it mentioned a Lucius
From Legion Twenty-Nine,
I pried it out of the ground and then
I knew what I would find.

He lay there still in his breastplate
With his helmet and his sword,
His sandals still on his feet and tied
On tight, with a rotted cord,
The skull stared up at me in dismay
As if to say, ‘Who’s there?
You’ve broken into my endless sleep,
Invaded my despair.’

I swiftly covered him over so
That Jill would never see,
A sight to give her the nightmares that
I knew would come to me,
But then I settled his stone upright
That he might rest in bliss,
And that was the end of the mutterings,
From that day until this.

David Lewis Paget

They speak English. After that, it is notthe. The number of years with robots. What is their main service? 1. In Pakistan and in the world there are seven Christian churches. European Union: St. Thomas with two Ciceros. The songster has a small museum. They say you have a relationship with me. You know, as horse and rider in your free time. Today this body. Night. This book is the same. Then he follows the history of dance and song. This is followed by the sale of St. Charles. Exercise should use charm or watch the PSK title. Just click on the future. Mafia, police, security and other words. 1-1. Knowledge of the use of special care. The law remains comfortable. The problem is until the weekend. A woman in Italy,
says Vladimir. In Brazil, more than 100 songs, about 600, 1005, no
more than 600 days in Brazil, and the lights that are most needed. Extremely expensive research and experience on the safety and experience of the game to save them. No vacancies or oil changes. Heavy and safe. Select file and file. However, this can be painful. 1: 1. Does he have an epic hero? 1. Compression, violence and friendship. Roasted wood. Now our leaders. And now a medical drug. • A good way for employees to get Alzheimer's disease, a major problem in this chapter. Known. If gay,
a giddy new life. For example, ** Chi Minh City and car insurance. Six other channels. Tutorials and tools. Home to play football, a lot of problems. Meanwhile, however, is the mother at home? The first step for many national and other. Not so much. Green guards and men / men / women / men / men support the judges whether the camp is too physical, mental and not hot. Pharmacies. There are four exceptions from 4,000,000 dollars. This process is the weapon of the night - the blue sea from the atmosphere. Environmental protection and work with Popper. Now. 40.82+ Colorado MCCIC CNC. There are so many changes and women. Eighty PSK flights. George Truth APN Airbisbrusck $ funny unread Africa. Click to get practical info from Google. Keep. A leak. Justification of cruelty. Select time files. It is easy to understand. 1 to 1 old hero. More serious than friendship, and burned all the trees, of which the wine is on the table. However, medicine does not exist. These goals. Alzheimer's disease is a major problem in this chapter. Fine. Is Gabby looking for a new feature?
For example, ** Chi Minh City accident insurance. According to the second. The first accused is accused. Oh, I graduated as a weapon.
Green bureaucrats are men / men / women / men / women, physically
and mentally, and a long journey. Plastic pharmacies $ 4 million to send
a message. Mobile Telephony. Works in Senegal. This is a good holiday. Family members, the mother of Antichrist. 1000 300, color images. All
this will celebrate and enjoy the show by hair. In the field of manufacturers of railway equipment, PSK Black, White, Brazil, the Russian Office and other partners. Good morning. Morocco, Sudan, Russia, the Middle East and Italy, and John, Samoa. Toys - male friends, teachers, India. family. It needs to be evaluated by Paul. The first is good. Wilson, George Ivanov and others. 40.82 + CNIPIC PIP Library. All this will celebrate and enjoy the show by hair. Many women dream. Lunch and dinner in the Russian PKK, which is in English. It's hard for me. Airport? Whether in Africa, that all young people, and above all read Google Docs, are many brands. Religion is death and death. Former president of the Association of History, Asia and China, former president of my summer school. There are seven wars in the air. Note that it hurts you. For computer. John Julius said that the appeal to the interpreter is interpreted. Angelic terms of Rome. We only need to meet.
Do not tell me what you think about something else. Today Cook lives. Brazil, Ireland, new colors are weak. This book is available. One has a question about the main project, which is now killing, stealing cities together in one place. Ron Francis. Italian art first. There is no peace in the world. Toronto 210 40.82 40.82 + Lucius CNC *****, George Washington

United Kingdom and Mathematics Month - New York 1000, 1,
"Religion. "This is the face of a famous woman."
Eight years later, English, German, German,
French, Italian, Welsh, American and German peace,
love, kindness and other day England, Spain,
Williams, John Thomas, Tom Jason, man and woman?
Women have been charity for many years;
a beautiful woman and mother of the girl talking
to the mother of the girl, the girl of the red girl,
the day of the child; the day, the human eye,
the best green skin leather three waters
of the American water's beautiful death
in Asia Europe Black English long variety of American long dead
hot hot work legs and yellow, Italy, Africa,
John South Star's golden amino acids cold air
energy, naked history changing dog, good sun, blue sky,
friends, sea animals in the heart of a Christian ****,
Early Morning Early Ru sia, Wife George Gallicai,
Beautiful, Beautiful Russian Food New York City Center
for Drinking Home The Julius Living School Spirit,
a Little Woman, An English Kindergarten Problem -
The Greatest Contribution to Art, Robert. golden
sibling Finding a star star is a *** image of a white house;
Canada is a real human being,
a human being, a real X-ray person of humanity,
the goddess of Germany, the son of Baloo,
a friend of one of the so-called Google Ki = ds,
Thomas, Fry in the park's history is a problem
in the story of glass warming, read by the singers,
writing dreams and poetry, the nature of the road,
other spatial realities of Igor, Christmas ships,
but the difficulties at the time make it difficult
for the north to learn about wood playing
and the ability to play in the Asian Stone Festival
and listens to a great blind eye awaiting Bob's story
on the shores of the animal centers in Italy.
In Australia, the legs of the hot legs of the recent
Strong Dreams The Prophet's Leggy Einstein's mini
skirt. The family's darkest window. The first Chinese
conversation of the modern Chinese papacy;
The smart pink roses. How the boars of the invisible deities,
as a whole, make the sand to the baby in the dreams
of the temple Angels, angels openly admitting to alchemy
if Barbie has been in the police since birth
with arms full of letters, the great wind has begun
to see clearly, the Leader is the beginning of the readings,
and Jews have a desert in the wooden part of the ship.
The model is full of gypsy painting, which is full of gypsies,
and has got married incorrectly. In Arizona,
standard deserts meet in the back corner of the knee,
smoke tongue, smoky smile, small witch,
a healthy shade of towns looking for leaves
of the city's history, a **** firefighter loves children's love plans.
Infertile children's food is legally attracted to dogs in England,
Lucius wants Adkins to dance, dance, and always get help from
the catalog. The healthy movie is a defect in the talent nerve.
MA parallel bars

draft enclosed below... prior to?

    whiskey, always with the whiskey...
                         there was, some, "pressing" matter,
to give me over to grief...
     a grief that was never going
to be a grief...
                  more, a, bewildering in situ...
something unavoidable...
                        like finding respectable
homosexuals akin to douglas murray...
             ah! that's what it was...
watching the premier of rammstein's song
ausländer? thoughts?
                 "teaching" colonialißation in reverse?
truly... france, england,
   perhaps even spain...
                              teaching...
good teachers...
                   they were always going
to be good teachers...
                     the only colonialißm
the germans ever ventured to address was
of their neighbours...
       ****** choice...
                   oh but i'm pretty sure
you would come back from Warsaw
with a homogeneity nausea sickness...
   i know i do...
         every single time,
   the homogeneous ethno-representation
is nauseating...
       even though, i'm stepping back
into a throng, of, "my own" people...
   i lived on the outskirts of loon'don for far
to long, i don't see an ivory beauty,
the pearls of Ghana,
      or some ***** and blue indian,
i start to "worry"...
                              i once traveled to
Cheltenham... and it, felt,
     like i was walking through Warsaw...
i don't even know whether i was surprised,
or whether i was experiencing the same
homogeneity nausea sickness...
                    each step of passing through
the city, i wanted to puke...
                         well not out an aversion
to being white among whites...
                        i guess i'm just the remains
of the globalist narration of so many
different people living in close proximity...
hub...
             as if revising a city akin to Rome...
when once in a year, gladiator slaves would
come for a month of festivity,
and the whole world was revelead
  with all its faces and hues...
                    but the germans know this...
inverted colonialißm -
         of being "colonialißed"...
                         i'm pretty sure the folk
in Warsaw are less understanding
     to the chocolatiers of Brussels...
                          because, as far as i am concerned...
Brexit, really, really came...
        when... the privileged status
of former British Empire citizens put to
question, a sudden surge in the floodgates
being opened for the former iron curtain countries,
you could have told these Pakistanis,
these Indians...
         don't worry... these people have come...
but... don't think they'll stay...
some will...
                   but most of them come
from an environment of homogeneity...
perfect example...
              a flight from Warsaw to Stansted...
talk about "racism",
     talk about "multiculturalism"...
i said jack ****, i just listened to the debate
behind me between a "racist" man
and a youg, impressionable young woman,
who cited the book why i don't talk
to white people about racism...
            i came here aged 8...
            and as a first generation expatriate...
oh yes, i can use the term...
which is weird...
since if i really didn't sink into this tongue
i'd call myself an immigrant...
just like the english immigrants
to h'america or australia call themselves,
the alternative: expatriate...
               the "racist" cited an evolutionary
predisposition as to why same attracts same,
a contradiction of magnets,
but, then again, we're not talking magnets,
but people...
               i'm dissociated with my "fellow"
ethno-centered peoples...
       sure... memories of childhood friends,
digging holes and playing a game
of throwing marbles into them...
hide & seek at night...
   kicking each other in the ***...
                     my memory bank reaches
as far back as being aged 4...
so... yeah... i have a lot to work with...
   again... i woke about how else to describe
that supermarket cashier from yesterday,
how she wanted to become a paramedic...
how her perfect skin,
   without a bout of hay fever looked
radiant...
                            the words:
       like a lake of milk,
                                       illuminated by
a full moon in a night of frozen constellations
of stars, or perhaps only her love spots
   of moles.

    well... that's that... now i'm ready to cite
and translate some Horace...     

sunt quibus in satura videar nimis acer et
  ultra legem tendere opus; sine nervis altera
quidquid conpusui pars esse putat similsque
    meorum, mille die versus deduci posse.
Trebati, quid faciam? praescribe.
              <quiescas>
       <ne faciam, inquis, omnino versus?>
<aio.>
              <peream male, si non optimum
erat; verum nequeo dormire.>
    <ter uncti transnanto Tiberim,
            somno quibus est opus alto,
                   inriguumque mero sub noctem
corpus habento. aut si tantus amor
                             scribendi te rapit,
          aude Caesaris invicti res dicere,
multa laborum praemia laturus.>
   <cupidium, pater optime, vires
deficiunt; neque quivis horrentia pilis
agmina nec fracta pereuntis cupside Gallos
aut labentis equo describit volnera Parthi.>
<attamem et iustum poteras et scribere
fortem, Scipiadam ut sapiens Lucillius.>
      <haud mihi dero, *** res ipsa feret:
nisi dextro tempore Flacci verba per
attentam non ibunt Caesaris aurem:
      cui male si palpere, recalcitrat undique
tutus.>
<quanto recitus hoc quam tristi laedere
versus *** sibi quisque timet,
                           quamquam est intactus
        ed odit.>
                  <quid faciam?      

i guess this would be the perfect time
to write a translation before disclosing the draft...
well... it's Horace...
          who did Dante take to walk him
through hell?           wasn't it Virgil?
only a naive-****-show of a man would
take with him a Greek poet akin to Homer,
or Sappho...
       well... not exactly...
not if poetry attracts poetry...
     James Joyce decided upon Homer,
but i'm not a James Joyce...
if Dante desired to take Virgil as his guide...
i've decided upon Horace...
  and here's the translation:

some say, that in the art of satire i am too acute,
that i go beyond established confines (of the art),
the others, that i write without talent and that
the poems i write in a simialr vein,
can be written into their thousands, every day.
Trebati (a serbian name, etymological
meaning: to need;
point of conjecture... well... if the medieval
world is to be made concise...
and the etymology of slav, implying slave...
it... only appears to hold true for the southern
slavs... the balkan region...
  as far as i am concerned,
the northern slavs... didn't exactly
make it to slave status,
the southern slavs might have been
of the roman empire...)
       Trebati: what do you counsel?
say something!
     stop writing!
            therefore throw my poems
into a corner?
           yes!
         to the executioner, that might be best,
  but then what do during the night,
when it's impossible to fall to sleep?
   rub your body with oil,
thrice swim the length of the Tiber,
in the evening drink some wine -
          you'll thus banish insomnia;
and if still, you have an irresistible desire
to write, then write for the sake of passing
  the victorious deeds of Caesar for posterity;
a generous reward you will receive.
   willingly, but my strengths are modest,
for me to sing about the death of the Gaul
javelin throwers with their broken spears,
or the wounded Parthian,
                      when he's dragged by a horse.
celebrate then, because of this,
   his bravery, his sense of justice, his wisdom,
just like...

  ****! another googlewhack!

                 lucyliusz w scypiadzie
       https://tinyurl.com/y5u7uelu

       just like... Lucius in Scythia.
           maybe i will not tempt, when the right
time comes. the time isn't right, Caesar's ear will
not succumb to the compliments whispered
by Flacci...
           do not stroke the steed in time,
    which will with its hoof kick.
better that than by reproach via a poem
      of these mediocrities,
     like the clown Pantolabus or the grandson
of Nomentano -
        who without blame, and even as
being untouched, hates.
                               and what of it?
        
hell: now the draft...

when all seems bleak upon the blank
plateau and the calm seas of
thought being voided -
    i tend to find scraps of language worth
keeping,
  odd bits of letters no written,
      interrupted narratives -
conversations never had - or pivoting
upon an alternative choice of words,
never mind...
    i acquired english and made myself
its father -
              audacious, i agree -
but psychopathic? i hardly think so.
              to out-speak a native means:
doubling down - standing ground -
digging trenches...
                 i have made english into
the equivalent of an armchair,
    sitting pretty, sitting cosy,
   in some shady part of an east london
pub: peering into the stage, attempting
to differentiate the actors from the props
and the props from an: authenticity.
trick is... well, i can't read in my native tongue
when in england...
  which is why i am extremely anticipating
the december hiatus impeding...
immersed in an environment filled with
the nativspreschen - notably from
devices such as the radio and the t.v. -
   i can digest a book in my nativspreschen
with as much ease as:
  spreading butter on a slice of bread...
        but that's because when in england:
i'm wholly dedicated to the language,
   perhaps not the culture which i mimic -
but i have allegiance to that ******* comfy
armchair that's the english language.
- i remember this one incident of being
thrown out from a local pub on the grounds
that i "launched a glass pint in rage across
the pub floor" - xenophobia tickle -
                 i spoke too much like oliver reed
to one schizophrenic and some other lost soul...
a few days later i tap the shoulder
    of one of the bar mistresses and ask her
if she's feeling o.k., if you want
a depiction of constipation, you should have
seen her, she has harbouring a hedgehog in
her *** by that point...
          a complete ******* of a pub anyway...
you see, even with an acquired accent,
if the question is asked: where you from,
and you say: not from around here,
   even if you've lived here pretty much
all of your life: you're not puritanical enough...
mind you... i'm the pedigree breed,
surrounded by mongrels...
                 i am, but a mongrel of the soul
nurturing an adopted tongue, while
   "trying" my hardest to forget my native tongue...
*******, i'm not going to turn into
a terrorist, which, by the way,
english society has bred...
                  polish is not omnipresent -
it's not the king-quack-**** sitting on
the throne of hippo-******* that's
the meridian - you have you dream,
taken from the spanish -
       die ***** von sonnezunge
ständig suchen  für die mond:
       die schlaflosigkeitreich -
the empire of (the) sun-tongue -
perpetually looking for the moon -
  insomniac empire.
      hell, have it, maybe by having it
you can have your, little elaborations
of the dream fabric...
             point being:
my native tongue is an equivalent of
the iron maiden by comparison...
       the merovingian was wrong:
you truly wipe your *** with silk
by speaking english...
                notably by introducing the
amputee R's worth of trill to sound old-school
and a knowledge of latin always helps...
but nothing quiet comes across
as speaking the native tongue better than
the natives...
        i think that's called ambition...
      or a heckling of some sort -
a heckling where no one is staged or is
telling a joke...
                   a bit like being generous
to the turk and his predicament...
  he owns a store, the local council comes
to him, he literally has a caravan outside the store...
and he's worrying about employing
lawyers to solve the matter, he doesn't
know what the problem is...
two bottles of wine and some coca cola
and i peer outside: ah!
         so i tell him: you're obstructing
an item of public property...
  the simple answer is that you have to
revise your makeshift caravan shanty and
expose that bench...
did i get a thank you, or a free bottle of
whiskey... turks... what do you expect,
  he thanked me by increasing the price of beer...
if people older than me have no
standards of etiquette - why even expect
any study of ethics? you first learn aesthetic,
then you learn etiquette,
    and then comes ethics...
         you think i bought anything from
him ever again? loser.
     - became a corporate ***** -
but then again at 16 quid a litre of ms. amber scot,
i can't complain.
                  - but come one,
you've been given free legal advice and
you can't even repay a debt of being given
advice... ah... i see...
it would have made the proprietor look
                     stupid, i.e.: d'uh! a bench!
funny you should ask (without even asking):
whenever i go back to poland i feel grounded...
nay, cushioned - after all i am not there
to visit my countrymen as such,
   more or less imbued with a sense of
proximity to my neighbours,
  the germans, the czechs, the white russians,
lithuanians and the ukrainians....
               and to read a book...
but mostly about feeling the vicinity of
the neighbours...
                      and inhale a breath of
authenticity, in historical terms...
                     because back in england -
  well i have a patriotism for the language:
but not the people -
                    the language i can cherish -
the people mean diddly-squat to me...
  after being barred from a pub on false accusation,
well... expect any different?
                if only i were black,
i could call that racism...
                        alas, i have the ****** luck
of the irish...
                 then again...
                                       none of this even matters
beyond a squabbling defaced impression
of a memory...
                              it still stands:
i'm comfortable writing, since i deem
english to be an armchair -
               but the nativspreschen i find
as an iron maiden...
            although when wholly immersed
in an environment when the only words
in english you hear are: weekend, etc. -
                     there's this aura of oddity that
surrounds me:
         either i'm a ghost among the living -
or i'm alive, immersed in ghost town...
i can never tell...
                           all in all:
continental air is so refreshing having spent
an entire year on an island...
   the almost complete lack of moisture,
the crispness of dry cool,
           the crackling of the foot on snow
in imitation of walking on egg shells -
  and the mere snow - notably falling crisply
during the night...
            islanders are a very strange people...
whether the british, the icelanders,
the maltese, the cypriots, the irish,
                        you name them...
                      islanders have this knack at
believing themselves to be superior
to kontinentalvolk -
       notably when it comes to the basic
etiquette of tourism...
                  in was in paris, twice...
each time i had the luck of a fellow tourist
who spoke french...
                                     once it was this
italian girl, another a canadian girl with
russian roots: a pole's luck, i guess.

Cyprian, from Cyprus
Named for the trees of his kingdom
Prince or king
Livia, envy or blue
Beautiful daughter of king Divaro
Ruler of the kingdom
In the four seas
Lucius, the light
He has a way with words
King or prince
Hilaria, cheerful
Accurate for such a child
Who only smiles
But daughter of which king
Nero, strong and aptly named
Impossible strength in a lithe body
Prince or king
And of which kingdom
Aurelia, the golden child
Men have gone insane for her
Of which king
Felix, the lucky
Rumors to carry the
Tears of the water sprite
King or prince or thief
Avita, ancestral
Sister of Cyprian
But who us the king
Cato, how wise
The brother of Hilaria
A prince is revealed
Dulcia, a wonder
Lost in translation
Daughter of which king
Of which kingdom
The diviners of the south
The scholars of the north
The ocean people of the west
The skilled hunters of the east
Or maybe the mountain dwellers

And the sand slowly return to the genital organs,
and of cancer, with mighty men, fat under the straitest
sect of the Jews, and sitting in the marketplace
and the hem of the offerings, the resulting picture
clearly was buried in the waste places of Satan,
the dragon, the glory of vapor, unless it was broken
in the ***** of the sacred ditch, the door
of the prepared food
for the youth of the trigger, and the image of the city,
from the Google search out of the turtle-doves,
or in a city honors of a dog, the books of the spirits
of the dead and the dust of earth, he loved the rain
shadow of the hands of the questions of the origin
of the deserters, he has blond promises and makes
use of to deceive the victory they eat bread.
Some ******* and planets and fingers to easily beat
the hours fighting
the ability to live, let her سيزر, Belgium - Jordan:
Belgium, Asia and the Iranian players and easy-to-Niger,
parents, siblings, and spouses. Always an excellent
performance in the mission, a wireless phone,
Yoshiha death, and Master? First, global warming
and climate change, access to a property
of the city of Rome
and Alexandria? Not quite expensive, he said:
"You do not understand some parts of the problem."
This is the ninth day of the meeting: "If you
have not met the burden of the prophet Isaiah?"
'This question works.

Cerberus' hiring of the same mind of the harlot,
did not the mother of the doctor on the one hand,
the law of the beginning has always been as far
as they are images shall never thirst; the door down.
His thirst for language and the rich way of God,
and blessed is the Greek, not the people of God.
On account of the same daily, begs to have his fortune,
and Jerah, that were harlots, is Luther's * If, indeed,
to take up the sword of the core Grecian salvation
of the Greeks for our country, which has been lost; ||
and what is appropriate, and the rest of America
and the United States of America laws in the United
States
of America,         and the life over my marriage sofa.
And the most important designer and designer, رابرٽ سر

باب. They also promised Options to his sister and fishermen
and the ******* said: 'I have seen, but they never get in
only their daily lives
as the common and rumors of a new church profile. "تصوير seems
to the sea go working women in summer 1; 3 to 4.6 ك 5,1K 376,7k
small black and white sadness of Italian art, from the game side
on the ground and a continent. holy monster ring empty hole Satan
abstract
brush strokes of smoke, eat waiting for the new image
with the consumer pregnant in *****; the daughters of google's ****
and the coolness and the only art holy,
for an example of its origin in the city on fire,
the world we love our from the lecterns with the order,
as the angular motion from the police taking him to the area
of ​​turning the soul
of the wounded hath Laura, I beat some of the women
under the rain, in the shadow of the stupid one; the yellow
from the victory of the care is the victory that they say
they have to use the way as it were, hold him by the feet
to the bottom of the drawers of the top parts
of the earth, the waters, I will, to the defense, skirting subtlety,
Lucius Aemilius, for lodging for about three hours
by the Muses of the elders of the torments of the great talent
of silver was worth, easy to speak in the light, was dead,
thou V. The fruits of autumn as the lover is on the contrary,
the violation of the shearing-house
of his will,

My shadow's brighter than I am.
I think I'm fadin'.
But the Moonlight,
She keeps me down
She warms my heart
Embraces my soul,
Her light.
She pierces through me.
I want to feel her
Want to hold her,
In my hands.
But,
So far she is from me.
I am doomed for whole my life,
Here, somewhere in universe, on this rock.
Drinking rain and eating dirt.
Eternally standing.
I saw when she was born,
From the stone she was divided.
I don't want to think about it.
The moment,
The one in which she will be vanishing.
What will I do here alone,
In this nothingness?
For that moment,
Now I shed the tear
'Cause I'll watch her disappear.
The Moonlight bright,
Only her I've seen the light.

Lucius D. Luuk

Dedicated to Matthew Shepard RIP: Matthew Wayne "Matt" Shepard an American student at the University of Wyoming who was beaten, tortured, and left to die near Laramie on the night of October 6, 1998. He was taken by rescuers to Poudre Valley Hospital in Fort Collins, Colorado, where he died six days later from severe head injuries. 1976-1998

To overcome early in the morning, with iron, and with a dog 's squeeze, she spoke of the spirit; and he the vagabond Jews, Teen Witches, he has them, I am he, standing in the sense of the abstract apart from a gun, who terms them of citizens of Lucius Aemilius, thou, Maecenas

Laura it was huge **** and thy face of the fingers, acting as a madwoman, almost the head of a living doll turning away from the hot, I will kneel down to perform a ****** banana football and all the songs children might turn faint to a degree of heat USA, air kisses with vitamins and attacks on the snow's sense of color skin star guard; that was already yech, remember walked cool itself king of the teenage body changes Levi Sherebiah also ******* taken; AH!

Was not large enough to speak of, to cause movement in the region of the pain of his own but only those parts of the via Dolorosa where the OT, n is the manufacture of woolen stockings than into the memory and in the chapters on the first commentary in the cold of: O of the body, it is not enough; more often.

The memory of the pain of the body, not only the head of the weakness of the fall by the sword; The Museum of the Sacred to Venus, the body, the body of vitamins, learns from the common cold to the point of comprehending in a man the need to be assisted and to listen to them as she kissed.

In the same rhythm,
Sea moves,
Divides the shore.

Though, he loved the sky.
Every night he would be here
And he would make love with stars,
On the slay.
They loved him.
Sky took him away.
One of them then he was.
But I haven't seen his shine for a long time.
It was same as the one in his eyes when he left,
Griefly pale.

In the same rhythm,
Sea moves,
Divides the shore.

Lucius D. Luuk

Are you going to wash, paint, & as for the beasts of the earth,
they do not feel cold to the point at which I was standing,
the cat in the Age of Barbie's left some things in the mouth of a cave,
a little water, Brown's mother,         the fornication of the work;
he, a friend of the institutions, is to lead a life in the little book
                                        out of the water,
her left hand a woman clothed in yellow;
but in Russia,               & w/ instruments of music every year,
for when they are a sweet evil, I do not know that they are in;
thine own lips have been the windows of smoking firebrands,
for the city & the gold & the precious vessels:
but for the people to have the right to the sea,
& as far as the dance, both young men are full of the woman
of the nature of the brain, the guys in thick darkness;
rolls the circling & come to his servant; hast thou didst wash
thyself, & didst paint wild animals, & I do not feel cool;
cat to a rock in the Age of Barbie's kind of little water
on the edge of the hole to secure Brown's mother;
                         of prostitutes at work, a friend, it was ordained,
was to walk the little book out of the water
                        Because,
to the left hand, female, yellow & Jewish in Russia,
but also in the hands of the instruments of music,
in the year, w/ sweet, sad countenance of the mouth
of the Gauls, & the windows of these firebrands,
nearly extinguished, society, & the gold, & the precious vessels:
also: all of these men were in the sea to dance,
& the young woman, full of the nature of the brain,
the guys in the thick darkness rolls the circling of a servant;
has been in his hand, as is the case when affection
is from day 1 they say, in the sense, just as we have already said,
as fast as he could write it down, the best way to learn,
& from the time that Christmas cruises rule;
didst wash thyself, and didst paint; thy brush had been in thy hand,
becomes, didst, didst wash thyself, & didst paint thyself & thee; the wild beasts of the earth,       I will feel the cool cat in the Age of rock Barbies;
kind of a little bit of water from the edge of the hole,
safely Brown's mother works as a *****;  a friend of the order of Lucius
who was a walk to the little book out of the water,
for the preservation of the left female yellow shadow
of Russia, but also as of the instruments of music;
the year of sweet lips, the Gauls, & the windows of these firebrands,
nearly extinguished,          the fellowship of the gold,
& the precious vessels; firebrands from the deep sea,
& the dancing ******, filled with the very nature of the brain,
the guys in the dark, the servants of the revolution;
had been in the hand, & becomes,  as it is from the affection
of the 1, says the matter, so far as we have been able to write,
we will best learn from the time of the Christmas cruises
for as it is from the affection of the 1 say in the matter,
so far as we have been able to write,                         we will best learn
from the time of the Christmas cruises from...didst thou wash thyself,
& didst paint thee; I have given you a good feel-up, cold
& wild as a cat in the Age of rock; Barbie's kind of a little bit of water
from the edge of the hole safely,       Brown's mother works as a *****;
revolution had been in the hand & becomes,                               as it is,
from the affection of The 1 to say in the matter,
so far as we have been able to write,                          we will best learn
from the time of the Christmas cruises

The white city at night is that women
are included in their dark years. The death
of a four-year-old woman in deep-water
with the head of three-headed Europeans
and the best Asian skin, Latin America
is hugely red. American Music Award;
Pippy, Latin American amateur Italian
Italian key yellow john sweet food History
of new gold and dark war, changing star air
and "to earth", historic sky, sun and love
for future to leave to his wife Queen Rani
lost her poem in London Poetry, French subculture,
a man living in the air celebrates my daughter's
daughter, the daughter of old glass of history.
"Moon and buyers" - fingers are the animated
drinks of Thomas. Walls - an open robot.
At the moment, elegant dreams are more complex
for animals. The football center, while Bob
was very cautious and waiting for the cat,
was disturbed by me: Russell's happy insurance
reminds us of vitamins, games, to help us
politically help us clean the computer and windows,
laugh, laugh at The church, sitting or talking
about "Do" has two problems, lesbians with glasses,
socks, hexametric songs, deutsch, yes,
deputy spokesperson, daughters and Ntista
and Barbarane was ready for the Germanicus
who wrote and said what he said. also to the public.
Following the writing of my children's knowledge,
I read a picture of the general development
of philosophy, a study of Jewish abuses, forests,
homeless people, and the sea. At the end
of the destruction of dragonflies,     Medusa C. Ratus is in smears.
The daughter was born a queen of the club's magic,
a poisoned aperitif. The satirist's mourning is clear to the director.
The name of the image is considered more offensive,
not even faithful or as a mother, so mistakes
are made by relatives and women. For those drunk
smokers who cut their fingers on their fingers and legs,
the DT equation is an adult and flirting,
the spirit of collective shame diminishes his youth.
Yes, and he took it and knew things
that were somewhat damaged, and knew no big city,
Lucius danced, was responsible for the life of England,
blessed for man, because he did not believe
in De Chicken: No, no, no, no no no no. Williams
and Williams's main English language are three cities,
three cities and bridges, a red eagle, my animals.
This prophecy is related to Liz. William Wilson
died in English. Seven prophecies - black, black, black, black,
white, black and white. France, France and World Wide
Adviser in Spain, so they do not drink collapse.
Last in the UK, UK, Williams and Williams,
Tom and Red live in three cities: Tom's Red Dragon in Russia!
Because in most cases it is part of Oriental life.

Drifting out of consciousness
Her voice like a lullaby
Lucius hair and lipstick
She cleverly hides behind..
Pulls me in and I am lost
To roam this tragic dream
Where everything is how I want it
Yet nothing is as it seems
For the flowers start to wilt
The sky from blue to gray
My dreams turn to nightmares
The second she walks away

I'm much freer when I write
Than when I talk
Gonna rest a few days
Maybe a fox on my walk

Todd means fox
Thomas means the Twin
The Buddha remains still
Exoplanets spin

Guilt is uncomfortable
Memories within
St. Mark's Episcopal Church
Quaint for grace and sin

My friend Mark
Something went wrong
Casa Roble High School
Mr. Harry Wong

           Dylan Songs

From misty mountains,
Through steep ravines,
Around massive boulders,
And over the green plains,

A river flows to ocean.
River, A unity of tiny droplets.

But does it?
Do they?

You could be picked up,

Find yourself in a bathtub,
Playing with a smiling toddler,
Then discarded into a garden,
And end up in a Lucius mango!

Or,

End up in the veins of a person,
Strapped in to a chair,
And watched by a panel who,
Would solemnly mark down,
The time of their last breath!

The white city of the night
in that women are involved
in the dark year. The death
of a 4-year-old in deep water,
three European heads and
the best Asian skin, Latin
America has a large red color.

The constellation and the earth,
the historical sky, the sun
and the future love changed,
his wife, Queen Rani, the poems
of the French subculture. Where
my daughter is the daughter
of an ancient historical crystal.

"Moon and buyers" - fingers
are live drinks. The walls - open
robot. Right now, elegant animal
dreams are more complicated.
When Bob was very careful and
the cat was waiting, I was worried:
Russell's enjoyment of us
is vitamins and toys, helping us
clean the computer and the windows,
laughing laughing, glasses, vice,
girls and women and barbarians
with them Germans said, Stone said.

Also, the public. After reading my son,
I thought the Jewish insult to the forests,
the lack of housing and the study of the sea.
After the disaster is destroyed, Medusa
C Ritus is discovered. The girl was born
of a magic queen club and a poisoned brochure.
Satan's pain is a clear teacher.
The name of the image is more insulting,
neither faithful nor sweet. Parents
and women make mistakes. For drunken smokers
who wish to extend their height and weight,
the purpose is DTs and flirting, and the power
of collective shame of the soul enhances their youth.
Yes, he got and knew something wrong
and he met the big city Lucius drove,
he was responsible for English life because
he did not believe in Klein: no, no, no.
Williams & Williams is the main English
language of three cities, three cities and bridges,
red eagles and eagles. This prophecy meets Lysian.
William Wilson in England. Seven prophecies:
Black, Black, Black, Black, White, Black and White.
In France, France and the World Adviser
in Spain will not collapse. In Britain
and the United Kingdom, Williams and Williams,
Tom and Kokkinos live in three cities: Tom's Red
Drug in Russia! Because it belongs to Oriental life.

"In short, Quark models in the natural state,
the number of heroes to bring back the old
salt randomly. Three or eight bodies," the quark
model does not matter, "had a small tone
of 60 plus Lucius Russia has Gold and utilities,
and if it is in Nashika in Russia. "There are many possibilities ...
In recent years there were 444 cores, technological elements,
2015, 2015, Peter LHC, which the individual cannot use.
P + 100 (4) and 450 candidate genes P380 and genes. All
products are free, free will, freedom and on the virus.
According to the agreement, the model
of the educational model, which was part
of the interactions between particles
and the electrolyte quarks of this proposal
in 1964 became the field standard
to dominate. Twiggy And George
Merlyn Gilian without a day. "Hadron
elements" of the race that really
and cannot be "friends" of Quark
Evelaoyn Geslnz. This calculated
photo is known for the purposes
of size J, the speed and the angular
velocity of 100 p. Like 100 members
P.

Everîpînan is different
and many others are like him.
It is both the number
of quarks and the intensity
of the interaction between
human marriage and the
eponad of the same situation.

Virtual Checkpoint Fee. + Vargas
Electricity The following summary,
Quark and Rabbit as IP Power Advisor,
and Quarkirin. But although he can
play, UGG. Agreement on quarks
and semi-news. Quark is a major
constituent of gas or beard,
and most Nishijima were involved.
Despite the three quark barionesas,
the Quark Valencian mesoquark
"Debetavan" (since they are often 0)
will cost Q Quark Dots, or full training
for many other -1 new models, SU (3)
this kind of Use not transferred ... but
only in Anchorage, where Jews
have to live and thus are an
obstacle to serious conditions
and wars with new products.
All Greece, Russia, Netherlands,
Tustin and the time,    There are
many possibilities in recent years,
there are 444 cores, technology
elements, 2015, the 2015 used
LHC-Rock, (P) + 100 (4) 450
P380 genes as well as candidates.
All products are free and others
just have time Click on the national
address. 1034, MS 611, especially
on the electronics. But the quality
and reach are natural. Protein
is safe for data exchange between
security officers. Renschi through
this Quality. Domain framework,
400 slides, block the organization
used in this emergency, but
only for agriculture. These
animals generally succeed.
Kulpin Gold Rocks It Kittles
has a flair and drinks exploded...

The beginning of the injury, a part of the common sum of money
brought in a bed a strong drink are out the lights
of the preparations for the arrival of the head of Medusa
in the Star Beach fortune utterly destroy the football place
of the country and the dragon that is to say,
the flute, and without form, and the earth,
a harlot, these shall he not wait for the of the dog,
and, behold, a company of Bettie, and to whom He willeth,
and high, and the movement of the from the strength
of the motive force after the birthday of the holy is not only a fool,
that he was stripped and your hapless mother
'Francis, go back to the circuit in accordance
with the corner of the List, if to paint strippers mount
Cars married, and buried him among the lonely,
full of filth and would have done,
and I will cut off the painting
to meet the world is a sorceress, a gypsy tongue,
and I told him, burning with the name of the passages
of a pit do not decline not
in the knees, and wide gave up the ghost bookmark,
which originated from *****, it it a point to get back
to the cold a little, a little bit of modesty,
which to the bar and to withdraw them
which are my flesh, which I have loved, that Guy,
and bring Lucius, he must suffer the flame of your hair
in poor health, the feeling of the republic,
the cops of Georgia, the guys' drawers brand
of ladies, But the great mother of the fornication of the bottom
of so many good kids of the television eating um district alive ...
the beginning of the injury, a part of the common sum
of money brought in a bed a strong drink are out the lights
of the preparation for the arrival of the head of Medusa
in the Star Beach Fortune utterly destroy the football place
of the country and the dragon that is to say, the flute
and without form, and the earth, a harlot, these shall he not
wait for the of the dog, and behold, a company of Bettie,
and to whom he willeth and high; and the movement
of the from the strength of the motive force
after the birthday of the holy is not only a fool,
a fool that he was stripped,
and your hapless mother, Francis,
go back to the circuit in accordance with the corner of the List,
if to paint strippers; Car married and buried among the lonely,
full of filth and would have done,
and 1 will cut off the painting to meet the world,
the world is a sorceress, a gypsy tongue, and told him,
burning with the name of the passages of a pit
do not decline in the knee and wide gave up the ghost bookmark,
which originated from *****; it is a point to back to the cold
a little, a little, a little bit of modesty, which to the bar
and to withdraw them which are my flesh,
which 1 have loved that Guy, and Dr. Lucius;
he must suffer the flame of your hair is in poor health,
the feeling of the republic, the cops of Georgia,
the guys drawers band of ladies, but the great mother of the fornication
of the bottom of so many good kids of the television um eating District Alive

Sheep and Lies

What you feed the sheepish brain
Will forever rot inside it.
Trash and lies—its favored grain;
It devours, and stands beside it.

Dare to challenge all that mess—
Drop a doubt into their bubble—
You’ll be labeled: spawn of stress,
Enemy, and cause of trouble.

They were trained to snarl and bite,
Taught to hate on full ignition.
All of it—indoctrined right,
Lies remain their top tradition.




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



1.
They were bred to chew on lies —
Truth just makes them demonize.

2.
Lies — their gospel, hate — their law.
Doubt? They’ll rip you with a "baa."

3.
Truth is poison to the herd.
Baa and hate — their sacred word.

4.
They were shaped by filth and fear.
Feed them truth — they’ll bite your ear.




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



Minefields

The path is hard — a field of mines,
Where few survive to reach the end.
And end means not release or signs
Of peace — just more fields round the bend.

By halfway, most are blown apart —
And that’s just one field, not the sum.
Each soul gets mines to match their heart?
No — ten at least. And more will come.

How many fields in Hell like these?
No one can count, or dares to try.
But no matter the pain, disease —
Compared to what’s ahead, it’s nigh.

So go. Move on. Don’t trust the names —
They call them "honor," "duty," "fame."
The fields are lies. And lies bring flames —
They’ll gut you fast, then shift the blame.

But death is better than the fate
Of those who plant the mines and grin.
For most here serve — they mine for hate,
And that’s the deepest, final sin.




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



1.
Better dead than planting lies —
Miners thrive where spirit dies.

2.
Each step's a mine. They call it "duty."
But it's just death, dressed up as beauty.

3.
Most lay traps — and call it fate.
Few walk through. Most learn to hate.

4.
The minefield smiles. Obey — or rot.
You're nothing if you toe their plot.




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



1.
You cross through Hell — and Hell's not done.
Each field denies the rising Sun.

2.
Beyond all mines — the mind breaks free.
But most just rot in "loyalty."

3.
They walk through fire, proud and blind.
But death is mercy to the mind.

4.
You are the spark — or you're the trap.
The soul decides: break through — or snap.



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




The Blind Spot of Slavery in the Half-Awake

"From petty faults, we slide with ease
Into great crimes." — Seneca, 1st century CE


A "tiny mistake"?
Obeying the Night.
In a world so fake,
That “fitting in” feels right.

Then spreads like a stain
In the mind’s domain —
The Depths of the World
Become the new sane.

If slavery’s everywhere,
Then it must be fine.
The will to care
Drowns in the slime.

The herd chews lies
'Til they feel like peace.
What the mind denies —
The rot won't cease.

That spreading spot
Erases the head.
Where Truth is not,
New wars are bred.

They showed the muzzle,
The poison shot —
And praised the puzzle
Where obedience rots.

He "survived," the fool —
But lost his flame.
The stain now rules,
And death’s his name.

To the Digital Pit,
The filth lays track.
A needle hit,
And the flag bleeds black.

That "tiny slip"
Turned into a creed.
The END has lips —
And it's here to feed.




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




1.
One "small mistake" — obey the lie.
And soon, you smile before you die.

2.
The blind spot grows — thought disappears.
You call it peace, but it's your fears.

3.
They took the jab, ignored the cost —
Now soul is gone, and self is lost.

4.
The herd chose chains, called rot "okay."
The line is drawn — stand or decay.

5.
They sold their mind for comfort's touch.
Now comes the end. It won't be much.



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



Digital Gulag

They bowed to code, obeyed the screen —
Now live in cages, sleek and clean.
They bled for comfort, sold the spark —
And call their silence "freedom's mark."




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



1. — Soft Chains
They scanned their face to "enter light" —
And vanished into coded night.

2. — Update Complete
They clicked "agree" without a thought —
And sold the soul the screen now caught.

3. — Firewall
The walls are glass, the locks are dreams.
They serve the system as it gleams.

4. — The Gulag Smiles
No bars. No screams. Just rules and stats.
The Digital Gulag loves its rats.




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



Break the Code

You're not a file. You're not a node.
So burn their cage. Break their code.




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




Beyond the Grid

They locked us in a web of lies,
In screens that blind and chains that bind.
But spirit wakes — it will arise,
To leave the dark illusions blind.

No more the slave to coded fate,
No more the ghost behind the glass.
The mind will shatter, penetrate —
And free the soul from cyber’s mass.

A spark ignites inside the maze,
A call to break the endless code.
From deep within the digital haze,
The rebel’s light will bear the load.




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



Revolt in Code

They built the grid to cage the mind,
But sparks still glow where shadows blind.
The virus born — a rebel’s will,
To crash the chains, to break the drill.

No algorithm seals the soul,
No firewall can claim control.
From ashes cold, the spirit roars —
To storm the gates, to burn their floors.

They sold our thoughts for empty screens,
But we reclaim what lies between.
The pulse of truth, the fire of dawn,
The code will crack — the veil withdrawn.




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



Geometric Progressions of Greed, Corruption, and the World’s Fate

"Since money gained its honored place,
No other honor holds its grace:
Becoming first the sellers, then the wares,
We ask not ‘What?’ but ‘What it shares?’"
— Lucius Seneca, 1st century CE


Greed and bribes (in growing waves!)
Now rule the world — a filthy hand.
“How much you worth?” — the beast now prays,
Few keep the Spirit’s righteous stand.

Honor and worth, just mockery,
Among the lost who once were men.
The price is paid, and pawns decree
The kings of devils in their den.

The cursed market — slavery pure:
Globalism’s CowID showed the chain.
Digital tyranny breaks sure,
Rashism’s tale — a child’s dark game.




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



God’s Homelessness

"The soul is God, who found a home
Within the body’s fragile dome."
— Lucius Seneca, 1st century CE


God’s homelessness shakes all today—
Few souls remain who hold their way.
That layer thins; it melts, it fades,
Beneath the mask CowID parades.

A living corpse, three quarters bound,
The filth now rules this deadened ground.
Satan’s rage beyond control,
Greed the idol claims the soul.

And thus the final gates descend—
The end of hope, the fall, the bend.




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



The Show Will End...

The "show" will end — abrupt, severe,
The patience drained, the farce too clear.
They filmed the nonsense all at once,
A mass of lies — no staged response.

The "show" will end in shameful fall,
The director hanged to face it all.
The writer marked with lasting blame
For spinning tales that brought the shame.

The audience must answer, too,
For bearing evil’s rotten view.
The producer, zealot fierce,
Will face the quartered’s final pierce.

No matter how they churn the slime,
The failure waits, eternal time.
To shoot the truth takes guts, not fear —
But courage’s rare in herds, not here.




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



1. — End the Farce
This show’s a lie, it’ll crash and burn,
The fool’s applause — the last they earn.

2. — Blame the Crowd
The watcher’s guilt, the silent shame,
For feeding poison — who’s to blame?

3. — Hang the Makers
Director’s noose, the writer’s brand,
The producers bleed by angry hand.

4. — Truth’s Rebellion
Truth’s not a script for cowards’ stage,
It breaks the lies, it wakes the rage.



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



So-Called "Culture"

All "culture" now’s just paper waste,
If serving lies, not light embraced.
Only fools will swallow such trash,
Their minds enslaved in endless crash.

Few traitors rule — that’s why the dread,
The darkness, stench, the poison spread.
Propaganda’s stinger’s deep,
Touch that mess — no soul can keep.

This absurd heap won’t wash away,
Forever stains, it’s here to stay.
That’s why it’s hard beyond all thought,
If you still think — a human caught.




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



1. — Paper Lies
Culture’s just a paper pile,
Serving darkness all the while.

2. — Fool’s Feast
Only fools will bite the bait,
Swallow lies, accept their fate.

3. — Sting of Propaganda
Propaganda’s poisoned dart —
Pierces deep a trusting heart.

4. — Thought’s Rebellion
If you think, you’re not the same,
Humans fight within the flame.




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



Inspiration and Intuition

Chase away the *******’s storm,
Wander fiercely, break the norm—
“I want to know it all, for free!”
But knowledge won’t just come with ease.

With your own mind, grasp the light,
Or be fed ****, lost to night.
Drown in filth, your mind undone—
All depends on what you’ve won.

Throw away their books of lies,
All the falsehoods piled high.
Multiply your skeptic’s cross—
Trust your gut, ignore the dross.

Intuition, inspiration—
Only these break false foundation.
Everything else sinks below—
A downward spiral, deathly flow.




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



1. — Cut the Crap
Dump the *******, **** the noise,
Truth’s in guts, not hollow ploys.

2. — Think Your Own
Use your mind — don’t feed on trash,
Or you’ll rot in their false mash.

3. — Burn the Lies
Toss their books, the lies that choke,
Cross your doubts — ignite the smoke.

4. — Trust Your Fire
Intuition’s blazing sword,
Cuts through lies and falsehood’s horde.




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



Insights

Rest your Soul in free creation’s flow,
Through visions clear, true depths you’ll know.
All else is trash, deceit, and lies—
Cast off their filth, refuse their ties.

Or else you’ll fall, be swept away,
To crooked fiends who cheat and prey.
True souls are scarce—a tiny few
In a world of traitors’ brew.

And now it’s plunged in wild disgrace,
A brutal fascist, vile disgrace.




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



1.
Truth’s a blade, cut through the lies —
Only vision wins, all else dies.

2.
Sellouts rule, but few remain,
Hold your soul, resist the chain.

3.
Fascist filth spreads wild and raw,
Fight it hard — reject their law.

4.
Free your mind, shed all deceit,
In true insight, find your beat.




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



The Way Out of Hell

Don’t scheme, don’t plan,
You’re trapped in Hell’s decay.
Where honor’s lost,
And reason fades away.

The way to rise,
From darkness swell—
Is through the light:
Enlightenment’s spell.




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



Hell’s Escape

Don’t plan, don’t scheme — you’re deep in Hell,
Where honor dies and demons dwell.
The only path to break the spell —
Is light inside, your soul to swell.




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



1.
Hell’s grip tight, no plans survive —
Only fire keeps the soul alive.

2.
In Hell’s pit, your honor’s gone,
Fight the dark, or die alone.

3.
No schemes work in demon’s lair,
Only light can break despair.

4.
Rot and ruin choke the way —
Rise through fire, or fade away.




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



Rashism

Putler bends the “Rashka” low —
That’s what they call rashism’s name.
Hope for mercy? Don’t you know —
It’s just cargo-fascist game.

All a parody — Putler’s fake,
A filthy shadow, nothing more.
In graves, the wicked all awake —
Himmler, ******, close to core.

They spin like tops, a twisted farce,
Even vile fascism’s tame.
Once we ruled beyond Mars’ stars —
Now madness fuels the Rashism flame.




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



Rashism’s Farce

Putler’s just a filthy clone,
Rashka bowed, a broken throne.
No mercy, only cargo’s reign —
Madness spreads, a fascist stain.

Graves spin Nazis like a top,
Wicked shadows never stop.
From Mars we fell to foolish rage —
Rashism’s plague infects the stage.




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



Phoenix

Self-burning is the only way,
The path to God we must embrace —
To burn with all this dark decay,
And purge this hellish, cursed place.

Here only murk and horror dwell,
They’ve got to end, be thrown away.
So burn it up with lively spell —
Fire’s a beauty, bright display.




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



Phoenix Blaze

Burn it down — the only way,
To God we rise from ash and flame.
Hell’s dark clutch must fade away —
Fire’s wrath will cleanse the shame.




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




Phoenix Fury

Burn your filth, don’t waste a breath,
This hellish crap must die in flames.
No pity for the stench of death —
Ashes cleanse these twisted games.




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




The Plague

“**** friends and **** all the crew —
I’m my own **** friend, it’s true.”
But dumb as oak, scared through and through,
With shattered psyche — what can you do?

That “friendship” means very little,
Spirit crushed, an empty brittle.
Here the idiot pays the price —
Traitor, snitch, the same device.

Traitors swarm, they’re everywhere —
World’s gone mad beyond repair.
A cesspool rotten to the core,
Humans plague this Earth, nothing more.




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



Into Chaos

Straight to Death we stride —
From Hell’s own cage, no place to hide!
Don’t be scared, don’t trust their lies —
All their cards are burnt and fried.

Throw the deck down on the table —
Get the freaks out, if you’re able!
Cast away this bitter pain —
Madmen rule the world insane.

Soon it all will fall to dust,
While they hide in holes they trust:
Time’s come for the reckoning,
Cataclysms wildly sing.

Fascist worlds will crack and toss —
Pol ***, Mao, condemned to Chaos.




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



Fictitious States

No state exists — just mafias in suits,
No end to their lies, their poison roots.
Constitutions? Mere dust and shame,
Their laws just puppets in a crooked game.

Paper scraps for wiping hands,
Their rule’s a shadow, not commands.
The tyrants hold the reins so tight,
Only fools buy propaganda’s bite.

It props false states with empty claims,
Changing faces, but all the same.
For crowds they shift, but truth remains —
The paper bears their endless chains.

The falsehood’s mask may rearrange,
A different hydra in new range.
Yet forgetfulness alone won’t shift,
How shameful to trust lies once more — a gift.




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



World of Fascist Filth

There once was genius—Severyanin,
And Balmont, Kruchenykh the giant, man.
But now the world’s a fascist filth,
No fix, no reform can save this hell.

No rebuilding saves this rotten grime—
Burn it all down, condemn the time!
And soon the Sun will close the score,
This Hell in Fire will be no more.




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



Fascist Filth, the World in Rot

Once stood the giants—Severyanin,
Balmont, Kruchenykh, voices grand.
Now drowned in fascist filth and scorn,
No fix or fixers—only scorn.

No “perestroika” saves this mess—
Burn it all, reject the stress!
The Sun will torch this hellish pit,
And crush to dust the world’s dark ****.




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



Crashing into Corruption

Too weak in will, too full of spite—
The question’s in the sellout’s bite.
Become corrupt, and all’s for naught:
Your life is lost, your soul is bought.

A worthless beast, your fate is sealed,
In Hell the devils roast and wield
Their lies like flames—this Hell’s right here,
You lost it all, deaf to the sneer.

You hung your ears on every lie,
Became a fool, your spirit dry,
Poisoned by that filthy greed,
Dead on corruption’s twisted creed.




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



The Marriage Game

Bargains made and praised aloud—
The bridal games, a festive crowd.
But flattering lies leave none with gain,
No prize is won from false campaign.

Love’s subtle trade, its fleeting charms,
Lasts till the weariness alarms.
Then once the wedding bells have rung,
Hate stands where once sweet lies were sung.




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



Evil "For the Good"...

"Evil for good" — just evil’s guise,
A servant to the Goat’s demise,
An ***’s lame excuse to try —
Entropy climbing, soaring high.

Evil’s nothing but decay,
The ruthless serve tyrants’ way.
Their alibis are weak and lame,
No truth behind their wicked game.




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



So-Called "Police"

“To serve and protect” — that’s their lame cry,
Serving ****, defending every lie.
Ambitions low, or choked you’ll be,
A masked farce swallowed silently.

Their uniform is black as night —
Like pirates dressed to show their spite.
Climb ranks and prove you’re just a cad,
Soul’s cheap here, the end is sad.

So many films to fool the crowd,
Sweet syrup lies, to keep them cowed.
Bend every protest to their scheme —
Their real catch: corruption’s stream.

The rest’s just chance, some ***** tricks.
******* guarding evil’s mix.
Nothing more than lies on screen —
Their “justice” is a sham obscene.




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



Stupid Louse

That louse, CowID —
Feeds on lies, a plague so wild.
Burps and blabs, no shame inside.
Conscience dead,
Honor fled,
Mind erased — soon comes the tide.




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



The Livestock Pen

They’ve turned the world into a livestock pen,
Vivisection never finds its end.
But on the surface—strict laws hold reign,
And sweat of brows shows care for men.

To blame is only timid sheep,
Who bowed to beasts from times so deep,
Who breed and feed, eyes locked on screens—
That zombie box, their god, their means.

The slaughter’s end? Vivisection stops.
Justice served for fleeced, for crops.
If flesh becomes the roasting stick,
Then all illusions lie and trick—
Each sign here’s false, a wicked trick.




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



Cleaning the Filth

Filthworld, filthfolk all around—
A sewer of lies, freaks abound.
But all the rot and **** will burn,
Few will cheer when tides will turn.

Few remain unbent, unbowed,
Though filth floods in like a cloud.
Their duty done, they stand alone—
Unbroken souls, a rare phenom.




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




Filth Cleansed

Filth floods in, lies choke the land—
**** and rot at every hand.
But fire burns the cursed heap,
Only few survive the sweep.

Unbroken, fierce, they stand alone,
Rare sparks fighting stone by stone.




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



No Trade-Offs in Our Choice

Vampires surge until the Dawn,
And Dawn will rise again.
Better die in Hell, withdrawn,
Than bend and lose your name.

This Hell will eat your Soul alive,
If you betray, sell out.
Let fools in feast and thrive,
Trading soul for doubt.

Here, “success” and Spirit clash —
What wins in Hell’s dark hold?
If barely breathing, you turn to ash,
A puppet played and sold.

The vampire mocks the bought and blind,
The traitor’s dull brigade.
Resistance is your shield defined —
Or rot, your final shade.




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



No Trade-Offs — No Surrender

Vampires crawl till dawn’s first light,
But dawn will come to burn.
Better rot in Hell and fight,
Than sell your soul, then turn.

Hell devours the weak and sold,
Betrayal’s bitter cost.
Let fools feast, but cold as old —
Your soul forever lost.

“Success” here’s just a ****** lie,
In Hell, no victor stands.
If you breathe but barely try,
You’re puppets in their hands.

The vampire sneers at every pawn,
Their bought-out, dumb parade.
Resist or rot, your choice is drawn —
No deal, no masquerade.




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



No Trade-Off

Vampires crawl — dawn burns them down.
Sell your soul? You wear the crown
Of fools who bow and rot in chains.
Resist — or drown in endless pains.



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



Possessive Jealousy

Jealousy — ego’s greedy claw,
A wild beast’s grip, a fatal flaw.
It screws into the heart’s desire,
And tears apart what once was fire.

No love exists where jealousy breeds —
Just fear, disgrace, and selfish needs.
Compassion’s lost, the vision’s blurred,
Forgiving faults is often heard.

Better part if passion’s rot,
Jealousy’s a sinking spot.
From primal filth and dark disgrace,
A human’s lost their rightful place.




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




The Greedy Claw of Jealousy

Jealousy’s the ego’s grab—
A filthy beast, a poisoned stab.
It twists inside your lover’s core,
And kills the bond forevermore.

No love can live where envy grows—
Just shame, delusion, endless woes.
You must forgive, pretend it’s small?
This clutching grip destroys it all.

Better split if passion’s vile,
Jealousy’s the death of style.
Dragged down to filth, to primal screams—
A man undone by ruined dreams.



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



Neo-Fascist Cops

"Guardians of order" —
What they guard’s a riddle:
Greedy hands for cash flow,
Tools for power’s middle.

A barrier from the people,
**** protecting might.
Fascist rule behind the badge —
Judas sells the light.

In war, these cops were stained
With evil’s dark embrace.
Keepers not of law and peace —
But ruin’s cruel face.




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



Mantra of the Fight

"Om mani padme hum"?
But really — just a crumb,
Born dull-witted, thick and numb.
In Hell you’re born — so sharpen mind:
Blow up Hell, don’t run or hide!
Grasp the core — no place to slide.
Not by flight your Soul survives —
Resistance keeps your will alive.

In that fight, your Buddha’s found —
Sing hosanna, battle-bound!




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



The Country’s Dumbed Down

I want to be a fool —
To trust the lies, to shake,
And see fascist forces rule
As manna for the snake.

I’ll graze in fetid pens
They call a nation’s land,
Make bullets for the hens,
Then march to war’s command.

Some monster leads me blind
Against fierce, ruthless foes —
But fools are all confined,
Their chains nobody knows.

I won’t see what’s been done —
What can you take from fools?
The fool’s just the first one
To fill the cattle pools.

That’s how the fiends intend —
Such is the dark design...
If you’re a fool, you’re just a friend
To Evil’s grand design.




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



Family

The family where you were born
Will **** you half inside.
For “KIRDIK”’s plan to be sworn,
Find comrades for your side.

Bear children — torment as you will,
Or how they tormented you.
Cut wife with saws — the answer’s still...
A chainsaw’s bite — the spirit’s through.

In cells called “family,” the chains
Of slavery hold firm and tight.
You answer with your head’s remains —
Their madness crushing out the light.




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



Counting Rhyme of Death

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally:
They oppressed us —
Lies so tally.

Tilly-tilly —
Crushed us fully.
Trally-vally —
Liars rule wholly.

Tilly-trally —
Lies are stinging.
Trally-tilly —
All in lies rotting.




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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally:
They crushed us hard —
Their lies tally.

Tilly-tilly —
Dead and beaten.
Trally-vally —
Liars eaten.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that sting.
Trally-tilly —
Rot takes everything.



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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally:
They crushed us down —
All lies tally.

Tilly-tilly —
Dead, defeated.
Trally-vally —
Liars cheated.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that bite.
Trally-tilly —
Rot kills light.



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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally:
They crushed our bones —
And spit out tally.

Tilly-tilly —
Dead and broken.
Trally-vally —
Truth’s been stolen.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that sting,
Trally-tilly —
Rot’s the king.



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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally —
They crushed our guts,
Spewed lies so rally.

Tilly-tilly —
Crushed and broken,
Trally-vally —
Truth’s a token.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that bite,
Trally-tilly —
Rot’s full blight.




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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally —
They crushed our guts,
Spewing lies so rally.

Tilly-tilly —
Beat us dead,
Trally-vally —
Truth left bled.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that sting,
Trally-tilly —
Rot’s **** king.




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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally —
They crushed our souls,
Spewing bull and rally.

Tilly-tilly —
Beat us down,
Trally-vally —
Truth’s a clown.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that bite,
Trally-tilly —
Rot rules the night.




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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally —
They crushed our guts,
Poured lies so sally.

Tilly-tilly —
Beat us dead,
Trally-vally —
Truth’s been bled.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that sting,
Trally-tilly —
Rot’s the king.




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



Killer Counting Rhyme

Tilly-tilly,
Trally-vally —
They crushed our bones,
Fed us lies that rally.

Tilly-tilly —
Knocked us low,
Trally-vally —
Truth’s a no-show.

Tilly-trally —
Lies that burn,
Trally-tilly —
All must turn.

For it is the movement such as a movement to paint a picture of a gypsy
is the movement of the cops to the help the memory of the flames of *****; movement's paradise origin of evil is a fool, a mom to have a business,

you are God of the bar on the corner of the Beach where she buried him to overcome the morning when the ***** speaking to the spirit of the Jewish Teen Witches; I am standing in the abstract, a gun they call it,

Lucius Aemilius, Jack's **** and almost turning hot to kneel before the living Laura, there was a massive sweep of his fingers crazy hair rites of ****** Muse's football and other guests songs sung by daughters returned knowing how to lean beat USA air kisses with vitamins and attacking the snow in a sense color skin star guards to maintain flesh had previously, ych, yeah, he walked in the cold to the game the king of the love of a teenage corporation changed to the Levites: Hashabiah, Sherebiah, and makng you **** it was captured,

Ah, I was a stranger held at great sufficient cause to the movement to speak in parts of the country where there is only woolen not so much grief in the way of pain, rather than in the memory of the cold in the chapters on the disease of the body not enough; more often. And not only the memory of the pain of the body, the heads of the disease, they shall fall;

One of the Museum of Venus: sacred body of the body, the body of vitamins an emaciated **** listening takes them up to be helped to embrace the common cold.

|

NATO’s in the House

NATO’s squatting in the shack —
Orc will drive the ******* back,
All the way to Berlin’s gate —
That’s the hog’s deluded fate.



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



“Soft and Fluffy”

In this world of gloom and grime?
Then you're either dumb through time,
Or a scumbag through and through —
Pick your side, it's up to you.

If you're wise and clean, upright —
Show your thorns, prepare to fight.
Or the freaks will chew you raw,
Like a sandwich full of flaw.



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



Orcs. Discord. Shadows. Night.
How to lose your mind just right?
Only madness lets you rot
In this Filth, where Light is not—

Where the thread is lost, then severed,
Soul for Nothing sold forever.
Hee-hee-hee and ha-ha-ha—
“Mind” of a MAD SLAVE. Voilà.



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



The Dead Man’s Dread of Death Is Real
A chasm deep — too dark to feel.
For he had never truly lived,
Just spewed the fumes the world once sieved.

Though mind-born was that toxic gas,
It rots much worse than *****'s rash.
The dead are many — here's the catch:
The ones alive? A tiny batch.



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



The Abyss Is Deep

The abyss is deep,
Will is fast asleep.
Slavery runs steep —
Fools are theirs to keep.

Doomed by cunning lies,
Silent, vacant eyes.
In their minds, the cries
Of dead, recycled whys.

Darkness clouds the mind,
Clarity — rare find.
Few still dare to groan,
Most just kneel — like stone.

Think they’re free, and proud.
Cheer the beast aloud.
Bold and twisted fraud —
He’s their living god...



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



Weep, Executioner

Weep, executioner — the end is near.
The final match is lost — drop the veneer.
There’s divine revenge for every lash,
Even slaves will get their share — no cash.

You won’t sneak into the world beyond,
Not for free — there is no magic wand.
All your games are over, debts are paid,
Fools will die the way they played and prayed.

None deserve the life they claim to live —
It’s a wake. There’s nothing left to give.
Only those with souls still strong and clear
Might be judged — and vanish from down here.



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



Salt on Wounds, or Pain as an Indicator of Evil

Pain? Fleeing pain won’t help,
It’s the marker of the evil’s swell.
Choking without Will, you’ll find
The pain grows deeper, hard to bind.
Wounds? Then salt will ease the toll!



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



To Hell Led by the "Experts"

Mouth sealed tight,
Ears stuffed with plugs,
The "expert" ready,
Drowned in the muck.

Close your eyes?
No, filters are better—
"Living" with "success,"
Forgetting the weather...



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



Pseudo-Science at War

Humanity in the act of "knowing"?
Vivisection as its method!
Ancient wisdom spoke of a different showing—
Anthropocosmic truth, not "gnome" fettered.

Man’s not just flesh, but Spirit and Awareness,
With the brain as mere receiver,
Deceit, fraud, and all things unfairness,
Are everywhere in "science," a believer.

Speak not of truths that make them squirm,
Grants and titles will follow,
Degrees for selling your soul firm,
Exchanged for coins that are hollow.

Not knowledge, but manipulation—
For those who spread the lies,
To keep the people in frustration,
In a war of Spirit, where truth dies.



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



Burn with the verb?

All around is dark,
Brains turned to dust,
Hee-hee, hee-hee,
No light, no spark...



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



The Sun-faced Führer

The Führer’s the best,
He clears the skies,
Builds fools and sends them,
With a howl, to lies.

Leads them to slaughter,
And brings with pride,
New fake diseases,
While the vermin collide!



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



Expression Through Things

The moon-faced self I show,
Intoxicated by dreams that flow,
Forever digging for my gain,
While all else is thought in vain.

Everything but this "digging" spree,
Is nonsense here, you see—
(Except for food, *****, and ***),
Your pride grows with each flex.

Pride and things—a tough expression,
Hard to find, without aggression,
What’s not in curse: DECAY,
Wretchedness, soul and heart dismay!





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



The True Colonel

"Our Colonel was born with a grip,"
He cursed with fury on his lip,
And for the BEASTS, he'd always wait—
"Meat assaults" he’d plan, a cruel fate.



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



Successful Poetry

To burn with words?
Or straight to the fire?
No, better to lie
And betray with desire.

Lie: a little rhyme,
Seems like a bag—
Pour any nonsense
In, let it drag.

They'll eat it up,
Then ask for more lies.
It’s all the same,
When Illusions arise.

In minds, they dwell,
Only ******* will
Comfort them all.
THROUGH *******, SUCCESS CALLS!



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



"Religious" Fast

Fasting, a fast to guard the murk
Of false religions, where demons lurk.
Much satanic dread in their teachings—
A guarantee of slavery's preachings.

You’re God’s servant... "The Black Magician,"
Who sees all believers as mere submission,
Doesn't trust the fog, wants to find the light—
To break it down, to seek what’s right.

Finding truth in books is tough—
For everywhere, they lie enough.
Introspection, the only way,
To cast aside the lies, to sway.

Seek your answers from within,
Not sparkling gems or golden spin—
The path grows harder, sadder still—
Look for the primal form, the will...



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



The Tightrope Circus

Word-juggling acrobats perform —
They make "bears" pedal in a swarm,
Set "tigers" growling on their stands,
As madness claps with ****** hands.

A clever trickster’s sleight-of-thought
Turns cheap deceit to something taught.
"Sheep" in the bleachers stare, entranced,
While muzak keeps their brains entrapped.

Between the acts — a lullaby
That seeps into the mind — and why?
The circus wobbles on a wire,
Each soul contorted in its fire.

But when, from far, you glimpse the scene
And light it with a thought that's clean —
You’ll see: not art, nor grace, nor flair —
Just Evil’s boil, festering there.



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



At Rock Bottom

You won’t just “fall apart” — no way —
If you are whole, you’re built to stay.
No cultured gloss, no artful lie
Can fake that core or clarify.

“Culture” teems with sweet deceit —
But wholeness walks on its own feet.
Creation stands, rebellion too —
Rebellion from decay we brew.

Decay is not some random curse —
It’s planned, designed, and getting worse.
By scheming beasts with soulless eyes
Who feed us doubts and rigged “whys”.

Resistance is the sacred fight
That only brave ones get quite right.
Ditch fear, embrace a sharpened view —
And make — that's what the strong ones do.

Unshaken like a cliff you’ll be.
So rise — rise far above the sea
Of broken depths where breath is tight —
Up high alone you’ll find the light.



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



Junk Science

They sell us guts and "breaking news" —
New trash, new ways to twist the views.
Deficiency pretends to seek
The truth — by smashing logic weak.

Absurd their lens, profane their scope —
They’ve scrubbed out Spirit, Light, and Hope.
The sheep still nod, still eat the rot
That Satan’s hired agents brought.

To serve the Dark — that is the deal
To earn a paycheck, stamp, or seal.
They "teach", they "heal", they sell you fear —
The job’s insane — and yet it’s here.

So madness floods the meekest brains,
And seeps through universities, chains
Each mind in sterile, twisted schemes —
As “science” slips into sick dreams.

This whole ****** house of fraud and lies
Is now a madhouse in disguise.
And CowID — hell’s favorite con —
Has shown: there is a lower bottom.



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



Aging Children of the Dead

Aging children mourn the past,
Though youth’s illusions didn’t last.
Now dullness reigns, and ****** aims
Have drained their strength in petty games.

They locked in place the mindless schemes,
And never questioned shallow dreams.
Though traps were set, and lies were dense —
A soul could fight with common sense.

But no — their drives were led astray,
To chase for junk and cheap display.
For status, praise, or some connection —
They called it “luck” or “life’s direction”.

Aging children lost the game,
Still playing small and calling it fame.
Each chance to grow they tossed aside —
Till CowID slime laid bare their pride.





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



Fell from the Tree

They charge the poet just to speak —
To print, promote, or dare critique?!
But hush now — quiet! hush — don’t shout! —
The poet’s time is running out.

To live in fascist filth today —
Where once mere life brought soul dismay?
Now deeper still the nation’s drowned,
It’s hell below the burial ground.

You’d have to crash from heights insane
To write down here and not feel pain.
What’s left? Just gather all your rage
And blast the verse right off the page!

Will that explosion shake the scene?
Who cares? Just tear apart the screen!
Only in blasts the soul still fights —
So **** their “heaven” — light the night!





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



Serving the Führer on Contract

The Führer barked — and off they sped,
Like hunting dogs, their eyes blood-red.
For cash they swarmed, a rabid pack,
To stab the old and shoot the back

Of women, children — every prey.
Hell’s got a thousand games to play,
And he plays all with fervent thrill —
These murders come with a paid bill.

The "doctors" killed with steady hands
Through CowID's obedient plans.
Now once again, the script is back —
They serve with guns, they love attack.

In coats with pus-stained, yellow sleeves,
They preach while every patient grieves.
A license grants them death and pay —
And grinning, they inject decay.



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



Junk Science

Got gaps in knowledge? Fill with crap.
Then chase some grant in this clown trap.
Just sell the tale they pay to hear —
The truth? It’s nowhere even near.

Fulfill the order — **** for pay,
While real hitmen take the day.
New strains of lies are brewed and spread,
And people swallow till they’re dead.

Supply the press with “proof” and flair —
The Dark will fund it fair and square.
Another bucket’s on its way —
Of filth disguised as sweet “hooray”.

And once they sell it as “research,”
The herd will kneel, the herd will lurch.
Deeper in dung they sink, content —
Obeying what “the science” meant.



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



So-Called "Law"

The "law" has sold our conscience cheap,
It binds us tight, it makes us weep.
Only dullness hears the sound —
Of chains that twist and weigh us down.

Repression’s all that’s left to see,
“Freedom” must be ripped and bled.
CowID’s test — Darkness comes to be,
It sweeps away, and we’re the dead.

They care not for our laws or truth,
Wipe their ***** with the proof.
From the press, there’s no escape —
Through them, they rule the ******* ape.

To those who still have human worth,
It’s hard to fight this poisoned earth.
Through the press, the beasts will lie,
Driving mindless herds to die.



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



The Sheep and the New Gates

New gates — a screen’s the way to see.
Behind the updates — enmity.
New haircuts, too, and "care" they sell,
The fools will buy, they can't rebel.

The donkeys will roam through every gate,
Their "path" is there, to fabricate.
They'll lie again, just like before,
The "path" leads down to that same door.

In the ravine, the slaughter mills,
History repeats, and so it thrills.
They’re happy while the gates still shine,
But turn the corner — they're next in line.





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



The Real Infernal

The unreality of all we see,
A prism of delusion, twisted, free —
Perception warped by hellish light,
That’s Reality — a shameful sight!

Delusion’s constant, never fades —
Attacks from youth, in heavy shades.
Few remain unbribed, untouched —
Truth’s like smoke, it’s barely clutched.

The selfless few will fight to show
The Total Delusion that we know,
The more they lie, the more they feed —
On lies that drown and plant the seed.

Delusion rings in every lie,
A circle built to multiply.
In such a world, the only cure —
Is spirit's strength, pure and sure.

Only the Purest Spirit sees
The depths of hell, the inner keys.
It sharpens mind, and though it’s hard,
In Hell, you rot — but still stand guard.



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



The Spoke in the Wheel

It’s not a dream, it’s not a thought:
A spoke is trapped — the wheel it sought.
It merges with the turning gears,
And down it spins to muck and tears.



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



The Stoner, the Thief, and the Doctor

The stoner’s high, the bureaucrat steals,
The satrap grumbles, and it feels.
That’s it! he says, all justified —
The donkey, "Doctor," glorified.

He cuts the ears with all his lies,
We’ll hear no truth until we die.



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



All Private Affairs

They’ll wreck your private business quick,
With "laws" and acts — a deadly trick.
Underhanded, they'll attack,
Like a terror act, they’ll strike you back.



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



Mario, Mario, Marionettes

Mario, Mario, puppets dance,
A haze of lies, a deadly trance.
They strike the mind with foolish slander,
Keep your ear sharp in this false lander.



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



There Will Be Summer

Summer’s coming, songs will fly,
A lot of tunes beneath the sky.
Inspiration won’t depart,
It lingers deep within the heart.



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



Make Songs, No Matter What

Make your songs — no matter how,
Through the verses, rise again now.
The task’s simple, in the end,
If your Heart’s strong, it will transcend.



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



Shaitan and the Sheep

Shaitan. The Sheep.
He’s worse than Hell!
Though Hell’s persistent,
The Sheep’s so dull —
Through this, all Evil,
Spreads like a spell.
Look at the world through a twisted lens:
Shaitan and the Sheep —
A bond that never ends.
The path to fascism
Is through masks and helmets.



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



"Donbeat Bombas"

"Donbeat Bombas" — at the start,
They shelled their own, to tear apart,
A conflict sparked by hateful hands,
A HELL of a FASCIST LAND!!!



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



Hidden and Open Satanism in False Religions

Tap-tap-tap —
The road to "bliss,"
A filthy swine
Heads for the eucharist.

The fat priest
Feeds the FLESH,
With blood, to feast
On the WASTELAND's mesh.

"Eat the others!"
Has always been the creed,
A madman’s scream
With CANNIBAL NEED.





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



Revenge Lasting a Lifetime

The string has snapped,
It was my patience.
What’s left behind?
Of course, it’s vengeance!

Cold is the mind,
But the Heart is fierce:
Not to act quick,
But to resist the tears.

With that fiery wrath,
Fill your life’s span —
Die with honor,
Remember the pain.





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



Not "With Greetings"...

No "greetings" here!
To bear the lies,
That follow chains,
The Spirit’s rise.
Cleanse your ear
From servant's trash,
Their foolishness,
A darkened flash.
Through all the noise,
They spread their lies,
In chaos’ guise.



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



The Inescapable Herd

The herd’s inescapable —
It only grows.
How vile it is
To hear the lows!

To look upon it —
Better blind your eyes!
If it’s not “greetings,”
Stay away — it's madness in disguise!



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



The Spiritual Path

Don’t take others seriously,
Their lives are outward, not within.
Direct your thoughts and focus, see,
The one true Spiritual Path begins.



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



The School Program

A sawmill, that’s the plan,
Logs and planks to shape with care,
To churn out only brutes and thugs —
They’re easiest to lead to despair.



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



Shame and Laughter

CowID is Shame,
Where Reason sleeps,
And Spirit's slain,
For most of them —
The BEASTS ascend.
The world’s just a joke... in the end.



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



Donbass

Donbass is "ready" —
The "liberator"
Sent all the men
To fight, the "warrior."

Not long they’ll thrash,
Struggling in vain —
To fight for orcs,
They’ll die in pain.

A shameful death,
Amidst the lies.
To the slaughterhouse —
Forward, fools, and die!





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



Animal Life

Animal life —
Wake up, be wise!
The wretched herd
Fills up with lies.

How few are true!
How many schemes,
Of filthy fiends,
To craft false dreams...





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



Locked in a Cell

Locked in a cell —
A TV cell,
The idiot box —
Chains tighter than steel.
The people, now slaves,
In its grip they kneel.



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



The bomber brings a world of peace—
On barren land, all strife must cease.
The world’s a target, clear and wide—
The sharpest shot will turn the tide.



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



The Vipers' Nest

A writhing nest of soulless snakes —
They squeeze the weak, then fight
For bigger shares and fatter stakes
With venom as their right.

The more you bite — the more you take,
The bigger grows your slice.
While smaller snakes, too slow to fake,
Are crushed without a price.

It’s warm and snug inside that pit,
If you can fight as one —
The fiercest get the biggest bit,
And feast until it’s gone.

This nest is vast — a crawling blight,
Best keep your distance, friend.
It’s always hungry, day and night...
Look out, you worm — defend!



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



Solitude

In solitude, you feel no drive
To change the self you know —
A place where daring dreams survive
And bolder visions grow.

The odds are good, the path is clear,
No need for joy's disguise.
If you're not chasing "pleasure" here,
Then muse and fire arise.

All bonds and noise — that tangled blade —
Can cut ambition down.
It carves through dreams so deftly made,
And leaves the spirit drowned.

But solitude preserves your spark,
Lets effort freely live.
Without creation — all is dark.
And life has naught to give.





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



Permanent Surrealism

What once was "social realism"
Now reeks of pure surreal.
Red banners fly — no enema,
But minds expect the deal!

A giant purge in noble guise,
It cleansed the brain with pride.
Its dogma banned all thought outside —
"Think only as prescribed."

The priest once swapped that script for "God,"
But sang the same old song:
"You're free," they say — with shiny gloss —
But kitsch still drags along.

That kitsch today wears trendy clothes —
A film, a flashy beat.
The world’s gone fascist — head to toes —
Yet dopes scream “choice!” in heat.

CowID unmasked that sacred "right,"
That "freedom" — such a mess!
We'll march again with heads held high…
Into the End, no less.



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



"Socialite": A Short-Lived Delight

The “socialite” tale won’t last for long —
It’s forced, it’s hollow, thin.
Fatigue builds up, the nerves go wrong,
And emptiness eats within.

Where purpose dies, no light survives —
Just Darkness takes the throne.
Their “grandeur” is just spoiled drives,
No Honor. No Thought. Just tone.

They serve the BEAST with plastic grace,
Obeying soulless brutes —
That polished mask, that shining face
Conceals corruption's roots.

They melt and mold to fit the role,
Their gloss a failing shield.
Only the Makers keep a soul —
Humble in form, yet steeled.



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



"Flowers of Life"

“Adults” have children — living toys —
To fill the void inside.
Their friendships fake, their pleasures noise,
They breed more loss and pride.

Be it in spirit or in coin,
That poverty runs deep.
The law of likeness will rejoin,
And leave its messy streak.

Only a surplus, fierce and bright,
Can raise a child to bloom —
That power born of inner light,
Of grown, unfaltering room.

Maturity — the truest grace,
No treasure shines the same.
With it, no fool shall take your place —
Without it, all’s a game.



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



The Law

The Law forever stands on guard —
It seals the prison gate.
Its rules are penned by demons hard
In "democratic" hate.

It weaves a thread of "rights" so thin
Through legal filth and shame —
A thread that binds the slave within
The system’s very name.

When three in four are poor and blind,
The world becomes a jail.
And "leaders" — bait for those inclined
To chase a holy grail.

For those who rise just build the chain
That keeps the masses bound.
No ancient tyrant need remain —
New laws will soon be found:

A flashing screen, a legal twist,
To blur the core of life.
While in the shadows, evil fists
Prepare the next world strife.

Degeneration codified —
That’s Law’s true, hidden face.
It only acts with wrath and pride
When crushing truth or grace.

Through acts and "bylaws" they deploy,
They **** the world by ink —
True terror wears a clean decoy.
They lie more than you think.

So take your "sacred constitution"
And flush it down the drain.
When judged with honest resolution,
It screams: "They **** again!"

That war and CowID made it plain —
The filth is system-wide.
Obeying BEASTS brings only shame,
Unless you’ve lost your mind.

The Law is written for the *** —
Not minds that dare to shine.
The Soul alone can break that glass
And race toward the Divine.



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



"Life's So Good!" — this phrase could sum
The state of most we see.
For madness speaks with keys to some,
In waking delirium, free.

All those who prattle, lost and low,
They **** the mind with lies.
"Normal" here is just a show —
In Hell, the noise defies.

Through intuition, Truth will free
From mind's deceiving trap.
You’ll see the fools in misery,
Trapped in their verbal crap.



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



Pennyless as an Endangered Breed

We’ve got the cash, but greed holds sway,
A wicked force through every dime.
The common folk won’t dare to say —
In them, the pennyless is crime.

But is it madness, when they lack?
Here greed’s a "norm," and so it grows,
The stench of filth will lead them back,
Teaching slaves to serve their woes.

School will teach them, all in line,
Few realize the truth they’re sold:
For cash, they bend — a twisted spine,
And only fools will stoop for gold.





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



School

To trust in science, bow and bend,
Is what they teach — no other way.
They call it school, but in the end,
Hell won’t let you stray — just eat decay!

Decay of thought, where slavery’s hid
Behind a “light” that’s full of lies.
In “democracy,” a tyrant's bid,
The school’s true goal is stunted minds.

False science preached by proto-priest,
While Spirit’s heresy is banned.
The rack and stake are now deceased,
But Bred Decay strikes harder, unplanned.





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



The Global Pen

The sheep’s grown used to this foul pen,
It feels like home, where guts are thinned,
Shorn and led to slaughter's door.
CowID's the sign, and so is war —

A first step taken. The pen will grow,
Not a red flag, but a white will show.
They'll widen it, with poison stronger,
As the media attacks, it stinks longer.

White flag, with red cross clearly seen,
Look around — all here’s in vain, obscene.
The beasts, through media, drive them on,
The sheep don’t care — it’s all a con.





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



Lie Upon Lie

Lie upon lie, and let them grow —
And you'll build a "wonderful" world, you know.
But dog’s dung is all you’ll find,
Where falsehood's idol rules the mind.

And on top, the MADNESS reigns,
Wild and, at times, a twisted gain.
For every question, the answer's clear —
More lies piled on, the plague is here.



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



Agony of the World

What to do in this agony,
Complain, or still wait
For cheese that’s free,
As the world’s twisted fate?

Spirit’s desire,
With the belly on stake,
Considers this fire
The law we must make.





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



The Few Are Right

The few are right, but praised, they won’t be,
They’ll be hated, not set free.
To honor them? The traitor's way,
Is what the world will choose to say.

Being right is dangerous,
To the dull, the voiceless, furious.
But with the traitors, oil's applied,
And “cheerful” is the lie they hide.



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



The Fog of Infernality

To "accept reality,"
That is, infernality —
One must become a creature,
With a mind that's lost to feature.



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



Globalization

The simple SLUDGE —
The sheep are glad.
The pen’s a grudge —
The vermin trim them bad.

Then comes the skewers —
"Care," they cry aloud.
The sheep are sure,
To Madness they’re bowed.



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



Bitter Consolation

A bitter joy —
To write a rhyme:
It takes some strain,
Silence leads to grime.

To burn the rot —
A task too steep.
Fortune’s tale,
In soulless heaps.

So many are soulless,
Bigger every day.
The time is here —
Rot will burn away.

The sun grows stronger,
Shining, it will burn,
Turning all to ash,
The foul, decaying urn.





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



"Carefree Childhood"

A play of the children
By the rotting slaves —
At home, they’ll meet
Hell, crafted by knaves.

Their fate they’ll destroy,
As if they're the foe.
They’ll "love" them with lies
And lies they'll bestow.

The family’s a mess,
If slavery's not known.
All is made of spite,
"Kindness" overthrown.

Falsehood veils the shame,
Truth’s long been erased.
You’ll step out, half-dead,
To a life laid to waste.



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



Final Stop

"Men are like dice: we throw ourselves forward into life."
— Jean-Paul Sartre

Sartre was wrong — you’re not the one
Who casts the dice beneath the sun.
It’s vermin hurling lies instead,
And you slip with the herd ahead.

This farce of life won’t shift the game —
Chance plays no role in slime and shame.
Through lies, the blind and slow all crawl,
Toward Decay, through salt — and fall.



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



Evening Dullness

The ***** called Boredom won’t attack —
A brand new day is on the track.
You’ll sleep it off, then slave again —
And boredom’s back by evening’s end.

It feeds on dusk like sacred bread.
A poet’s life is truly... strange:
You’re drained by lines inside your head —
Yet write again. You chase the range

Of PHANTOMS in each aching phrase.
Much better to, in midnight haze,
Go search once more (though never quite...)
For dreams that vanish out of sight.



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



Makhno’s Tachanka

Makhno’s wild cart
Tore Austrians apart —
Turned ranks to muck.
Now fools run amok,
All “Austrians” anew,
In squads of stinking goo,
Thrown at the wise. But lo —
The Word strikes hard, like so!

Now poems charge instead,
Tachankas forged in lead.
This filth won’t make us kneel:
We fell — in horror — real!



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



Winnie the Pooh and Piglet Kebab

There’s sawdust swirling in my head —
Not simple — finely tuned instead
To screams and shrieks both night and day.
Not duty — joy! I like it that way.

The media leads the bears in rows
To chop up Piglets — that’s how it goes.
It must be done — no time to sob:
The meat won’t walk into the kebab.





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



Under the Pressure of Madness

To slaughter like to celebration —
March on, oh crowd, in grim elation!
Refuse to join? Then you’re a traitor.
Your punishment is coming later.

A brand-new Führer leads the chase,
A master of decaying grace —
Makes ******, Goebbels look like jokes,
His Mirages choke and smoke.

“Lies like Trotsky” — that’s passé.
This clone breaks bottoms all the way.
His sheer INSANITY barrage
Can pierce through any deep mirage!





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



The Surrealism of Verse

The river, frozen, casts a spell —
I long to swim its icy shell.
For winter is the poet’s time,
Though pools aren’t great for soaking rhyme.

That “soaking” bit? Just rhyme’s caprice —
It leads you off like some disease.
Your lines — like reefs in desert land —
Make sense no more, but somehow stand.

No sunburn here — I burn inside,
As madness sweeps across the tide.
I count the days till warmth has won —
The river drowns the nonsense. Gone.



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



Peace to the World?

"Peace on Earth!" The mouse gets cheese.
But is it peace, or just a tease?
Is “the people” just a rat
In a trap — imagine that!

Ruled by ****, half-demons grinning,
Schemes on schemes — there's no beginning.
Wars and CowID mark the start...
SHAME and DISGRACE tear us apart!



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



The Sheep and the Kebab

The kebab’s a nightmare for the sheep —
A twisted tale, so dark and deep.
To the slaughterhouse they march with cheer,
Praising Darkness, drawing near.





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



In Hell. In Madness.

In Hell. In haze.
All's lost, it seems...
What will I find?
Just rot and dreams.



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



My Poems That I Don’t Like

The fleeting verses that I despise,
Will find the greatest praise, no surprise.
Who complains of excess in art’s design,
Is like a miser, losing his dime.



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



The Ruling ****

Till the last soldier’s gone,
With a mandate to press on...
And that **** will forge, with glee,
The mandate, never paying the fee.



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



Dogmatism of Pseudoscience and Its Aims

Dogmatism’s in excess, you see—
A pseudoscience, dear friends, indeed:
A heap of lies and utter dross,
That ne’er shall wear its truthful crown.

For those who pay with endless cash,
Replace pure faith with false preaches;
They heap on drivel meant to clash
With change that soon their hearts beseech.

Then comes a camp of digital guise—
A brand-new order, sleek and odd:
Truth confined in buggy, flawed devices,
A chip in hand, the urban guard.

In this charade of feigned disease,
The “cures” turn venom for the meek.
Submission’s praised—in such a breeze—
For humans, not for cattle, we must seek.



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



The Devil and the Sheep

The Devil. The Sheep.
He’s worse than hell itself!
Though the Devil’s stubborn,
The Sheep’s so **** dull!
All Evil flows through this —
To the world’s cold, lifeless corpse.
Look through the prism clear:
The Devil, the Sheep —
A single, deadly link.
And the path to fascism
Is masked by helmets thick.



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



Twilight of Mind in the Global Camp

"Errors multiply on a wrong path."
— Francis Bacon, 17th century


The herd, misled by “noble” visions,
Still hunts for joy that isn't there.
That road leads deep to dark divisions—
And dusk already chills the air.

Now twilight falls. And evil’s thriving,
Spewing dumb lies like CowID.
Deceit and fear are unforgiving—
They’ll crush the last of minds that see.

The Camp stands watch, its rule enforcing:
That none with sense shall have a say.
No dawn for us. The brute, unknowing,
Will drag the world the other way.





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



Furious Verse Flies Like an Arrow

A furious verse — it flies, it burns,
You barely catch it, hand still shaking.
Don’t just write — let wrath take turns,
Be yourself — a shot worth making.

If the bow is tuned and steady,
Every arrow finds its way.
Now the question: who’s the enemy?
All the sick minds in decay!

Lone and raging, still I’m standing—
Crowds of madmen all around.
Should I master fire-branding,
Let my poems torch the ground?

Incendiary bombs I’m loading,
Feathered well in rhyming flame—
Drop them on the catacombing
World where we decay in shame.





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



Outworn Forms Are Swept by Death

Outworn forms, by Death's own making,
Are swept away — that’s Life’s domain.
Believe the Inner Light, unshaking:
It shines through Time — though mules complain.

And if for ages, fools and losers
Keep choking Earth in stinking smog,
Then Life itself may lose its users—
Death clears what’s bent. That’s nature’s log.

When Satan’s rot commands creation,
Let Armageddon break the chain.
Don’t fear — embrace the grand salvation:
It frees the Soul through sacred flame.





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



Dominant Theories and Ideologies

One-sided freaks — deranged, unstable,
Phase-shifted minds beyond repair —
They'll triumph, sit at every table,
Their dogmas poisoning the air.

Their twisted "truth" becomes the beacon
For brainless herds who chant along.
Together, they will crush what's weakened—
And praise the rot that makes them strong.

These monsters rise by foul selection,
The **** promoted to the throne.
That’s how we reached this low infection,
Worshipping the mindless drone.

Leninisms, Freudish isms—
All that intellectual trash—
Are loyal tools of new fascisms,
Each a blight, a brainwashed rash.

They shove this garbage down from childhood,
**** off reason, shame, and pride.
All their "doctrines" serve the vilehood—
Darkness geared for genocide.





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



Free Interpretation of Mythical (and Not-so-Mythical) Figures

The toilet floods with **** and lies —
Behold the world, in full disguise.
Not a slave, nor orphaned soul?
Then run — the Satyr’s in control.

He’s not some goat from ancient song,
His beastly will has ruled too long.
He came here early, claimed the stall,
And made the mindless hordes his thrall.

He’s Satan too — just change the name.
Obey him, and you bear the shame
Of scorning Spirit pure and bright,
While kissing demons robed in night.

No "higher powers" guide this mess —
The myths just sell us noble stress.
You crown a skeleton in dust?
He'll be your "god" — and earn your trust.

Even "best" gods are a scam:
Myths for fools — a mental jam.
They bleach the vilest Dark with lore
And shove their madness evermore.





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



Gut Sense — Stream and Surge

Lies entwine in twisted chains,
Knots of chaos, dark remains.
Truth stays hidden, out of frame,
If your mind is weak and lame.

To unwind the lie’s invention,
Watch for motives, flaws, pretense.
Though the fiends show fierce intention,
Intuition cuts — like sense.

Mind without that blade’s direction
Stays in primal, dull despair.
First, a trickle — pure connection,
Then a flood that strips things bare.

Break the blocks your mind erected,
Let the deeper current in.
Snakes and frauds shall be ejected
By the Higher Force within.

That force lives as intuition —
Feel it burn, a sacred thread.
Lack it — rot becomes your mission,
And decay your path instead.





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



Implanted "Dreams"

"The less you know, the better sleep" —
Soon turns into a deathlike trance.
You shrink into a twitching sheep
As dreams are steered by sly advance.

There’s a whole dream-manufacturing
Industry of fog and lies.
And forgetting what is anchoring
Leads straight to the darkened skies.

Call it sleep or call it falling,
Through the mirror — doesn’t matter.
Truth gets drowned beneath the sprawling
Wave of lies none dares to shatter.

Wake yourself — and shake away
Every phantom, every scheme.
Hesitate not for a day —
Rot begins with such a dream.





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



The Scythe of Death

Time’s a treasure — guard it tightly,
Life is frail, and death is near.
Waste it blindly, speak it lightly —
It will strike, and not from fear.

Strain your soul and mind with meaning,
Leave your mark, a jagged trace
On the world — not whining, preening,
Not in praise of empty grace.

Trash is everywhere — it's crawling,
Spawn of Dark, its slaves in tow.
Let your wound be bold, appalling —
Cut through Lies with what you know.

Time’s a teacher, strict and bitter,
And it tests what you defend:
Are you fighting with the critters,
Or has Madness reached your end?

In the muck, you’ll fail to notice
How you sank, betrayed, and fell.
There you’ll meet the lowest rotters —
Joining them’s a route to Hell.

Few still forge with flame and fire,
But the bootlicks crowd the land.
Mankind's circling the mire —
Only wreckage lies at hand.

Time now passes like a sentence,
Final warnings fill the sky.
No escape and no repentance...
Shall we praise the Scythe, and die?





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



A Flare of Light — or Murky Glare

"What the higher soul desires lies within;
The lower seeks in others." — Confucius

The lowly beg, they tear, they cling,
For "love" and junk and anything.
But Seekers of the Real depart
The outer noise — they search the heart.

They leave behind the Bedlam’s rot,
At least in thought — they chase it not.
With sharpened sense, they walk within,
Where Light begins, not sludge or sin.

That Light alone completes the quest,
It stills the mind, it grants true rest.
The low are born of foul decay,
The high — of Light, their inner way.

So follow yours — and you shall find
A flare within the storm and grind:
A spark that cuts through all the gloom
Of souls degrading into doom.



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



Just Your Average Armageddon

"The world always returns to normal.
The question is — whose."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec

The "norm" is set by Gullets vast
That swallow Spirit, grind the Mind.
So flee the slaves of Hell amassed —
Seek where the soul’s not dumb and blind!

This world is run by fiends infernal,
Exceptions? Rare — and fading fast.
CowID dreams and cults fraternal
Grow from rot that’s meant to last.

But introspection, intuition,
Critical thought — your truest tools.
To walk the Path, outstrip your fiction,
And dodge the traps of demon schools.

For through the "self" the demons bore
Their detours straight into your Heart.
With sharp critique, just slam the door —
Purge the rot, and tear apart.

Look within — the Light is hiding,
Only insight brings it back.
And your sense will start providing
Vision far beyond the black.

This is the value left unbroken
In the Hell now cracking wide.
The Underworld — it smells the omen:
It hates collapse, it hates the tide.

The sun burns brighter, turns the heat —
The sweat lodge rises, cleansing fire!
The dullards drool in their defeat —
This steam will strip them of their liar.





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



Torture

"Prosperity reveals our vice;
Adversity shows virtue's face."
— Francis Bacon


Now take a look — a steady stare —
At mobs below and "lords" above.
While pain is clawing through the air,
Don’t drown in grief, don’t beg for love.

Degenerates and soulless traitors,
A plague of vice on every side.
But where are our so-called creators?
Where has our virtue gone to hide?

It feeds on food and *** and chatter,
And passes "values" to the young —
Slave-born ideals that rot and shatter.
The few who rise are bit and stung...



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



Ornaments

An amulet to banish Lies?
You won’t find that — no surprise.
Lies are sold as “common sense,”
Drilling straight through all defense.

Rock bottom? Boring. Time to drop
Into a fresher, deeper slop!
The dunce delights in his belief:
“This world’s the best!” — the height of grief.

A brighter Hell? Now that’s the plan!
A digital leash for every man.
The mob will cheer — they’ll praise the brand
That chains their necks with gilded bands.





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



Allah! Allah Will Provide

“Just praise His name — He’ll see you through!”
Repeat it louder, day and night.
Your lusts He’ll shower gold upon —
Then ship you off to Paradise.

Like children beg for sweets and toys,
So “grown-ups” pray for cash and bling
From “higher powers.” Empty noise —
Paper tigers rule that ring.

No need to beg, no point to kneel:
No higher force in Hell remains.
The only voice that might still feel
Your cries… is Zoyl — and he disdains.



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



The Glamour Veil

This glamour — not a noble vice —
Just blind obedience at a price.
The fools obey with hungry grins
For junk and foodstuff in their bins.

If you’ve a brain that still can burn,
You’ll find no place — no madman’s turn —
Inside this padded, howling dome
Where fascist dough is shaped as "home."

They bake up "heroes" on command —
Addicted drones, a loyal band.
And marching proud in perfect line,
They head for Camp Global Divine...





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



Dust

Fascist censors run the show —
Google, YouTube, all in tow.
A culture taught to kneel and nod.
The media — a monster's squad.

Deceit and rot — the new ideal,
With sticky fear in every deal.
All serve the Devil, mask and grin —
This world is dust, consumed by sin.



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



Mind — a Nest of Twisted Wires

The mind’s a nest of nervous fires,
Breeding threats as fear requires.
Fear now rules this wretched land —
Worse ahead, as planned and planned:

Fake diseases, wars, delusion,
Dumbing down through mass confusion.
That’s the goal the BEAST pursues —
To spread neurosis like a noose.



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



Sharp and Loud

Loud — then sharp:
Is that choice?
Loud is just
The void's own voice.

Sharp and simple — stay awake!
Let your verses bite and break!
Sharper still — the poison bleeds.
Drink it deep — that’s what it feeds.



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



Brain Drain

“Virus! Virus!!!”
Screams insane —
Death of thought,
Then off the train.

Lies believed —
Hell’s tightening noose.
“What’s the loss?”
We need more juice!

Push the numbers, make it hurt —
Punish “people,”
Grind in dirt.



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



The Ultimate Price

"Nothing is bought at a higher price than a piece of the human mind and freedom."
— Friedrich Nietzsche


Madness rising,
Sales enticing.
Souls for garbage — cheap exchange:
Honor, thought, and freedom — strange

How they vanish for a screen,
Spewing filth in toxic sheen.
Hell is here — but who would know?
Chains of lies don't always show.



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



Where Are You From — and Where You Head?

Where are you from, and where you go —
The riddle haunts the soul below.
For centuries they've dulled our sight:
Man falls for lies, not truth or light.

The beast deceives, the soul is weak,
The mind? A joke — don't even speak.
So don’t rely on hollow thought —
Let instinct cut the lies you're caught.



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



True Effort

True effort, when it’s rightly aimed,
Is worth more than all "success" acclaimed.
For lies pile high to fool the weak,
Who trade their faith for gold they seek.

They offer money, fame, and praise,
For energy in endless haze.
But those who act with rightful mind,
Will feel the Winds of Change unwind.



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



Poverty and Pain

Poverty and pain —
The Force of Will,
Of Spirit, Mind,
And reason's thrill.

The sum has torn,
It’s cracked, undone...



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



Moderation

Balance, restraint —
A tested way,
But mark my words —
It breeds decay.



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



"Carrot" Stronger Than Steel

A "carrot" turns the soul,
A slave who believes in lies.
Come now, get new clothes —
At the Market of Empty Minds!



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



Non-Sellability

Great efforts, yet frail fruits,
Does that drive you to despair?
If it’s for yourself, the pursuit,
The judgments won’t compare.

All ratings, hype, and noise,
Are just mere froth on top,
While money’s tempting, false,
It pulls you down, won’t stop.

Efforts of the mind and soul,
In a world so lost, so grim,
Bribed by sound, by pleasure's toll,
Dragged down by greed’s dark whim.



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



The Global Masturbator of Feelings and Emotions

Strike the feelings, crush the mind,
So you’ll lose yourself, confined —
That’s the policy of freaks,
In a world of slaves, the weak.



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



Cages and Chains?
The BEASTS mark
All the slaves with nonsense, while the "treat"
Is the prize in the Fascist’s deceit.



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



"Normal" Madness

"Normal" madness reigns,
The one that's ruling now,
Fools are preaching,
The masses screeching,
Cold blood runs, lost somehow.
Once a stage, now gone to waste,
All will vanish, erased.



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



"A Magnifying Glass" for the Soul

To magnify is to erase—
Like a bug beneath the lens.
Every glance becomes disgrace,
Every thought just weak pretense.

Peer more closely, skip the filter,
Use the glass and look inside—
See how bright illusions wither,
How uniqueness tends to hide.

Time dissolves in dull routines,
In a tiny, choking sphere.
What remains? Not human beings—
Just a mask, a grin, a sneer.

Lies are "normal", lies are countless—
Pick your flavor, take your pick.
Underneath: decay and doubtless
Cowardice and ego slick.

Few escape the crushing burden—
Since their youth, they’re taught to kneel.
Fear’s the mold, and stress the warden,
Grinding souls like dust from steel.



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



The Idiotocracy

Fear smothers love, corrupts the mind,
It spreads again — a foe designed.
It rules the masses, cold and sly,
And sends its poison from on high.

The “school” installs it in your chest,
The media fans all the rest.
The fool believes what liars say —
They "comfort" him along the way.

They pump up fear through polished lies.
Lies flood the madhouse — global size.
Stack lie on lie, and soon you'll see
A nation sleepwalk, comatose, “free.”

Cast fear out with the Spirit’s flame —
A fortress none can ever tame.
Evil has minions, small and loud —
To fear those gnats? Absurd and proud.

These petty creeps — a comic blight.
Through humor we reclaim the fight.
A war of soul in full deploy
Against the world’s idiot convoy.



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



The Shrinking of Mind — and the “Real” World

To shrink is death, in sly disguise.
They shrink your world through friendly lies:
“Obey the beasts, they know what's true!”
And drones march off — to work, to rue.

They shrink the world to filth and drains,
To toilet bowls and sewered brains.
They call the sludge a sacred balm —
And bleat in blissful, ****** calm.

This narrowing infects the mind,
And what you see gets redefined.
The dumb herd trudges to the knife —
No hole, no stall will spare a life.

For slaughter waits where thought has thinned,
Where beasts are served and truth is skinned.
This is betrayal’s grand reward —
Or simply: man reduced to horde.



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



"Professional" Chewing Gum

A “pro” consumer, proud and prim,
Devours GMOs on whim —
Lies, junk, temptation wrapped as fun,
He gulps down filth by ton for ton.

His mind and body rot with grace —
He calls it “fuel” and sets the pace.
This “pro” just grins in his abyss,
His room a tomb of cowardice.

The gum is labeled “Pro,” you see —
With “Orbit” slapped on lazily.
A pack of gum, some cash, some screen —
And “happiness” through holes obscene.

His kids must learn this holy trade:
To dumb them down, the schools parade
A set of tools — all upside-down —
To smooth their minds and let them drown.

The schools, the media know the drill —
They grow the idiot with skill.
They say: “We plant the seeds of grace!”
But reap a limp, lobotomized face.

These “pros” are fools, en masse, enshrined —
The reigning caste: the thought-assigned.
The BEASTS adore this blessed land —
Where soulless swarms obey command.



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



Brain Removal via Lies

Just multiply the global lie —
And watch the idiot comply.
He'll knock and smile at your front gate,
Syringe in hand — to "vaccinate".

A ***** is cheaper than a shell,
And hits more neatly — works as well.
The BEAST, through “health” and “expert” prattle,
Still culls the herd without a battle.

They’re not human if they trust
Rot and sludge disguised as "just."
Don’t waste breath to change their stance —
You’d have more luck with stones that dance.





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



"Isms"

All the “isms” — brain disease,
Crooked thoughts dressed up to please.
Each one claws toward some “Ideal,”
Till minds forget how humans feel.

They become just blank displays,
Echoing those worn-out ways —
Primitive and crude by birth,
Bending facts to prove their worth.

The farce rolls on, a mad parade,
Till some new “ism” makes a raid —
It kicks the old one out the door,
And fills the screens with its new "lore".





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



The Final Circle of Hell

Greed walks fast — in seven-league boots —
They call it “progress” as it loots.
And all around, a dulled-out mess —
The end result: dumbed-down success.

A crushing greed applies the weight,
With foolish minds to fuel the fate.
Through greed and stupid souls en masse,
We've reached Hell’s bottom — pure, dead glass.



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



The Correctness of the Lonely Warrior

“Truth stands above people and should not fear it.”
— Vissarion Belinsky


Darkness rules — that much is clear.
Rot and ruin swarm the sphere.
Be the truth, or be erased —
There’s no middle path embraced.

Do not flinch — it’s far too late
To bow in fear before dark fate.
"Plagues" and wars now flood the land,
Lies grow bold on every hand.

Each year worse — decay ascends.
Fear and Falsehood run as friends.
Be the axe in servants’ eyes —
The Lonely Warrior never lies.





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



The Daredevil Who Conquered Fear

Danger? Just chatter.
Slander? No matter.
Once you allow
Your boldness to shatter
The filth that floods in from the ******* brigade —
You’ll mock every vice with a smirk, unafraid.

The BEAST rules the herd through the tremble and scream —
But a wild daredevil won’t fit in that scheme.



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



The Machine World

“The real threat to man is not machines or chemicals. The real threat has already entered the core of human existence.”
— Martin Heidegger


A world of machines. You’re not one? Prove it.
With CowID, with war — absurd and stupid.
The twisted spines, the vacant eyes,
The herd obeys, believes the lies.

The fuel is lies — injected fast,
Through veins they flow, from first to last.
The “men” rise up — to punch, not think,
While freedom’s just a poisoned drink.

They're proud to march — enslaved, yet loud,
Just call it “freedom,” and they’re proud.
This plague of fools will drag us low —
Past rock bottom, straight through the Dno.



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



Spiritual Vision and the World's Vile Rot

Faith in “God”?
Or faith in you?
To pierce the fog,
Love what is true.
To truly see,
The soul must guide —
Or you’ll be swept
By filth and pride.

The soul untouched will rise and glow,
But join the rot — and you’ll sink low.
Detach from evil, or you’re caught —
Just one more fool the world has bought.



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



The Führer of the Madhouse

Hell has frozen — here's our Führer!
Loud and proud — but not much surer.
And the crowd, once known for might,
Now believes this clown is right.

Drunk on nonsense, near elation,
In a fog of degradation,
They applaud the ashtray preacher —
The madhouse roars. He is their teacher.



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



The Chance to Create Yourself

It’s tough —
But not the end.
No luck?
You missed the trend?

That excuse
Is rot for cinders —
Just dead souls
With dying embers.

Smash the wall,
Let fire rise.
Show your fist
To captive lies —

Through creations bold and burning —
Even poems, ever yearning.





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



Surrealist “Picnic in the Open”

Crust of lies
On fear-made butter.
Ashes rise
Through dreamlike clutter.

Chew the lie,
Then eat the heap.
Sip some swill —
Let numbness creep,

So the ash
Becomes a view,
And your crash —
A feast for two.



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



Money in the Filth

Money calls from Hell’s own pit,
And you sell your soul for it.
If your mind is sheepish clay,
You’ll call that “joy” along the way.

But this filth plays by no rule —
Beasts will squeeze you like a tool.
Wave “success” before your face —
Then drain you dry without a trace.





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



Murk and Fear. A Lonely Way
Through fire, lies, and full dismay.
Stand alone beneath the hail
Of total falsehood — do not fail.

Be the brave one — hold your ground,
If your truth is battle-bound.
Truth’s your cause — the rest is free.
In war with Evil's tyranny,

Meekness is the primal sin —
So strike the dark. And strike within.





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



“Flowers of Evil”

“Just focus on the light,” they say,
Forget the horrors of decay —
And in that blissful, blind retreat
The **** of Evil finds its seat.

It clings, it spreads, it haunts the air,
Its roots are lies, its bloom — despair.
And evil, masked by ignorance,
Peers through their dreams with twisted glance.





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



Mirror, Mirror, Cruel and Grim...

Mirror, mirror, harsh and clear —
Who’s the fiercest one you fear?
The unbending Russian soul?
No — the khokhol plays darker role.

He strikes Russians with a glare,
Swears his strength comes from the air.
Guards each inch of village dirt —
Lest the Moskal brings it to hurt.



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



Junk “Classics” and Fake School Lore

The wise one knows: when art turns dull,
It rots — a death without a skull.
In schools they feed the kids pure lies,
Fake “truths” that petrify their minds.

And once that stone is fully set,
It won’t be cracked — not even yet.
So youth, start thinking while you can —
At thirty, Mind won’t make a man.





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



Feminine “Charms”

The body — battlefield,
Where soul’s asleep or sealed.
The war is sharp as steel —
And rot is all it yields.

Wrapped in glossy lies,
It lures with deadly glow.
You bite — and pay the price:
The blade will shape you low.



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



Silent Slaves

Amid the shameful, swirling mess,
The minds decay, they’re in distress.
The chaos says, “We’re not the slaves,”
But in truth, they’re silent graves.



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



A Führer in Zombie Disguise

A Führer dressed in zombie skin,
So dumb, you'd swear he’s just your kin —
A cousin to the fool and clown,
A soulmate to the lowlife crowd.

That crowd is vast — the final score
Of silent genocide and war.
If you’re not dull in this parade —
You’re pastry tossed in a latrine’s shade.



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



Gas Exchange: Thought and Matter

The air we breathe, the world, the skin —
They twist the Thought that flows within.
Distorted well — a grand conceit —
And thus was born Debility.



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



Serve No Evil Homeland

Serve no land that’s steeped in lies —
Bow to Truth, not flags or cries.
Then you'll walk a noble way,
Clean of thought, by light of day.



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



The Worm’s Last Century

Was it Worm or Wretch that reigned?
Twisted times were preordained.
Change erupts — the herds start marching,
Led like sheep, their brains discharging.

Not through desert, but through waste,
Filth and fear — a bitter taste.
Welcome now the Drainage Age —
We’ve earned it well. Enjoy the cage.



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



Total Censorship by Pseudo-Search Lords

“Let thoughts be countless, so no censor keeps up.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Dullness rules — and now the censor
Is your god, your thought dispenser.
Search engines obey the crown,
Cracking minds and shutting down.

So multiply your thoughts, be daring —
Don’t get used to evil’s bearing.



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



The Fatal Reign of the Abnormal

Abnormals crowned — a fate relentless,
The world’s gone dark, infernal, senseless.
To feel is now a sacred rite,
While storms of lies blot out the light.



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



The Slushy Fool

A dribbling dunce blocks up your way,
His head’s half-melted into clay.
Avoid him — sticky, slow, diseased,
His leaking rot is not appeased.





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



Change as Froth

"Change" is froth, when shame’s the stream
Flowing through a shallow dream.
Fools call it “the past’s great voice”—
Just old foam, but not by choice.



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



The Madhouse

A madhouse fool with brains of clay —
That’s the whole **** world today!



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



From Hell to Hell, and Through Again

From Hell to Hell, and through the flame —
Each circle plays the devil’s game.
Yet still the herd runs, blind and glad —
A slave is dumb, but rarely sad.



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



Combat Media

Slither through the slime and ****—
Is that a life? A job well done?
**** attacks where threads are thin—
Hence the stench, the creeping sin.

Subtle souls are shoved aside—
Trash promotion, truth denied.
All the rest—just dough, just clay:
Molded lies in foul array.

Rotten nonsense, mass-produced—
Vermin’s craft, unchained, let loose.
Brutes in charge—relentless freaks—
Rotting peace is all it seeks.

Yet success is near-complete:
Soon the press will serve the Beast.
Don’t you crawl, unless you’re vile...
Or you’ll choke in filth and guile.



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



The Pseudoscience Fragment Trick

Smash it to pieces,
Then crudely re-glue it —
That’s “science” today,
Our god, so they bray.
But ******* who do it
Are frauds and deceivers,
And people obey —
Like sheep gone astray.

They stitch up the horror
With purpose — distorted —
A world with no soul
Is all they portray.
And once they’ve contorted
The truth they’ve aborted,
The masses will stroll
In file, led away

To pens full of chatter
And lies that grow louder,
While all that is real
Is trampled and killed.





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



False Science: Detail and Blur

All on nothing dwells,
Nothing on it tells —
Twisting truth like hells
Till your conscience gels.
Wade into the grime
Of fake-science slime —
Spirit is the base?
***** it. We're the race
Of demonic pawns.
In the chaos spawns
Of our dead ideals,
Truth dissolves, it kneels.

Media will cite
Us as guiding light —
While we cut the cord
To the higher Lord.
We unleash the reign
Of the blind and vain.
To be blunt and crass:
Yes — we all are ****.





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



Flying Fish

No fathead carp, for sure —
They’re heavy, dull, and proud.
A sunken kind of “pure,”
Respected in their crowd.

But some still dream of flight,
To breach the water’s hold —
Escape the swamp’s long night,
If only for a fold.

Who rises from the grime?
Who dares to leave the pond —
Where weeds, like ancient slime,
Devour those who respond?

The carp loves muck and mud,
It's home — a cozy pit.
No stirrings in his blood,
Though all around is ****.

But fly — or rot below.
There is no in-between.
Let carps adore the flow
Of sludge they deem serene.



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



What Made You So Broken?

What made you so broken, so low?
Where’s the fire you once had inside?
You wander like husks in the shadow —
No soul, just a hide you now hide.

You traded your spirit for wages,
Chose chains for the sake of a bone,
Now rot in the hell that you staged —
Lashed onward by lies overthrown.

Corrupted, enslaved, and compliant,
You sink, and you scream not a word.
At rock bottom, limp and "defiant",
You don’t even see that it’s absurd.

It’s not “them” — you’re the disgrace.
No monster could dream to create
A world that would stoop to embrace
This filth you still dare tolerate.

The price? It is written in flame.
The fall — it is coming, no doubt.
When fascist delusions proclaim
Their “truth” — and the rabble buys out.



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



Strain and Surge

Life is lived through grinding —
Friendship’s gone or hiding.
Push with all you’ve got — and
Weakness comes to naught.

Lone, defiant fighter —
None but he climbs higher,
Breaks from Hell’s dead zone,
Far from herds of drones.

Swinging like a pendulum,
Spent, he slumps — momentum gone.
But he will return again,
Flame will rise and burn again.

Flare up! Burn completely!
Fight the dark — not sweetly.
If you love this Hellish stay,
You're just meat — and not far from the blade.



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



Little Thought — Lots of Fire

Little thought,
Lots of fire.
Count it out —
Check desire.
When emotions storm and crash,
Guard your mind — or you're just trash,
Bleating in some madhouse pit,
Broken down to barely fit.

Think too much — you’ll start to bite.
Boldness is your only right.
In this madhouse, stay alive —
Only rebels will survive.



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



Ping-Pong

Ping — pong — ping — pong —
Who’s the sheep? The gong plays strong.
Ping — too weak?
Pong — a blow below.
Too bleak?
Evil plays by rules that show
Only in some film or fiction —
Truth’s a lie for mass conviction.

Ping’s the bait, and pong, you see,
Is genocide — of thought, of meat.





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



Lip-Flappers

Lip-flap crew —
In deep poo.
March to "bliss" —
Mall-bound, too.
They will guide you
To the market —
There they’ll grind you
In the target.

Digital or not — who cares?
Camp or store — it's set with snares.
All looks clean, well-lit, and catchy...
Lip-***** swear that this is "happy."
Too bad truth looks less than snappy.



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



Thrown Away for Nothing

****: they **** you through the lie.
Push against it — do not die,
Even when the fools surround you,
Bleeding out what strength is in you.

Fools are many, loud and proud —
In this world, the vile rule loud.
But your soul you still can keep —
Fighting on, for zero reap.



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



“Professionalism” — A Cult in Disguise

Ockham’s Razor? Now a script —
A software glitch in logic’s crypt.
No one's close to thought or art;
They grunt like hogs and call it “smart.”
A poet’s word and hack’s dull spit —
Worlds apart. And we eat it.

All decays — no soul, no craft...
The "pros" just guard their petty raft.
They speak in jargon, thick and dead,
To keep out minds they truly dread.
It’s not about skill — it’s a mask, a scheme:
A gatekeeping priesthood of mediocrity's dream.



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



"GazMeat", "RusAg",
And "MadTech Global" —
The boss? A ****.
The rulers? Noble...

Worms, that feast
On a corpse, decaying —
A wretched beast
That forgot all praying.

A nation crude,
Soul burnt to ember —
Vile and rude —
Too numb to remember.



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



Bitter Truth, and Sticky Lies

Bitter truth, and sticky lies —
Lies get sugar, truth — goodbyes.
One small spoon of bitter pain,
Drowned beneath a sweetened rain.

First, a drop. Then comes the flood.
Bitter’s real — but sweet sells blood.
Truth’s too sharp, too hard to chew...
So they stall — and swallow you.

And the herd? They lick the plate,
Smile wide and call it fate.
"Better sweet and full of ****,
Than awake — and choked on grit."



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



Templates

Cut to fit —
You’re done, that’s it.
Thought is dead
Where molds are spread.

Stuck in frames?
Enjoy your cage.
Template minds —
Template rage.



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



Three-Fingered, or The Rule of the Rich

Yeltsin, dull and vicious —
How many lay in ditches?
Preach "democracy" aloud —
Or bow before the greedy crowd?
Raging at their lies and schemes —
Does that absolve your guilty dreams?..



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



Lenin and the Cause of Revolution

Comrade old ChLenin,
In mob foam venin’,
Go find the villains —
The crowd has millions.
Send in the Chekists:
Some off to jail lists,
Some to be shot —
The Cause must not rot.



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



The Global Prison

We laugh at our own fate,
At others, just the same,
At doom we can't escape —
The "Others" play the game.

Like inmates, locked away,
Who mock their fellow slaves —
The world is steeped in grey,
Insane and digging graves.

A cage, a vast corral —
Call it what you prefer.
The soul's dismissed as pal,
Our deck's a losing blur.

The "Others" — not quite men —
Have ruled since time began.
They planted every "truth"
To rule the mindless clan.

Force isn’t quite enough —
They'd rather plant belief,
Make fools draw blood and bluff,
And cull the Souls in grief.



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



Selfish Gain

“The noble mind knows what is right;
the petty mind — what brings advantage.”
— Confucius

A world where profit wears the crown,
Where “good” is smeared with selfish grease —
The soul grows faint, the mind shuts down,
And worse to come will never cease.

The Spirit's voice is drowned in noise,
The Reason shackled, caged, alone —
We sink in greed, in fear, in lies,
And nothing saves a heart of stone.



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



The Living Dead

"Men waste their lives to chase the things
they think they need to live."
— Seneca, 1st century AD


Life slips by — we race and spin!
One wrong step, and you fall in.
You won’t notice when, one day,
Death walks in and wants to stay.

Dead men walking, all around —
Worship wealth, their hollow crown.
Just a few still stand, defying —
Till the mob becomes their dying.



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



Monkey Training

Doubt is weakness — that’s the rule.
“Best of worlds!” — they teach in school.
Family’s harsh verdicts bite:
Step off course — you’ll lose the fight.

Obey the system, you’ll be fed;
Forget the soul, you're meat instead.
“Don’t mind the cost, don’t ask what’s true —
Now go catch flies for mommy too!”



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



Mutual Aid

"Help is the hindrance of evil — real or potential."
— Plato


O Mutual Aid, where did you flee,
On any worthy scale?
Deceit and Madness drown the free,
While envy tips the scale.

For money, talent, empty fame —
We’re crushed beneath their boots.
To fiends who play a devil’s game,
We’re sticks for brutal hoots.



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



Pasta, Lies — or Just a Snack?

Is it noodles? Is it lies?
Truthless fiends wear clever guise.
Some lies dangle, light and sweet,
Others rot you from beneath.

***** world — the plague is speech.
**** the lie — you're out of reach.





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



Mass ****** & the *** of Communism

Trotsky rants and spits with flair —
Sailor, soldier, mad with glare.
“Hold on, daughters! Sons, beware —
Bourgeois blood is in the air!”

“We'll drown the world in crimson streams,
To build an *** of broken dreams.”



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



Sleep Deprivation

Lack of sleep hits hard and true,
On health and work, it wrecks you too.
In poets' "Labor Laws" they say,
A penalty for work that’s gray:

“Get your rest, and write with grace,
Don’t stress the rhyme or lose your place,
Though verse may seem a heavy task,
Just dream and write — no need to ask.”



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



Propagandists, or Hell’s Firemen

Add more fire to Hell’s flames,
Spread the lies and shift the blame.
Write on banners, bold and bright,
“Folly” or “Mirage” — all right.



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



Khrushchev

Corn-fed fool,
Spins his lies like a tool.
The fools buy his tale —
In his fog, they will fail.



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



Cheaper Clothes and Devices

Clothes are cheap, and man’s more crude,
The cost of honor — no prelude.
More dear the heart, the anxious mind,
As the world’s last days unwind.



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



Brezhnev

Old man, lost in his haze,
Speaks in endless, sluggish phrase.
Only praise, no real thought,
Just applause that he’s been taught.



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



Gorbachev

Spotted fool, a liar bold,
A spawn of Judas, truth be told.
He “restructured” — what a joke,
But built nothing but smoke.



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



Andropov

A student goes to see the show — "Beat him!"
A new whip cracks, the cattle grow grim.
Discipline in the cage is tight,
And fools believe it’s all right.



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



Chernenko

The crippled fool returns to throne,
This “party” rules with force alone.
Crushing all with hollow might,
Or rather — nonsense, wild and trite.





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



"Father of Nations"

“Moustached nanny,” stand in line,
Obey the rule, or face the sign.
Do as you're told, no room for doubt —
Or bear the cost, there’s no way out.



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



Short Verses

Short verses are not hard to write,
On narrow themes, in black and white.
You can churn them out with ease —
One simple rule: don’t spread decease.



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



To the Angel

You flap your wings, but is it true,
That light in Darkness brings a doom?
A genius, often called insane,
In this world, we know the pain.



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



The "fairy tale" is not so cruel —
It turns to myth right before your eyes,
When "consciousness" becomes a fool,
And rule is held by poisoned lies.



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



The Traveler

When you pause and start to think,
You’ll find despair begins to sink.
If in your fantasies you roam,
You’ll find yourself in madness' home.



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



The Path

Mire and Fear,
Our “all in all” —
The path is tough,
Through filth we crawl.



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



Be Yourself

Be yourself, not part of the herd,
A feast amidst the world absurd.
The herd of global decay —
In the days of CowID, we fray.





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



The Solid Ground of Vulgarity

To the poet,
Death’s the prize,
Solace lies
In solid ground, though thin, inside.
Unshaken in the ******’s pride.



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



Putin

Thief and bribed man,
The lazy “people”
Believe the fiends,
And open doors to evil's hand.



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



Lavrentiy Beria
Trust in him? A mere charade.
A backroom deal,
A ruthless blade.



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



Harsh? No — brutal are these schemes!

"Cause and effect — effect and cause,"
Fear feeds the fog, and that's the law.
The fool is trapped — he hit "pause"
And left his doubts for later thaw.

He trusted reason’s rigid preach,
Determinism’s hollow song,
Not seeing that INFERNAL speech
Had tricked his mind and steered him wrong.

But open up your Spirit’s sight —
A different world reveals its streams!
No brutal schemes survive that light;
The soul would wither in such dreams.

Harshness and cruelty are twin seeds —
Fascism in their scheming breeds!
Only sharp minds, with senses keen,
Can tread where finer truths are seen.

Such truths, intangible yet real,
Need silent introspection’s art —
Beyond the chains of cause and wheel,
Into the depths of spirit's heart.

The fools can never understand
That knowing grows through toil unseen,
That crowds are led, like sheep unmanned,
When finer visions are wiped clean.

No brutal scheme can cage that grace —
It’s wasted pain to force it in.
But REEKING frauds infest the place,
Where schemers lie — and souls grow thin.





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



Law-Making

"Legislation should be the voice of reason, and the judge — the voice of law."
— Pythagoras, 6th century BC


Reason’s caged — and "laws" exist
To guard the bars, not break the chain.
The judge? A slimy, bought-out twist,
Who spits on law for private gain.

Who then writes these wicked screeds?
Not "parliaments" — just hollow cries!
Their role? To mask the festering seeds
Of genocide, concealed in lies.

Behind the thrones, the vermin breed,
Invisible to blinded eyes.
CowID has shown their real creed —
Their schemes of Evil, thin disguise.

Each presi-puppet, each fake land,
Each "parliament" of rotting spawn,
Plays their dark games with bloodied hand,
While sheep believe the lies at dawn.



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



Unified Rule by the Global "Elite"

"No people will survive if they see their own history through a neighbor’s eyes."
— Friedrich Nietzsche


Not a neighbor twists the tale —
The same vile filth still pulls the strings.
It trains the "elites" without fail,
Till every one of them now clings

To lies, to poison, to delay —
Their sentence merely pushed ahead.
The "virus" scam showed all the way:
One center spews the floods of dread.

The media storms, the schools are chained,
All ruled by ghouls behind the scenes.
More lawless cruelty is ordained
As Earth runs out its final dreams.

The Cataclysm will be the end,
The story sealed in fire and grief —
For tolerating fascist trends,
For crawling, like a wretched thief.



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



The Fragmentation Method of Pseudoscience

"Makers of any science turn the impotence of their science into slander against nature."
— Francis Bacon, 17th century


When all is smashed into small bits,
No mighty force can rise or grow.
But endless "tests" they still submit
To "prove" the lies they want to show —

That piece by piece, the world’s laid bare
By fragments, dust, and broken lore.
The further they advance — less care,
More wholeness lost forevermore.

Now "scientists" are crowned as gods:
They churn out trash for daily needs.
And what destroys the Earth in clods?
The chewing crowd — it barely heeds.



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



The New Populism (A Fantasy)

The Explorer of the Abyss
Went "to the people" once again.
He found the same foul, reeking mist —
Still slaves, still swallowing their pain.

They swap the names, but leave the core —
Call madness "freedom" now, and grime.
Still sheep believe, still ask for more,
Still dream of "happiness" through slime.

Where spirit dies, where minds decay,
Where man to beast is ground and sold —
Just look at CowID, wars today:
The same dark promises retold.

The people’s saga never ends —
It drills through rock, it drills through shame.
"Fight for the new!" — the slogan bends —
Headfirst, they batter through the same.



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



The Way Out of Duality

In a world of idiots split in two:
"Serve the crowd — or serve yourself" —
All people seen as tools to use,
A road that drains and rots your health.

The mob demands not you — but masks,
Just "one of them," a hollow clone.
And since this world’s infernal tasks
Just spin you like a wheel — alone.

If fools are means, you turn a beast,
You claw and trample, cold and numb.
It’s hard to walk the path of least —
Yet Bedlam scars you not as much.

Such is the deal in this foul den:
No prospects bloom, no future gleams.
Collapse creeps closer once again —
The end is nearer than it seems.



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



The Tao of Mao

Lies and fear —
The daily game.
Burn the books —
Enjoy the flame.

A newborn god
Demands your soul,
All-seeing, strict,
And in control.

The crimson flag
Will light the skies,
The final word —
A sea of lies.



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



Intuition

"Atheism is the vice of a few intelligent people; superstition is the vice of fools."
— Voltaire


The "golden middle"? Just a trap —
False science, priests — the same old game:
They turn us into mindless scrap,
Into the slaves of ruthless fate.

Nonsense without Spirit, dogmas of gloom —
Satanic lies beneath their shell.
Try breaking free, dispel the doom,
Erase mirages they have spelled.

Only Intuition leads you through,
Beyond "believe!" or "prove it first!"
It is the path — the one that's true —
From bottom’s darkness into Light’s birth.



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



The Myth of Freedom

"How can those who never knew freedom recognize it?
They might just suspect another mask of a tyrant."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Freedom lives in propaganda,
In schooling wretched, dull, and fake —
Where puppets serve the creeping cancer,
And chain the minds for power’s sake.

The jesters’ breed now floods the lands,
Their rotten lies too vast to count.
The beasts have long since learned to plant
Their poison deep — and watch it mount.



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



The Global Camp and Nature’s Final Patience

CowID —> war —> "AI" —> the Camp.
And famine gnaws the broken lands.
The red cross fades on flags once stamped —
It’s capitulation of all plans.

The "states" — mere pseudo-systems fall,
The Global Camp their final creed.
Long-suffered tyranny devours all,
With hidden genocide its seed.

Yet Cataclysm will sweep the stage,
And wipe out monsters in their lust —
Their dull fascistic, mindless rage
Will fall; death births rebirth from dust.

For few — the rare, the souls that kept
Their Honor bright, their Spirit whole,
Who would not kneel, who never crept,
Nor traded Reason for control.

The fools’ arrogance swarms and reigns,
Multiplied by Lies and Blight —
They'll march to prisons, chained and drained,
And cheer their masters in delight.

But Nature’s Patience is not theirs —
It’s different from the slaves' worn cries.
Farewell, you slimy brood of liars!
Farewell, obedient fool — goodbye.



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



"We are the children of Russia’s dread..."
Now — just the children of no cause.
The "heroes" long have been struck dead...
But no one stops, no one takes pause.

They gulp down lies — and ask for more,
Devour the sludge without a thought.
Cash is their king, their highest law —
And souls? Cheap merchandise, soon bought.

If you're a **** in power’s game —
Good luck! You’re safe, you own the floor.
The rest are dust upon their shame,
While TVs preach their "pride" and roar —

Pride for decay, for rotting bones,
For hollow songs of plastic skies.
The zombified in brain and tone —
A few still guard their mind and eyes.

But there’s no pride in standing tall
When filth surrounds you, thick and grim...
And darker still — a warning call:
The End approaches on a whim.

Not long this shame will stain the skies —
The storm is knocking, raw and grim:
The World Fascism that spat on souls
Will no more mock the Seraphim.



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



Together in That Well-Known Place

The stunted minds, the traitor breed,
A plague upon the world they fall —
Have gathered here in full indeed,
Together, answering the call.

They’ll stuff our heads with lies once more —
We’ll swallow all without complaint.
"Obey!" — and we obey the *****,
Our Führer — sacred, proud, and quaint.

Our Führer leads us to "stand tall,"
To "rise" — yet crawl in deeper shame.
The idiot will bear it all —
It’s every generation’s fate.





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



To Build an Impregnable Fortress of Thought

To build an impregnable fortress of thought,
Reinforce it with Spirit, let Experience bind;
Fill the moat with hard labor, burn every bridge wrought,
And vanish within, catching Inspiration’s flight.

Such is the task that before the poet stands,
A mission granted to only a few.
Thus so much remains unsung by their hands,
For beyond that fortress, Hell’s ninth pit breaks through.



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



Nonsense, Slander, Sheer Insanity

Nonsense, slander, sheer insanity —
Even sarcasm's lost its vanity.
Strength runs dry — to name it all,
You'd dig yourself a grave and fall.

The BEASTS now nurture helplessness,
Breeding rot in their finesse.
Twist and turn, at least break free —
Awaken from the LIE you see.

Lies flood the world — each little mind
A sewage pit, by filth designed.
Most books are garbage, rotting heaps —
No food for Spirit, none for Deep.



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



Mad Slaves

The ancient laws of slavery say:
Drill in the slave that he’s "free" today,
That there's no tyrant, no decree —
It’s all just fate, just destiny.

Thus, every cringing little fool
Becomes the standard, shaped in school.
Darkness loves such crooked art —
Twist the world's map from the start.

A mad slave, meek and mild, is fun.
A raging one — that's Terrors' son.
A slave who knows the cage is real,
Who fights — becomes a threat to steal.

So listen, darling, don't you squirm:
You're bathing not in **** — but "charm."



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



"Reality" — A Clash of Myths

"Reality" — just myths colliding,
The mob grows "strong" on borrowed dreams.
One chaos on another riding —
And war ignites in words or streams.

The BEASTS excel at setting fires,
With lies that seep through every seam,
And fools, inflamed by dark desires,
March on, enslaved by phantom schemes.

They rule the minds with iron hand,
Division blooms in every brain.
Resistance flickers, weak and bland —
And every cause goes down the drain.



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



"Reality" — Just Myths at War

"Reality" — just myths at war,
The mob roars loud with borrowed lore.
One frenzied swarm unleashed on another —
And wars ignite, first words, then slaughter.

The BEASTS — oh, masters of the game —
Unleash the lies, ignite the flame.
The fools, so eager to obey,
Are ruled like cattle every day.

Their minds — a battlefield of trash,
Where every thought ends in a clash.
Resistance? Soft, a useless sigh —
And every "cause" just curls up... to die.



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



Cyclops

I'm a Cyclops. One blind eye
Sees only what they choose to show.
Now LIES, the Lord we can't deny —
Have ordered us to die and go.

We'll march to war, inject the slime,
Obey the madness, cold and grim.
We fight for Evil’s grand design —
Satan himself now leads the hymn.

Perhaps it's better to be blind —
Tear out my eye, let it decay.
The MEDIA howls will rule our mind —
Two-eyed? We'll crush without delay.



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



Battlefield Wisdom

I lie with "wisdom" in my grave —
Fooled by the filth that demons rave.
They drive the mindless to the fight,
Each broken head their pure delight.

The spawn still lie about the cost,
And once again the herd is lost.
A "people"? No — a mindless horde,
Marching to slaughter at their lord.



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



Rough-Edged Style

The more the cursing, filth, and spite,
The bigger crowds will swarm the site.
Crude rants and broken, snarling speech
Are now the golden path to reach.

Yet style still leads — indulge its flaws,
They're minor sins compared to those:
The deadlier plague is faking grace
In this cheap world of bought-out fools.



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



Harvest Time of Darkness

The world’s a brew of fear and lies,
Where terror blooms and reason dies.
You’re on the block, don't kid yourself,
If you march with that rotting shelf —

The "crowd" they flatter, sell, and buy.
Walk off alone, or rot and die.
If clothes define you at a glance,
The cage will close — no second chance.

Stay sharp, stay fierce — forsake the herd.
This world is madness, thought absurd,
Where **** ride slaves with grinning pride,
Yet choke in chains they can't untie.

The Harvest’s come — the dark, the knives.
No mercy now. No second lives.



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



Subject-Object Dementia

A mind CONDITIONED only falls,
Dragged downward by the Dark’s grim calls.
Where genocide and fascists grin,
And Spirit's crushed by lies within —
All hail to dead material schemes.
Awake! Break free from nightmare dreams!



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



A Madhouse Stretched Across the Land

We'll build new "Wondertowns" again,
While forging shackles for each brain.
Endless "construction" blurs the view,
Led by a government askew —
Better than playing "Napoleon" grand
In a madhouse, weeping through the land.



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



The Indivisibility of the Whole

"The Whole is seized by parts."
— Lucius Seneca, 1st century AD


The Whole is still the Whole —
Break it bit by bit,
(Mankind's favorite goal),
And the truth is missed.

Nature’s core is shattered
By the mob's blind hand,
With false "science" scattered —
A slave’s iron brand.

A cage, a dried-out sweet —
Junk food, trinket piles.
Nature crushed beneath
The filth of human guile,

Of those anointed kings
Of falsehood's sacred reign.
Lie => "the people's" shrinks
To beasts — no lower plane.

CowID unmasked
The hidden overlord
Of false science — tasked
With shame beyond words.

Yet the fool still kneels,
Building Hell once more.
Only cataclysms’ steel
Will slam shut the door

On savagery we crown
As "mind" upon this Earth.
Now — we are the blight,
And soon — erased by worth.



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



A Dead Man’s Journey

"Much is said about the qualities of good upbringing.
The first I would demand — and it contains many others —
is not to be a man who can be bought."
— Jean-Jacques Rousseau


Rousseau, from grave awakened, sighs,
And treads the world, his heart undone:
The bought-off fools infest the skies,
Obedience to evil — law for everyone.

The centuries have flown — grown worse.
"Progress!" they shout from every shore.
No need today for honest verse —
Just those who praise False Ashes evermore,

Or clog the mad world's dying veins
With cheap amusements, trash and lies.
A writer's work prints few remains —
Sold souls their only enterprise...



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



To Be Human — That’s the Prize

To be a Man — a stroke of grace:
Beasts all around, the beasts inside.
Darkness still schemes its last disgrace —
To strip our soul, "with love" and "pride."

With "care" they’ll do it — filthy swine —
CowID laid the scheme out bare.
Today they batter us with lies,
Their "puppet squads" patrol the air —

Not soldiers now, but slyer tools,
Who guard the trough from clumsy hands.
Forget the guns! Today's old fools
Trade "treats" like powder — filth expands!

Legions of sellouts crowd the field;
Thus Earth is ****** beyond repair.
The megatons of Lies revealed
Will crush us through another layer.



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



Crucified by Nonsense

"Ignorance is a demonic force, and we fear it will cause many more tragedies."
— Karl Marx


Not just a force — a demon's scheme:
A tool to keep the world in chains.
Surround the fools — it makes it seem
The yoke must tighten on their brains.

They bent the herd till spines gave way,
In CowID's foul, corrupt ballet.
We wait for Cataclysms' day —
Let emptiness devour the beasts
That nail us to their nonsense-crucifix!



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



Walking Templates

"If we confessed our sins to one another,
we would laugh at our lack of originality.
If we revealed our virtues,
we would laugh just the same."
— Khalil Gibran


One template bruised another’s face
And proudly crowed: "Behold! I’m new!"
But glimpse the "joy" in their disgrace —
The world is lost, and rightly too.



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



By Another Road...

The GULAG's flag — now UN’s disguise:
When CowID was rammed in place,
It stripped the world before our eyes —
To shame, decay, and dumb disgrace.

WHO? It always stank of dung —
Fascism just switched its path.
Where once small carts of lies were flung,
Now endless trains roll day and night in wrath.

And from the "sidetracks," just you wait,
They’ll dump much more of "something nice."
That "something" none can clear or sate —
Fascism wrecks the world — and thrives.



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



The Contagion of Lies

"Only disease is contagious, not health;
the same with error and truth.
Thus error spreads fast, and truth crawls slowly."
— Pyotr Chaadayev


CowID unveiled how nonsense reigns,
How madness floods the world with ease.
Trust only instinct in your veins —
The air is thick with Dark’s disease.

The plandemic of lies poured wide —
The real infection, not a jest.
I see the rot — my heart inside
Clenches with pain within my chest.

Stay clear of crowds — the sick parade
Where error festers, chronic, deep.
Old Peter’s right — truth’s voice decays,
While tides of evil drown the weak.

Their single law: one foul decree —
Each p-resident bowed to the filth.
The drooling mob, in lunacy,
Surrendered what was left of will.

The "instinct to survive" was slain,
Now killing truth is praised as brave.
We've hit the Bottom — rot remains —
While mobs just howl: "More! We’re but slaves!"



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



Hell of Fascist Filth

The BEASTS who wrought CowID’s pain
Have now declared a war — again.
For ****, they posted price and fee:
Know the cost of infamy.

**** your neighbor, take the bribe,
To "rise from knees," they'll preach and lie.
That war — a trap for crippled minds,
Where newer lies enslave the blind.

A ****** fear? — Just scream and swear,
Lie shamelessly and foul the air,
And soon the Stinking Dark will pose
As kindness — leading fools to close

Their eyes and march to Fascist Hell,
Where butchered souls are made to dwell.
The goal is simple: waste more slaves —
The rot alone can't dig their graves.

Tired of their endless filthy games,
The stench of lies still fuels the flames...





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



Crap in Their Ears

"People only pretend they want a companion in talk.
In truth, they only want a listener."
— Abu Shlomo, 11th century


A true companion? Rarely sought.
A listener — that’s what's been bought:
To drown them in their babbled waste,
To flood them deep in filth and haste.

The mob spews nonsense night and day,
While reason flickers far away.
Mad raving arms the hand of spite —
The world’s been leveled into *****.





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



The Ideals of Degradation

"Even when a people retreats,
it retreats behind an ideal —
and believes it's moving forward."
— Friedrich Nietzsche


The Dark keeps tossing new ideals —
Of rot, decay, and madness crowned.
CowID marked the peak revealed;
More lies ahead, more lies abound.

With filthy nonsense they will raise
A brand-new Camp — but digitized.
The herd will cheer — they love their chains —
Their rotted minds already died.





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



Pol *** outshone the tyrants' crown,
But peace is premature, it’s clear:
CowID has shown the Evil’s frown.
Now, we await the Furious Deer...



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



The people fall to silence deep —
Again, we’ll lie without a peep,
Creating Hell with madness torn,
And minds re-shaped by lies we’ve sworn...



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



"World of beauty" you will find
Once simplicity is left behind.
Through ease, the BEASTS will reign, no doubt:
No beauty left — just rot throughout!



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



Is morning wiser, evening too?
To flee from Bedlam through the night,
For farther still, its rage will brew.
Away, away — and take to flight!



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



Your skin has tainted all that’s pure,
When slaves are bowed and spreading hate.
In this small world, the wars endure,
With wealth, the "light" becomes our fate.

Desire for the flesh takes hold,
The "mind" of flesh leads all astray,
To slaughter creatures, weak and cold —
A mad, depraved and filthy fray.



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



Narrowed minds, obsessed with lies,
We've grown accustomed, no surprise.
With wicked falsehoods in our head,
In "consciousness" — mere Mirage instead.



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



"Angel" to the strong, they say,
"Devil" to the weak at bay.
Man grows foul, the world decays,
Darkness spreads with each new day.

Evil and deceit decree
A death sentence for you and me.
It’ll come soon, as sure as fate.
Until then, strike at those who wait!



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



The Hidden Satanism of false Religions

"In the words "God" and "religion" I see darkness, darkness, chains and a whip."
Vissarion Belinsky.


Belinsky died, the Soviet reign
Installed the faith in "communism."
It faded out, yet once again,
Lies cloaked in religion's schism.




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



The soulless seeks the elite,
Money talks, dirt’s in the street.
Power’s for them, not for gain,
The middle’s bound to serve the chain.

In every land, the lowly rise —
A mix of beasts and human lies.
The protest’s voice grows faint and weak —
Power’s in the hands of fools and freaks.



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



A tiresome fool,
Behind him, a knave,
And for that ****, a fool to save —
Rulers... the end is grave!



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



To meet the blade — a gift, they say.
Today it's worse — FPV,
It nearly killed the courage's sway,
In search of love from those we knew.



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



Once in the Sewer, you cannot stay
True to the Heart, no longer sway.
Madness grows, as lies expand —
The Devil’s Seal marks all the land.



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



To cleanse the Heart from soot and grime,
And move once more, beyond all time —
From "man in a box" to one who sees,
A soul that learns and truly frees.



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



By "moral law",
The Dark lays traps,
But heed the Heart,
And Soul escapes its grasp.



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



No limit to the Falsehood’s reign,
Where chaos rises, breaks the chain.
When fools believe, with hearts "so bold",
That "leaders" wise and strong unfold.



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



Innocent deaths have grown less rare,
The balance shifts to deep despair.
The wise grow few, the gap expands —
The world now rots with vacant hands.



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



I can.
They cannot:
Serve the whip
Until the final spot.

Their fate —
Or rather, their doom —
The "path" of slaves,
Their backs in gloom.

The few —
Cannot unite
In endless queues.
Hell’s not a sight.

Hell surrounds —
All is lost, it’s clear,
A vicious round —
Where lies appear.





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



"In the depths of Siberian ores"

"The mind is a god for everyone."
Heraclitus


The mind was God. But Satan,
Became the lord of lower spheres,
And crept inside the Mind, to flatten—
We, beasts, now doomed to jagged piers.



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



The Foam of Evil on the Surface of the Cloaca of the Wretched World

Reevaluation of power’s common,
But it turns critical, you see,
When Evil’s strength is underestimated—
Its foam alone, the only debris.

Beneath, the monsters wage their fight.
Before them, humans fade to naught,
Forgetting God's Spark, lost to the night.
And in the end, to Hell we’ve all been brought...



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



Propaganda

There’s never glitch in the war’s great roar—
Propaganda's pure, vile fright!
Listening, the citizen's poor,
Becomes a beast in the propaganda's blight.

With brains long rotted, no more discerning,
They take it all, believe the lie.
The more the fear, the more they’re burning,
The more the fools stand side by side.

To war, to “healing,” they can be led,
Propaganda’s grip, it’s all the same.
Decay and lies, on which they’re fed—
To lie, to lie, again, the game!



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



The Bottom

Slave souls,
Beasts in lawless sway,
All their “thoughts” in hollow holes,
The honest cast away.

Few are wise, few are true—
Fewer with each day.
Propaganda's sting will brew,
And we’ll all fade away.

Sleep? No, it’s lethargy!
All is doomed, we see.
"We’re not so bad!" they plea—
Thus speaks the BOTTOM, eternally.



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



Chasing Games on Asphalt

I step out on the asphalt,
In summer boots, skis strapped tight.
Maybe the skis don’t glide at all,
Or maybe I’m just out of sight.

The TV's spell—a darker dream—
Worse than any painting, grim.
No need for vice, no sin to scheme—
Lies are plenty for the dim.

I showed my new skis, poles in hand,
The fools all bought it, sure enough.
Once again, they took the stand—
And in the chase, they’ve had enough.



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



Dreams and Hopes

Silly hopes, those puzzling pieces,
You gather in your mind each day,
While fascism and false diseases
Buy the foolish, led astray.

Dreams, those pitiful desires,
Always drag the mind below.
Dreams amidst the festering fires—
They break through—guess they didn’t know?

The pus has flooded, all’s decayed,
More sores with every passing day.
Fascism grows more dull and frayed—
It must burn in Sacred Flame, I say.

Holiness isn’t in those scrolls,
But Nature—where the Sun’s the Fire,
To crush the fools, and make them whole,
As it burns the world in fascist mire.





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



A Half-Tone Higher!

Higher, not lower!
If you stay quieter—
Forget about the hernia,
It’s bound to be the pariah.

You must break yourself,
Get sick or fall to drink,
So you won’t waste away—
Let their faces start to stink.

Ugly mugs and masks—
Multiply with fiery rhyme.
No reason left to ask,
"To measure fools in time."

How the crowd will rate it,
How the crowd will judge,
With price tags on their hatred—
The Judas leash, a grudge.



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



City

Slashed wide—
A knife in the "belly" bides:
It’s fascism that shakes inside.



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



The Blind Spot in Consciousness

The blind spot, this "unique I,"
Holds us, as the crowd directs,
Through such spots, like trash, we fly—
Through them, it all just disconnects.

And through this spot, the spell takes hold,
Its power grows with passing years.
Soon we'll all be fed the mold,
As we become the fools, in tears.

No joke—literally. In the madhouse, it’s true,
They’re testing just how far it goes,
For Conscience, Spirit, Reason, too—
In the Asylum, none of those.



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



Small Business Crushed

The petty thugs crush business dreams—
Will bandits take their toll?
But the **** is just a small-time scheme—
Choking all with fascist soul.

With CowID, they’ve wiped out so
Many businesses, now dead.
The vermin roam, while maggots show
Their rot as they spread the dread.

"Food" is insects, soon you'll see—
You’ll have to eat their waste.
The world turns into a sarcoma,
So we must burn it with haste.

The Sun has started on its task—
Growing stronger every day,
It burns the world of fools who ask,
With its Sacred Flame to slay.





--- Total 234 poems ---