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Tommy Johnson Apr 2014
Winnie the Pooh is trying to think
As are Plato and Socrates
While The Little Rascals get rambunctious
And The Marx Brothers cause calamities
Jim Jones stirs the Kool-Aid
And Georgie Porgie makes his move
Bo Peep and Miss Muffett start to blush
Red Ridding hood just swoons
The Muffin Man does a deal
With Johnny Apple seed
These beings and people our real
In our Surreal Reality

******* lets the paint splatter
And Moses parts the sea
Belushi buys an eight-ball
Bruce is on trial for obscenity
Rorschach is on the case
Right behind Sherlock Holmes
John the baptist goes for a swim
Along with Brian Jones
Jack and Jill meet Hansel and Gretel
They're hungry, they're thirsty
These figments of imagination do exist
In our Surreal Reality

Rasputin was so evil
As bad as Captain Hook
Now was it ** Chi Minh or Nixon
Who said "I am not a crook?"
Mao Zedong looked at Stalin
With a shared murderous grin
Booth stormed the Ford theater
And shot President Lincoln
Kennedy and King we're both casualties
Of the process of the deciphering
Of our Surreal  Reality

Zeus said to Aphrodite
"Wow, you look real good tonight"
And Handel says "Hallelujah!"
As the Wright Brothers take flight
Baby Face Nelson
Teams up with Dillinger
Moe, Larry and Curly
Mengele, Mussolini and Adolf ******
Three bears, three little pigs
Along with three blind mice
Sit together, while Maurice Sendack
Cooks them chicken soup with rice
Charlie Bucket had a buy out
Wonka gave up his factory
Fiction or nonfiction it's all a apart
Of our Surreal Reality

Chicken Little tried his best
To warm The Little Red Hen
Of the sly trickster
They call Rumpelstiltskin
Rimbaud applauds Leonidas
And his 300's final stand
Da vinci  paved the way
For both Newton and Edison
Folklore and war heroes
And those with intellectual mentality
Are all just pieces
Of our Surreal Reality

Wee Willie Winkie's scream
Wakes up Rip Van Winkle
But not Sleeping Beauty who's been asleep for thirty years
But has no acquired a single wrinkle
Caligula has lost his mind
And Nero's lost his fiddle
What does Beethoven's hearing aid
Have to do the March Hare's riddle?
Abbie Hoffman fights for civil rights
Thomas Jefferson for democracy
Products of the conceptual
In our Surreal Reality

Berryman writes an ode
To Washington's wooden teeth
Manson speaks of Helter Skelter
Neruda damns the fruit company
Charles Schultz frames the story
And Seuss gives it rhyme
Some where far, far away
Taking place once upon a time
And the villagers all had omelettes
Thanks to clumsy Humpty Dumpty
It's all food for thought
In our Surreal Reality

Santa brings us presents
And Cupid bring us love
But we can never get back
The members of the 27 Club
Warhol makes his movies
And Buddha meditates
Joseph Smith reads the golden plates
Mohammed and Jesus save
Theses figures bring people hope
In life's dualities
Trusting faith
And our Surreal Reality


Han Solo is in carbon freeze
Don Juan's preoccupied
Sinbad sets his sails
Simple Simon didn't get his pie
Caesar looked at Brutus
Brutus looked at Saddam Hussein
Hussein looked at L. Ron Hubbard
Who prayed to Eloheim  
Dionysus can out drink us all
We cringe at Achilles fatality  
As Ra soars through the skies
Of our Surreal Reality

Aristotle says to Shakespeare
"Well Billy you old bard"
Frodo trades the ring of power
To Fidel Castro for a Babe Ruth Baseball card
Biggie and Tupac write their lyrics on paper
Ted Bundy is put in jail
They're making another skyscraper
For King Kong to scale
Hemingway is too far gone
Kant's take on morality
Einstein says it's all relative
In our Surreal Reality

Churchill said victory
John Lennon said peace
Judas gave back the silver
Then hung himself in a tree
Tojo and Kim Jong-il
Wanna be as cool as Brando and Dean
George Carlin warned us all
Now Hermes leaves the scene
So do the butcher, the baker and the candle stick maker
Followed by Old King Cole and his Fiddlers Three
As they make their way to find
A sense or Surreal Reality

Odysseus pines for Ithaca
Paul Bunyan chops the trees
The Jersey Devil has not been found
Noah herds the animals by twos not threes
Anubis wraps the mummies
And Augustus leads Rome
Bugs Bunny laughs with Pryor
All at the expense of Job
So what can we all make of this
Is this all actuality?
Symbolism or nonsense?
Realistic Surrealism or Surreal Realty?
Girard Tournesol Mar 2019
I'd heard about problems with police
hard to hear harder to believe
personally I never had a problem
oh a few well deserved speeding tickets
probably cut a break no definitely
I drove very fast especially in the turns
roll-the-tires fast in the turns
that was me

and the more I heard the faster I turned

as a young kid I applied and was accepted
to six colleges six for six piece of cake
why the stress my SAT score equated
to an I.Q. of 1 above plant life
accepted open arms those WASPs loved me
graduate school one for one
      best in the country
bar none MBA with honors that was easy
they called it the golden passport yes

passports are even faster

I never had problems
   with band-aids
       the bank
the insurance company
      the healthcare system
never turned down
      for a credit card car loan
life insurance policy
      or request for a specialist
experience is the best teacher
      and the more I learned
the less I wanted to know
      and the faster I turned

then I learned
   about certain specifics
      certain policies

with regard to traffic stops
bank loans rental property
heath care voting rights marriage
read the color purple
and then that invaluable government  
       syphilis experiment
that would have been inconceivable
       even to doctor mengele
that the star spangled banner
       has more than one stanza?  
really there were four stanzas?

MY country ‘tis of ME
      and it was making me feel *****

learned that no one
      voluntarily held that flag up
that hellish night
      o’er the ramparts WE watched
as slave and freedmen
              were ordered
      to their near certain death
with the threat of absolute
      certain death

then I watched a cop
       shoot a kid in the back
              in cold blood
near a merry-go-round
on a playground
in baltimore maryland
I liked baltimore
fast very fast he emptied the 10 round clip
of a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 27
into THAT kid's back no hesitation ******

baltimore baltimore baltimore baltimore

I hit the brakes hard
      on those fast decades and decades
generations generations generations
      of turning
I slowed down way way way down
      stopped
took a deep deep deeper breath
then did what I always did and do best
I turned turned turned I turned around
and as I turned I woke
to kneel
be more than words

> As published in North/South Literary Canon
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2023
Brian Molko was already doing the current wannabe-trend of trans-sexuality long before trans-sexuality was a common "thing"... tracing back some ulterior taboo settings... today on my way to work i spotted my first trans-******: wow! obviously he had manly hands... large... he was tall... he had large feet... but slender legs... and a face, with all that necessary make-up of eyeliner... hair? not very long... shoulder length... yes... a deep voice... but then again my godmother has a husky voice from all the smoking and drinking... but i fancied him... the dynamic on the tube was magnifying... three women sat beside him while he was talking to his geeky (maybe, probably) boyfriend, a plump chap with eyeglasses... i couldn't stop thinking: ah... the solidarity of men... when in shortage of supply of women, men will find alternative avenues to compensate for women, men will find women in men... the idea that i might be a transphobe never occurred to me: but it did occur to me that women: for all their supposed glorification of acceptance would never allow men to be attracted to men who are: beyond merely the thespian gay-lord, *******... ally... this... "freak"... i fancied this man... i could omit all the stressed "imperfections"... but such a feminine-feline face... it really suited him... i wanted to kiss him... i was thinking... i'll tend to the "oysters" and all the tender bits and bites of being with him... andd do the butcher's work with a *******... problem solved... this skin-head middle-aged (i'm coming to middle age, or life expectancy, not the lottery of mortality, mind you) sat next to me and was sort of nudging me with a shadow missing in the full-glare of the lights of the tube... you fancy him? insinuations via body-language: yeah... i do... is it wrong? nope! check the women sitting next to him... do you fancy them? nope... me too... of the three or four women sitting next to this trans-****** specimen... none had a lovelier face... mutations just... "happen"... the eureka-oops moments... i could seriously forget about the shared dimensions of large hands twice as big as that of a geisha, same with the feet... i could forget the baritone voice... i really fancied this boy... in a way that gay-lords just make it difficult having mingled with actors too much and not retaining an aura of: suspense and: something in me is frigid, alien... i shouldn't but... hell... i really should! i will! benevolent London that is... he was prettier than all the women i saw that day... like my grandfather once said: there are no ugly women... there are only abandoned... if not abandoned then neglected women... to think that women could ever be neglected: says as much about neglected men... men will find alternative avenues to women when the women self-exfoliate in their "privilege" of: first-come-first-served-and-thus-the-only-served menu... **** that! but what was special about this trans-****** specimen? it reminded me of the time i fancied Brian Molko, still do... in a non-gay sort of way... in a Plato the Plumber there's a blocked toilet of reincarnation afloat... it was actually, sort-of, actually-sort-of-funny watching the women on the same carriage trying to read my reaction... for once a man was more attractive than a woman to me! wow! being accused of trans-phobia... in London? well... only if you can't pull it off! it's like saying: coulrophobia! fear of clowns! with the clowns being without make-up? conflating the Apex Twin gargoyle from Window-Licker?! yeah... scary ****! the grin that's the length of the equator... i couldn't be attracted to a standard homosexual... Thespian leeching or intellectually pleasing akin to a Douglas Murray... or body-building blah blah... but this trans-****** specimen? that's an affront to a woman... all women... a man can have a prettier face to a woman's if... a man deems the exampled woman to be nothing more than akin to a lineage of... never arrived at cosmopolitanism... beetroot countryside proud... all red and irritated... i fancied this one... i was one step away from askig him: can i have your number? again, to reiterate: i didn't mind the deep voice... i didn't mind the size of hands that could match mine or the size of feet that could match mine... i was... infatuated with the magic dust of PIXIES! maybe that's what i learned from going to the brothel... but if you're going to play the trans-****** game... can you please avoid the mishandling of the Hippocratic oath... so little is actually necessary to accomplish a ****-heterosexual confusion-attraction that leaves women feeling inadequate: you, wouldn't even want to begin to believe! i'm now currently thinking of that film: the Odd Couple... Walter Matthau as Oscar Madison and Jack Lemmon as Felix Unger... Felix being the male-feminine counterpart of the feminine-man slob child pampered to: or however this quadratic works... i wouldn't be doing the cleaning and the cooking out of a feminine dignity to avoid doing the hard work of society's demands... no... i'd be perfecting my cooking to match up to the sort of food available upon heading out to a restaurant, i.e. not eating out... i've seen some car-crashes of trans-****** attempts... but this one stuck out for me because i started to think along the lines of: who needs women if men can appear prettier than women?! i'll just close my eyes when hand meets hand... it's a sickly sweet sensation but i could stomach it: if the conversation was kept to a satisfying lubrication: and it wouldn't be even remotely associated to the feminist-gay "commonwealth"... alliance... i don't need homosexuals to tell me XY&Z... i'm actually grooving this trans-****** trend: if spotting the exacting specimen to curtail all the wannabes... if there's an authentic Brian Molko specimen walking around... wow! reimagining being *** starved on the Western Front... a few guys with more artistic inclinations... rather than the rough sea-faring roughage of **** on the spot job done become involved... prettier faces than those of women... i could: no! i would succumb! it's just the terror in the eyes and on the faces of women... hey presto! a stick has two ends! freeze eggs... follow a career... demand a car a mortgage blah blah... my my... what a curiosity this trans-****** worked up to a perfection specimen of disphoria awoke in me... good enough cushioning blanket of sleeping with enough prostitutes... now i really want to sleep with a man... which is not gay... i'm bored of prostitutes... they're like any other woman: you pay them... yet they still complain as if you haven't paid them when not getting a hard-on because of (x) tiredness, (**) distraction, (***) life... per se... whatever... but those female faces... i pretended to be snoozing... they knew i knew... i kept an itch of a blink at this specimen... woman: ANGRY... no... actually... not angry... woman... what the **** is going on? of the times i went to a gay club and didn't pick up a Francis Bacon i wondered: did i drink enough? homosexual lust and all that same-for-same feminine-pro erotica of the jealous stone-rub-stone-offensive... the trans-****** "confusion" is a bright light... if done properly... done... naturally... i'm mesmerised... without... obviously... without... people succumbing to the breaking of the Hippocratic-oath... obviously... i despise the gay-pride movement... at least the authentic trans-sexuality movement is subtle... it's philosophically laden with a curiosity of more lips and less **** stressing fist-*******... this morphing of the pareidolia toward: seeing a female in a man's face... or seeing a man in a woman's face... hardly gender dysphoria... *****-utopia and... just as children look alike, regardless of ***... so do old people... also regardless of ***... but to achieve a heterosexual attraction in the realm of trans-genderism? it can't be forced... it has to happen ha-ha-naturally! i'm laughing at myself... only briefly... i'm more inclined to see the female in a man without seeing the homosexual... because homosexuality is like that quote from... no... not Human Traffic... about being gay and eating *****... how... eating ***** is not for real men... while ******* **** is all All Spice Alles Mensch... whatever... the gays are too proud might as well look out for the shy, proper, proper shy... trans-sexuals without any anti-Hippocratic-Oath mishandling(s)... the women become jittery thus...

i should have come home and reflected on spending
the past several hours on a shift
in Bishop's Park, overlooking Putney Bridge
watching the tide of Thames' recede back into the great
mouth before mingling with the salty waters
of the North Sea...
     all loved-up with the cold the dark and the wind
putting on some Woljiech Kilar soundtrack music
from Dracula - love remembered...
well... i was in the mood for something like that:
i put the track on... nope... can't feel it...
i'm tired, i'm cold i need to put on something to groove
to... we ain't going out like that - Cypress Hill...
tiredness swells the imitation pigeon-strut
in my head... bouncy-Billy will also ask for a chance
to express himself...
    the joke ran with Martin's team (Chelsea)
losing for the first time since 2006 to Fulham...
         the police officers were in a good number...
they even brought their horses...
two stood across from us when the final whistle was
blown... one of them started "laughing": if that's
what horses do, i.e. laugh...
no onomatopoeia here: hey Martin! even the horses
are laughing that Fulham beat Chelsea in the most
local derby of London...
    Craven Cottage is what? a mile at max two from
Stamford Bridge...
          one can only love the ever infuriated Martin...
but still the Thames receding...
   at first glace i might have stretched across
the balustrade and probably touched the surface of
the water... by the end of the shift when the river-bed
started to be exposed i started to wonder:
all that volume and now apparent air where once
there was water...
  no river in the world akin to the Thames...
tide in and tide out... at Westminster it's a river
that rid itself of the kettle and is nonetheless standstill
and boiling - during the day...
while eating a chicken wrap of torsos and tortillas
talking to a Norwegian who came over to watch
the football for the week...
last time he was here in the 1980s... have things changed?
the oyster one-touch travel card...
sure... it has just become a little bit more expensive:
but nothing has changed that much...
but during the night, and if its windy... well: clearly
there's a flow... a tide in or a tide out...
by the time i got to Goodmayes i walked past the brothel:
thank god i have nothing more to prove
thank god i have satiated my base needs and that's that...
what am i looking for? a compliment to a pharma-knock-out
of generic painkillers in the form of a bottle
of whiskey...
    too tired to **** not tired enough to think:
maybe i could fall in love again...
   fall in love... fall in love: but... ugh...
               fall in love and not pamper a woman's needs
with all those basic "tattoos" of courtship...
i might as well ask any future father-in-law:
so... where's my cow, my wedding dowry?
                     where's the pick-me-up to work with?
well if manna from heaven will not drop into my lap...
i hardly think... who the hell needs a car in London?
given the oncoming ULEZ restrictions?
bicycle, underground and the trains, plenty of buses...

today i was sent the most odd message from a coworker
who i am supposed to do a shift at the ice rink
on Sunday...
i was rather surprised - a "box" i never thought i would
unbox (as it were)...
i'll be honest... she's damaged - seriously damaged:
i'm on the "top" of the pile of damaged goods...
a mythological schizoid - ageing - each year turns
out easier as the madness spreads around me:
madness or the crushing mundaneness -
mundaneness or mediocrity -
    in a democracy it's all and the same: in the grey yolk
of bureaucracy -
         pushing letters through keyholes that leave
no door open: unless playing the "system" like
a criminal or a mummy with five different shades
of children from five different fathers...

                       the trouble with Russian girls is that...
they don't like a boy who appreciates music by Placebo...
huge disagreement... her take on Nancy Boy was
rigid and could never be biding: no appreciation of the music
for you... well... that be that...

this girl is hurt... i am hurt: everyone's hurt...
but i still find reasons to find silly happiness in cooking
cleaning, general groundwork labour of changing
the garden - some carpentry: cycling...
keeping up appearances of a well-kept diet
and perfumery of all sorts... at least dressing like
my idol Karl Lagerfeld... like an animal wears its fur...

she even changed her name to Frankie -
Frankie... i.e. is that Franklin, Frank?
no... it's actually Francesca...
the running joke with another girl i work with
runs along the line:
wouldn't that be something, to put on your CV
if you managed to convert her?
convert? or reconvert?
after all she has managed to produce offspring...
god knows why she's not in contact with her daughter...
but it's not like she was always a lesbian...
forced lesbian... it's not something a priori:
it's a posteriori...
after the facts that include: her biological father
beating her biological mum...
her biological mum abandoning her and her siblings
to escape with her dear life...
    how her step-father is like her biological father
but then the problem arises: the mother is unhinged
and now her step-father is facing splitting up with her
mother... of all the siblings she's the only one
keeping contact with her mother...
the other siblings, at least one... is ******* up to
her biological father who was: the greatest intersexual
boxer of the domestic environment to have ever lived
(in her eyes at least, i bet Tina Turner could compensate
such allowances of vanity)...

she used to be a man's woman once...
but now she switched... ******* without all
the Hippocratic misdeeds of the modern, current, narrative,
cutting off ******* and other genitals,
hormonal treatments... it's almost as if Joseph Mengele
died in body but his spirit lived on...
it's like a never-ending Auschwitz or at least
encryptions of mad-scientists for thirst of knowledge
have continued on a side-note of eugenics...
but at least with the closure of the 20th century
there was safe ******* experiments undertaken
by individuals without any authority of government:
the boys would grow their hair long and put
on eyeliner...
    perhaps even use girly perfumes or wear
dresses, nail-polish... hell... even sniff ******* or wear
them... but not with medical authority creating
irreversible ****** changes...
the girls would put on more weight or work out
and pretend to be East Germany's Olympians...
cut their hair short... who came the Pixie girls...
get tattoos wear signets: those bulky rings worth not
a gram of gold but their own worth of bulk...
    and like Francesca get an undercut with a Mohawk...
change their tone of voice... defence defence defence...
and become suddenly less and less agreeable...
still retaining a feminine smile and the odd feminine giggle
that could be unearthed...
or like with her text...
'hey... i want to go ice-skating after our shift...
do you think you'd be up for it?'
sure... although i only ice-skated twice in my life...
a long time ago, 13? i fell every single time...
i looked like someone who escaped from having
suffered from Polio...
i'll still look like someone who suffered from childhood
Polio akin to Israel Vibration's
Wiss", "Apple Gabriel", "Skelly"
      or Ian "Lane" Drury...
                                    instead i sent her a text replying:
sure... but i'll look like a spider equipped with
roller blades... i'll need to bring a casual set of trousers
just in case i fall and rip my work trousers...
'ha ha ha ha(insert crying with laughter emoticons)...'

oh sure... it's not a date... i'm not just going on a date...
we're not going for dinner...
i'm going ice-skating with a lesbian...
a butch-lesbian a hiding woman...
tattoos six-pack and muscle...
no wonder: only hours prior i was admiring
a would-be Brian Molko on the tube...
        
she followed up with a text of yet more defence:
but i'm skint - it will cost £10.50 for an hour
and a bit...
      we'll see i reply... as if she was implying:
if we can't get in for free... would you be willing
to pay?
i didn't reply with agreement to paying for...
then again: i'm not thinking about ***,
or homosexual conversion therapy...
i just don't remember when a girl last asked me to
go on a date with her... after all:
isn't a girl asking a boy to go ice skating with her
sort of asking a boy to go on a date?
she said she was quiet adapted to ice skating:
she owns a pair (of ice skates)... and i'll be the hilarious
polio walker / spider strapped with roller blades
trying to swim in quicksand...
mind you... i'm trying to rid myself of the past two
interactions in the brothel... terrible ***...
that one with the madam where i was limp...
the fate of the Sabine men gripped me...
i won't deny it...
second time... she calls herself my favourite:
she isn't... she's deluded... to the amazement of the other
girls i like to **** in the brothel...
i only extended my per usual 30min stay
by clocking up an extra 30min because i was so close
to climaxing from a *******: knock knock on the door...
time's up... no... not this time...
i'm going to finish... ergo...
but even she has paved her way onto a path of too much
physical augmentation...
if the **** don't come first... then the duck quack lips
reveal themselves first... she's an aging *******
and she has never done anything in terms of work
prior... no laundry no till service...
pregnant aged 14 and in the profession aged 16...
this is the murk and the sully of the gallows
of everyone: once, former, youthful idealism of love...
trotting a horse with broken legs like
waking up into birth by a man sitting in akimbo
for too long... standing up with numbed legs...
moving awkwardly...

obviously i was going to be robbed of Khadra and Mona...
Mona became stupid for getting pregnant
with a customer... hmm... i wonder who...
last time i saw her i teased her without a ******
and this massive fright gripped her face
because i was only teasing and she thought i was
a premature ejaculator... clearly a ****** was subsequently
used and the deposit in it: **** knows...
she should know... i haven't seen her since...

i think i'll text Francesca (Frankie) and tell her...
bring your skates girl... if we can't get in for free i'll
pay for the two of us...
only two shifts prior she was insinuating about
going for a pint: i just replied: i would...
but i had to help my father write the fortnightly
invoice and send it in...
like tomorrow... tomorrow i'll have to help my mother
with the taxes and VAT...
they're getting a new accountant and she lied
about doing her taxes on a spreadsheet...
**** me... i probably used Microsoft Excel twice...
twice, properly... but since i only used it twice...
i'm a bit rusty... so much worth of secondary school
education or the university...
   they taught us the bare minimum of real-world
life-long tools of the onslaught of technology -
   hammer and scythe i can use to count heads...
oh well: there's bound to be some crash-course for dummies
on the internet...

i waited until 9pm for the three of us to sit down to
eat some fajitas...
i overdid it using Kashmiri chilly powder
and three fresh chillies in making the pineapple salsa...
but the hotness neutralised itself with the addition
of the tomato salsa i made... and the guacamole...
the sour cream and obviously cheese, esp. cheddar
neutralises all possible excess spices...
we ate, chatted... one big ******* family,
me, father and mother and my "brother" and "sister"...
well... at least the cats meow and don't bark...
oddly enough: i'm happy... mediocre sort of:
that scene from Hellraiser: Inferno...
were the protagonist - a corrupt police officer -
is forced into a nightmare of having to relive his
eternity in his childhood's bedroom...
living with his parents...
shouldn't the horror be... your parents getting divorced?
i don't know why mine are still together...
they must be freaks... i must be a mutant:
well... born only two weeks after Chernobyl:
no riddles, only clues...
     i keep the conversation going...
i help around the house...
  
                        Frankie dealt me two nuggets of hashish
in the past 4 months... once i was desperate
when the hashish ran out so she gave me the number
of a marijuana dealer: great green all the way from
America... i only used the service once...
maybe that's me being bulletproof...
i'm cutting down on drinking and i will never return
to smoking marijuana to achieve a Buddha-esque glow
meditating while high and hungry...
weighing in at 78kg... it's a bit of a yoyo with me these
days... from 99kg through to 103kg...
but then... i pinch myself: i summon the ***** to pinch
back... hmm! no man-****... so i could try out for
some amateur rugby matches...

a butch lesbian asking a boy for a date to go
ice skating... i feel... truly terrible for all the conventional women...
i would have offered a cinema date...
she beat me to the better sort of entertainment...
she said: let's go ice skating...
i would have retorted: i do own two bicycles...
how about we go cycling in the night...
round and round Raphael's Park...
round and round... and if we're lucky...
and if the winter air aligns itself with some idiot
setting off fireworks... we can get snippets of whiffs
of imitation autumn... as if the leaves of the trees
have fallen in the dry crisp air and someone
set them alight and there's no rot and knee-deep
digging of plush-decay exfoliating a sickness
in the air... how's that?

i'll send her the text... hell... i'll pay for her...
i'm not interested in ***...
she might be a butch-lesbian trying to hide her
femininity... but she still smiles like a woman...

oh sure... i remember the last conventional:
heterosexual date i was on...
we met in a sweaty night-club... if we kissed we kissed:
i don't remember... she gave me her phone-number
i gave her mine... i was in the company of
about 3 girls who i met elsewhere, otherwise:
also randomly...
at least one made something of her life...
she ****** off to Norway - totally off-the-grid...
by now probably breeding huskies for sleighs...

the next time we met... i bought two bottles of wine...
the "date"? a job interview... we talked...
subsequently we went to a pub while i had a pint...
she was feeling claustrophobic...
i was the alcoholic and she became the **** of boredom...
she excused herself: some prior engagement
with her girlfriends... i guess she thought she got away...
i way happy to get away by same mechanisation
of oppositional psychology...
all this talk within the confines of carpe diem that
centred upon: what do you / what's you living
should i think about life insurance - will we live to be 70
years old?
well... that's the cherry on top with Francesca...
you want to go ice-skating? sure...
you want to go cycling with me in the night?
sure... life insurance / what do you for a living?
how much do you earn?
             can we live a little outside a prison within a prison?!

so much for Dawid Bovie's idea of the androgynous man:
if i'm to be surrounded by "butch" lesbian
and prostitutes: that's my lot then...
i'm not going to succumb to the CV-project-veritas
in-vitro infanticide females with CHOICE
like... my spunking into a bucket and calling it:
falling asleep with the sound of rain
trickling trickling on a metallic roof...
in the night when the horrors come and horrors
claim all the little details of frailty
of mortality...

                  for every tear-jerking sympathy for
a Romeo there's the mantis of
   a Judith kissing the decapitated head of
                                                             Holofernes:
**** it... the prostitutes i truly loved ******* are either:
pregnant or on "holiday"...
i passed the brothel only two nights ago...
i spotted a man walking out from the door...
he froze like a doe in the headlights and didn't move
until i turned my head and kept walking...
i was about to blast out with wind and voice:
no shame in having to share women
we will never impregnate!
start thinking like a woman, dear man...
think on ground of evolutionary bias...
for every women there's this boast of:
50% of men reproduced successfully...
while all the whole lot of them the 100% of train-wrecks
and Piccadilly butcher's antics with the flab
have... their greatest success story to ever live...
i could be worse off... than right now...
i could have married an ugly woman:
by definition: if a most feminine man
grows his hair long and applies some slapstick
makeover creases of eyeliner...
i can forgive him his match-for-match size
of hands... height... size of shoe...
but never an ugly woman... UGLY...
that goes beyond mere the physical-glass...
i'm talking: character... there's no prime-ego
LEGO building block... no architect's corner stone...
there's nothing to work with...
just everything to work around...
to avoid...
                    
    if: for ****'s sake... i'm not planning: i'm providing
the revenue... i want to go ice-skating!
she doesn't have any money? i have "too much"...
i don't: but for the worth of life in life that's only
to supposed to span a month's worth of living it...
hell: i have no better idea to pass the time...

at one point i found out that Francesca has some Irish
roots... you're Aye-Reesh?!
              really? never would have conjured up
a sharing of ******* on a leprechaun...
**** it for good luck... like circumcision:
that's apparently Hebrew for: good luck...
with the addition of: ensuring your bride to be
be donning a niqab and all those "other"...
culturally sensitive, exclusive terms of
cultural-dis-appropriation: or whatever the **** is
coming out of H'America...
             once upon a time when that cultural export
was relevant: these days: nothing new to be
found... except the abandoned moon...

well... i sent the text... sure... i'll pay for the ice-skating...
but you have to promise me to go cycling
with me during the warmer months
with me... don't worry about having a bicycle...
you can have my mountain-bicycle
i use for the winter months
while i'll get on my summer month
road-bicycle...
we'll head toward Thurrock...
and elsewhere that's Essex friendly
and far away from London outer-suburbia...
fresh... fresh...
Jean Claude van Dame...
                       Fresh: that's her idea of working out
before the shift... and then going ice-skating...
FooR x Majestic x Dread MC...

                oh well... life in Loon-downs...
or is that: no apples... i'm sure there are no apples...
if she takes the bait...
i.e. i pay for both of us going ice-skating tomorrow...
she better go cycling with me during the
summer months...
she says no to ice-skating tomorrow
i'll become Trojan in my own defense...
if she wants to be all ******* lesbian defensive...
i can be defensive too...
i'll arm myself with enough brothel visits to erase:
first... comes... oh my grandmother disappointed
me... i could have been there for my
grandfather stabbing himself in the leg
while entering the state of AGONIA...

                    i could have been there: she? trying to protect
me against the advent of mortality?
or her... biting my grandfather's alcoholism she
induced by being a terrible woman?
his last pleasures?
crossword puzzles... cycling, fishing,
rekindling with the day-tripper postcard sender
vouch! you're the simulation tourist with
his... grand... chill... no... not -dren...
his... sole and only grand-child... i.e. me...
him buying me the books i read over the summer holidays...

women are so ape so cruel...
i stopped believing in what's idealistic and rare before
me: which i can't replicate...
i'm happy being freed from:
i don't earn the sort of money that the state
demands taxing me... weird? no!
i don't earn enough to be taxed!
weird... i'm sort of pretending to be a jellyfish
afloat... simulating gravity:
gravity is always a simulation in the medium
of water...
                by air contra vacuum:
the mountain breathes in winter a cascade of
frigid snow slides down...
a Michael Schumacher goes skiing...
****** races cars at 200kmh... one loose turn and twist:
cranium like an opening of a watermelon...
jellyfish fighting for life dead-locked style
in a sick-bed while people nearest to him
think about magic-spells: how best to live without
him: how best to milk the cow with *****
instead of milk... hmm hmm hmm...

if she wants to go on a date with me to go ice-skating...
and i'm supposed to be paying for it...
she better be readied to go cycling with me
during the summer months...
if that's not going to happen:
she shouldn't have suggested
going ice-skating in the first place, for ****'s sake...
like: anything by Bricktop in ****** is
Shakespeare to me... perhaps even more...
living with the times...

                                oh well some well: Samuel!
Samuel: you're not Samantha... learn to become
a transvestite first... before we employ the ****
Hippocrates to mutilate you, o.k. darling?
    learn to grow your hair long...
learn to put on make-up... learn to wear dresses...
learn to sniff female underwear...
Samuel! Samuel! you're not Samantha (yet)!
we will not give you up to the Joseph "Hip-replacing-******"
Mengele: shy away from everything American
in the realm of: worth being culturally exported
and influencing foreign cultures: esp.
in the basin of the origins of the English ZZZUNGE...
that's England...
                  
HIPS FOR KNEES!
                    America: beacon, former: beacon of the world
to come... came one Cain for every second cannibal
no Satan was spawned: at least that's Iranian paranoia
covered: converted, shut the doors on Tehran...
bigger whoops happened when...
Garry Glitter became pop once more
with the release of the Joker movie
and that mad dance scene...
on the 132 steps where Shakespeare Avenue
meets Anderson Avenue...

    i will never, ever... visit... anything... remotely...
resembling... or being curated as being:
North America... i've had too much north american
cultural anemia...
             prior to words not being so much politcal
as agent orange doing all the "talking"...
                                  
  tam tam tam dam dam dam... ditto... do no more than
the necessary "evil": just, bass: on the base
on insinuation;
hell... if the afro-cosmopolitan is the new "cool",
the new "groove"...
let's just keep it... marred: in murk: in murky.
Scarlet Niamh May 2017
He was kind to me
Got me a special box
Just for me to sleep in

Gave me sweets

I called him Uncle

He cut my mummy up and
Experimented on my baby brother
Growing inside her
But Uncle said she had to die

The other kids were sent away
To the gas chambers
But Uncle liked me
Because I was blonde and pretty
And he was going to teach me
How to be a doctor like him

I'd have my tools and I
Could put other people's brothers
In jars to keep
Like he did with mine

He said I would be the first one
To have twins planted in my belly

Would they sprout like trees
In my stomach?

We had tidy beds there
And it smelled nice

My mummy and daddy are dead
And I loved my uncle
But it smells funny in here
And everyone is coughing

I think I can hear his voice
Calling me
And I want to run
But there are walls surrounding me
And I can't escape

His crazy eyes are following me
Until I collapse on the floor
Dead
~~ Putting myself in the shoes of one of Mengele's victims. ~~
I: Introduction—A History Lesson
The word ******* was derived from the Sanskrit
svastika,
meaning good fortune,
or well being.
The shape is a monogram,
the interlacing of two Brahmi words,
a hooked cross which, over 5,000 years ago,
represented the rays of the sun,
the four directions of our natural compass,
and the four elements of our world.
Earth, wind, fire and water,
the symbol was balanced,
sitting firmly on its base
like a poised animal
on its haunches.
In other interpretations,
the symbol was a sacred text
explaining, “here is how the sun moves across the sky.”
A map of the heavens,
a lesson in astronomy.
The *******, when standing on its base,
is still sacred today
in many religions.
It is
the Buddha’s footsteps,
the seventh saint in Jainism,
and the four possible places of rebirth
in animal and plant world,
hell, earth and the spirit world.
In the 1870s the ******* was changed forever.
An archaeologist engrossed in discoveries
from ancient Troy and Mycenae,
Heinrich Schliemann,
found the symbol likeable
and claimed it,
because as a man he had the power to define.
He designated it
the symbol of his people—the Aryans—
and soon this is what it became.
By 1907 the ******* was turned at an angle
physically
becoming a hooked cross precariously balancing
on its side.
Its meaning, however, was turned upside down.
The cult of Aryan supremacy
claimed it,
and finally ****** adopted the
bedraggled image
as the symbol of the **** party
marking the beginning of its legacy
as an image of hate,
a harbinger of genocide,
and unthinkable atrocity.
In the course of twenty five years,
under the direction of ****** and Himmler
and Heydrich and Daluege
and Jeckeln and Prutzmann
and Eichmann and Mengele
and countless other men with vacant expressions
and the ability to spell death with pointed fingers
the ******* came to mean loss
of integrity, of citizenship, of basic rights,
of personal safety, of property,
of an untarnished image of humanity
of hope.
Under the *******
unraveled a calm, coordinated,
and systematic extermination
of 6 million Jews
200,000 gypsies
70,000 handicaps
and unknown numbers
of people of color,
political prisoners,
homosexuals
and deportees.
Under the *******,
there were gas chambers
and the burning of children’s bodies.
There were prison-like ghettos,
and there was no humanity.
Part II: A lesson in Linguistics
First, language is meaningful only
because of shared understanding.
Words mean nothing,
symbols are vacuous
unless we share recognition
of the things that they signify.
All language is arbitrary
if we cannot agree on what object,
or emotion or event in history
are called forth by the words that we say.
Second, to be able to change meaning, you must have power
and you must have time.
Trust me,
if I could rewrite the meaning of every blood-soaked word
I would.
I would scrub them clean of their histories.
I’d redefine them,
make them useful,
maybe even kind.
But I can’t, and neither can you.
At least not alone
and not on command.
Because I’m sorry to say
that that’s not how language works.
I’m sorry to say
that a symbol made synonymous with hate
cannot be used innocently,
cannot only mean what it meant before ******
and Himmler
and Heydrich and Daluege
and Jeckeln and Prutzmann
and Eichmann and Mengele.
Even if you claim to redefine it,
even if you claim to only use it for what it once was
even if once it was beautiful,
like the stalwart path of the sun,
the ******* has innocent blood on its hooks
and it eyes us sideways like a crooked lamppost
burdened with memories we cannot dismiss.
We remember.
As a society, we remember,
because pain is a finicky creature
that will not be reasoned with,
or re-defined out of existence.
We cannot use the ******* without remembering the pain
how it was ironed onto the starched coats
and painted on the national flags
of those who murdered
6 Millions Jewish men, women and children,
200,000 gypsies
70,000 handicaps
and unknown numbers
of people of color,
political prisoners,
homosexuals
and deportees.
Even if you say so.
Even if you claim to only use it for good.
We remember,
we remember.
Part Three: A Story
In elementary school my Hebrew teacher was Mrs. Wygodski.
When I was ten she seemed ancient.
I remember her shaky hands, but the steadiness of her voice.
Most of all I remember the numbers on her forearm
from when the Nazis decided she was no longer a girl,
but a numerical value.
I remember her telling us about the concentration camps
when they shaved her tiny girlish head
and gave her *****, ill-fitting clothes,
when they took her arm and erased her
like a message in the sand,
and she became a number.
In elementary school someone wanted to play a joke
so they scrawled a *******
on its side
in large black ink on the white board of class.
The symbol was the first thing you saw
when you entered the room.
I remember
when she came in she was smiling
as usual
her grey hair down, her kind, open face,
a miracle of a woman,
to withstand the darkest night and still smile.
I remember that Mrs. Wygodski said it is important to forgive
but I could never understand how she forgave the Nazis.
She would look at us and say
“hate is the darkest tunnel,
and harder to climb out of
than forgiveness is to bestow.”
The day she walked into the room with the *******
looming large on the white board
I will never forget the look on her face.
As the symbol spoke to her directly
it unearthed everything she spent years flattening down,
memories she sifted through for decades with trembling fingers,
images she shelved in the recesses of her mind
to make room for the possibility of tomorrow, and the warmth of smiling children.
For a moment
that symbol broke her,
and in that moment, the ******* once again stole her humanity,
and turned Mrs. Wygodski into the number
they once told her she was.
Part Four: Land of the Free
Today thousands of hate groups continue to use the *******
teetering sideways
the way that ****** intended it.
Once a symbol of good fortune,
it is now the most widely recognized symbol of hate
the world has ever known.
Used in the United States
the ******* has opened its claws
and staked claim to the beating hearts,
and hopeful sovereignty
and promised dreams
of countless African Americans,
who became the targets of the same bottomless hate
that engulfed millions in the holocaust.
Under our star spangled banner
the ******* has overseen
thousands of racially driven lynchings,
ongoing police brutality
the imprisonment of one out of three black men
and the bombing of black children in their Sunday school dresses.
In Oregon,
the ******* celebrates the sealing of borders,
is embraced by the very groups
who once outlawed black existence
in our very own state constitution,
the same groups
who once dictated the state’s refusal
to ratify the 14th amendment
of equal protection,
and the 15th amendment
giving African Americans the right to speak
at the ballot box
and be heard
by their government.
In the land of the free, the *******
is still tattooed on chests
and ironed to coats
and scrawled on the walls of my classroom.
In our communities
there are
the European Kindred,
the Northwest Hammerskins,
Volksfront,
the National Socialist Party,
and the Ku Klux ****.
And they wear the *******
because they recognize its meaning,
the meaning we all know
the meaning imbedded deep
by the pointed guns of the Einsatzgruppen
Today,
here,
they wear the ******* because they want to swallow the world.
Part 5: In Conclusion
To whoever drew the *******
last week,
last year,
in every year before that
in the bathroom, in the hallway, on my classroom wall and desks.
I forgive you.
Not because I want to
but because Mrs Wygodski would.
I will give you the benefit of the doubt.
I will believe you didn’t mean it.
I will believe you didn’t know.
I will still have hope in your humanity
because what choice do I have?
This is my refusal to become what the Nazis wanted,
what hate groups still want.
That is how I resist.
I refuse to hate you,
I refuse
to hate.
However, now that I’m addressing you directly,
I want to take this moment to make clear
that when I see the *******
this is what I see:
I see Mrs Wygodski,
with her kindness that was like a spring
flowing from somewhere dark and unseeable
and I see her face when she walked into a room with that symbol
and I see the colors of her world bleed out.
I see my missing family members,
who I never actually had the chance to really see.
So I imagine them,
my grandfather’s aunts, uncles and cousins
from a shtetle somewhere in Poland,
erased completely from history, from record, from existence
by ******* wearing men
who forgot how to be human.
Finally, I see my students.
The rest of them,
with their still young impressionability
and their beautiful array of skin colors, backgrounds, ethnicities, cultures
and their intact understanding of love.
They are the hope that our grandparents thought was lost,
and this ******* is their antithesis.
It is the undoing of their sanctity,
it is you spitting in the face of everyone who is not you.
And if you do that intentionally,
if you do that knowingly
and with purpose,
well, that
is unforgivable
This was a powerful poem written by my teacher, Sam. I really loved the power of her words and the mental image it left in my head. Enjoy!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2018
even i can counter
the horrors of imaginaging
the experiments of josef mengele,
namely? experimenting with
implating wolf, or ape ***** into
female ovaries;
if i only had the resources...
i'd begin with a twin project,
implanting male *****
of humans into these animals...
thank god i'm not rich enough
to allow just perversity to take place...
imagine mingling wolf or ape *****
with female ovaries....
      almost a shame
to recount the aesthetics of
   gunther von hagens...
            being shamed...
                    or rather turned into
stigmata artefacts...
                 come the second look,
the **** experiments were merely
brute force, with not momentum
of a mary shelley imagination;
that sole feminist i can attest to,
as being truant of the feminine form
in the sense of expressing an anti-***
cranium... structure...
              the **** extremes seem so crude
by my romance of science;
it could almost be permitted,
to implant the ***** of a feral
creature into a civil body
of an experimented upon woman....
      how crude the ****
imagination when compared
to such wild dreams...
                       even as failures,
to be expected,
           the still potential chance
of a hybrid...
                       well...
if the jews can build their walls,
i can craft my own fancies
  to search for fear in the hearts
of the current men.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
i. the beer:

of all the drugs available for legal consumption,
well illegal too,
   i love how alcohol is the only
with a credible, even a romantic story,
take today, as an example,
  i took a gamble (the english really know
how to craft "flat" beers - namely ales...
in terms of lager? ******* can't beat
the central europeans - carling...
    that's all they can summon) -
but this one i came across today was a gem,
crisp and i am a sucker for crisp,
but not enough body of a typical ale,
body? flavour...
                  **** me, having a chemistry
degree i should be brewing...
     ah, but i do have enough vine
      for about 12 bottles every year,
but the dream? well, with music shops
doing the dodo march... i guess the ever
present ambition is to brew beer
(and yes, ***** is brought about by
the fermentation of potatoes);
   but i just love how every bottle has a story,
take this one for example:

               sharp's (rock, cornwall)
  (and yes, cornwall is bue -
            quiet unlike the rest of england,
  they even pretend to be
   "basque" separatists -
  goergie goergie - poachy poachy -
            king john the **** -
raise the black flag with a white cross
to invert the teutonic banner of
             black cross upon a white flag!)

aye ****, d'er beer:

           *doom bar

(est. 1994 - exceptional amber ale)

but like i said: not much body in it -
if a budweiser is the "king" of lager -
then this is certainly a "king" of ale.

the story? verbatim:

    'at the mouth of the camel estuary in rock,
cornwall, lies the trecherous doom bar
sandbank, the inspiration for this
exceptional amber ale.
                the sandbank is revered as a
formidable nautical challenge that
should be approached with respect and
nagivated with skill.'

well **** me, i'm off my rockers, i get a beer
and* a story... bargain,
                            at un' poond und aye-tee!

ii. lactose intolerance / constipation /
             a 4th of the "horsemen of the apocalyspse":


of the four "supposed" horsemen of the apocalypse?
i greatly admire but one:
                                          daniel dennett...
and for what, if not the virtue of being
humbled, awe-stricken, and not much of
a sophist -
                    i.e. a rhetorician.
the other three?
                to me, just a trio of pompous
*****... but daniel dennett?
now that's the bearded fellow i can admire...
he's the humpty-dumpty of the lot,
  he's like the epitome of the socratic method,
translated from ancient times
   into modernity - i.e. not the dialectician:
but the mediator.
      
   and when he mentions lactose intolerance
in humanity beyond the years of man's
"instinct"... i approach a well-known woman
to me (after all, i shared her body as
a foetal "parasite") -
  and she's tried all the could to alleviate
her constipation...
            i walk down the stairs with a bright
idea:
             how about you start drinking
raw milk?
                      maybe raw milk would ease
the constipation?
                           she replies:
not even if i had raw milk with a cherry...
worth a try, i say,
given that i've never seen you drink raw
milk...
        me? i still drink the raw fluid ivory -
better drinking that,
       that shooting rhinos for sport...
for some reason i can't get enough of it...
  cheese beckons?! not really...
but give me a pint of milk, and i'll drink it
in one worthwhile summary:
   concluding in an empty pint glass.
maybe milk will ease the constipation?
   who knows, worth a try.

but of the four "supposed" horsemen,
   i have respect for but one...
      yes yes, hitchens sycophants out there
than have their carnival of mumbles
and ooh and ah's... and a-ha's...
          yes, eloquent to the highest degree,
but a pompous ****** the name came to be;
only on the death bed, was he ever
earnest to curb his sophistry -
       and as said:
              nearing the abode of death,
              man stands undressed,
              in mind and body,
              the unlikely foetal kindred -
              naked, in the fluid of change -
              readied for the onslaught
              of the forever eternal flux.

iii. the three animals (laika, albert jr.,
&, why of course: dolly)
:

funny, isn't it...
           if there was a soviet darwin,
the soviets would have sent an ape into space...
but instead they sent a dog...
  
seems hard to find people with ape pets,
domesticated in the allign of a zoo -
    probably just as hard to keep a domesticated
money, as it is to keep a pigeon take
to a return roost...
hence the romanticism of space exploration
residing with the soviets, over the americans...
the world will forever remember
  a laika than an albert jr. (originally albert II,
but lets not allow aristocracy into the domain
of the lesser mammal) -
  and laika will always burn an imprint
into the mind, a dog always overcomes
the monkey in the here & now
                                 (dasein evolution):
but that's space taken care of...
what about time?
         none other than "alice", i.e.
     dolly the clone sheep... cloning
explores time... and dolly was the first
explorer of time, or the perpetuation of said
artefact...
                   do i sense a "humane" obstruct
being imposed?
         the frankenstein phobia?
               oh i think i'm right on the money...
with so much knowledge and so much
power at our hands, the collective man seems
only orientated around the carnal dynamic
of perpetuating itself around a dynamic
of pains and ills...
                       never the broad shoulder
giant looking toward the western continents
from the shores of portugal...
                by now we realise we're not
standing on the shoulders of currently-temporal    
giants... but on the shoulders of:
midgets!      
               as i a child i conjured up the idea
of the other A.I. -
nothing technological...
                  i actually thought of
insemination - and if auschwitz would still be
open, i might have joined ol' joseph in
the experiment,
but like a true scientists: beginning with animals,
i.e. impregnating a dog with human *****...
or a monkey with human *****...
obviously jo mengele would have
preferred the reverse, i.e. impregnating
a woman with the ***** of the already stated
examples...
                       well... in the dark aeons of
*******... hasn't anyone noticed the crude
representation of a white woman,
******* the phallus of a horse?
     ah... you weren't internet savvy in the early
00s... what with rotten.com.
When Van Gogh cut off his ear
It was for reassurance that the rest of him could disappear

That illusion of ownership that nerves create
Should have faded with each baby tooth I lost
It didn't though, contrariwise I worried I would extend
Into roads or trees and then feel the tire's friction or the elm's blight

Empathy is a ***** of its own
I pray I never wake up with a Siamese twin
I'd have to care, lest we lapse into mutual sadomasochism
That hilarious territory of bored lovers

The Thalidomide kids might get a kick
out of feeling new arms attached to other people
but that's the exception that proves the rule

After the Vietnam war, some men believed Agent Orange
Had followed them home, alive in newly discovered nerves
Now what odd god must be behind that ****!

Mengele often awoke from dreams sweating and sure
That his patients would learn a trick to generate biological anesthetics
He needed the feedback of sound to really understand the human body
“Prayer or pleading” he used to say with a wink to his bartender after work

Sometimes I worry that my nervous system
Might have a Mengelian agenda of its own

That I am woven into a potential torture chamber seems clear
but then I remember that I can always pull the tooth or cut off the ear
Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
Josef Mengele /ˈmɛŋɡələ/; German: [ˈmɛŋələ];
16 March 1911 – 7 February 1979 was a German
Schutzstaffel (SS) officer and physician
in Auschwitz concentration camp
during World War II. He performed deadly human
experiments on prisoners and was a member
of the team of doctors who selected victims
to be killed in the gas chambers.
Arrivals that were judged able to work
were admitted into the camp, while those deemed
unsuitable for labor were sent to the gas chambers
to be killed. With Red Army troops sweeping
through Poland, Mengele was transferred
280 kilometers (170 mi) from Auschwitz
to the Gross-Rosen concentration camp
on 17 January 1945, just ten days before the arrival
of the Soviet forces at Auschwitz.
After the war, he fled to South America
where he evaded capture for the rest of his life.
Superficial is the debut studio album
by American television personality Heidi Montag,
digitally released on January 11, 2010
by Warner Music Group. After being cast
in the reality television series The Hills
and subsequently achieving public notability,
she entered the music industry
and began recording the project in 2007.
However, it suffered from several setbacks
after recorded material intended for the project
was leaked and proved unsuccessful.
Montag enlisted collaborators Steve Morales,
Chris Rojas, The Runners, Sebastian Jacome,
Fingazz during its production. Superficial
received mixed to negative reviews
from music critics. It debuted at number 41
on the U.S. Billboard Heatseekers Albums
Chart with first-week sales of approximately
1,000 copies. Consequently, the record did not earn back the $2 million
that Montag spent during its production;
she later blamed its failure on inadequate
promotional efforts. "Superficial"
was released as the only single
from the record on November 22, 2009;
its accompanying music video
was premiered in April 2010. Montag
additionally performed her track
"Body Language", which was initially
planned for inclusion on Superficial,
at the Miss Universe 2009 pageant
on August 23, 2009. In 1942,
Auschwitz II Birkenau, originally
intended to house slave laborers,
began to be used instead as a combined
labor camp and extermination camp.
Prisoners were transported there
by rail from all over German-occupied
Europe, arriving in daily convoys.
By July 1942, SS doctors were conducting
"selections" where incoming Jews
were segregated, and those considered able
to work were admitted into the camp
while those deemed unfit for labor
were immediately killed
in the gas chambers.The arrivals
that were selected to die, about three-quarters
of the total, a included almost
all children In August 2007, a demo version
of Montag's song "Body Language"
was leaked on On Air with Ryan Seacrest,
which featured an uncredited rapped verse
by Montag's boyfriend Spencer Pratt.
Montag has claimed she was unhappy
with the leak, as the song was a "joke"
and she did not want that to be
the first thing people heard from her musically.
Montag released the promo single,
"Higher" along with an accompanying
video shot by Pratt to iTunes on February 5, 2008.
The song and the video immediately
elicited a negative response
from the online community.
Two weeks later, a ballad titled "No More"
was leaked online, and Montag later released
it as a promotional single the following month.
Two more songs, "Fashion" and
"One More Drink" appeared on the internet
in June 2008.Consequently, Montag released
the extended plays Wherever I Am and Here She Is...,
which were made up of previously leaked material.
Following the album's release,
Montag stated "I've actually gone broke
putting every dollar I've ever made
and my heart and soul into this music.
For me, I have a different appreciation,
a different understanding, and a different love
of my music and for my album
than any other artist possibly could."
Montag later confirmed she spent nearly $2 million on the album.
Initially, the album was to include
Montag's debut single, "Body Language",
but the song was later removed from the final product.
The album was eventually released
on January 11, 2010 for digital download
The record was originally announced
to be titled Heidi Montag, later Independent,
and eventually The One. In 2009,
Montag stated that the record would be titled
Superficial, commenting that "that's the world
she lives in and how people think she is
but it's really just the surface" Its intended
cover was shot by Liz Ciganovich,
who commented that it was inspired
by Montag's earlier music video for her song "Overdosin'"
and "Physical" by Olivia Newton-John.
It depicted Montag dressed in a strapless,
polka-dotted leotard in front of a wall of cassettes,
which she described as a "shout out to the '80s"
and "makes you remember
when you just had to run out to the record store
and get your favorite album". However,
the official cover was later revealed
to be an image of Montag in a short black dress
posing in front of a large camera lens.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
the pro-anti-abortion argument:

so the tissue argument doesn't count?

so...

   once the ***** leaves the body
of a male....
it is the sole possession
of a female?"

sign me up for euthanasia...
please! send me to
gaßkammern!

might as well cut my testicles off!
employ me as a *******
castrato for holding the harem
***** free...

so i can't *******?
did i forget my napkin,
or did my bride forget her *****?
just asking...

              so...
as long as my ***** remains in my,
or on a tissue, flushed down a toilet...
but them she takes over
the ownership?
           she gets the bigoted bargain
and bias?
                       **** me...
            i'm sure a Rabbi would argue
that a 16 year old
is always ready...
because... given the current
secular year p.s. a.d. that's always
true...

               so i can't...
*******...
   wait a minute... but i haven't
been circumcised...
            look at me! woo woo!
next time i *******
into a woman...
i'll secure some wolf ***** into
a syringe...
and then implant a
Frankenstein experiment into her...
my...
didn't a woman, epitome...
make a case for desiring vampires
& werewolves?

       **** it...
let's make josef mengele
2.0,
                         i'm ready...
i'm craving for the laboratory...
     but... clearly... you're not...
given...

   can a woman really claim such
ownership?
                 i must make an equal claim...
whatever i *******
into a tissue and flush it down
a toilet...
has to become a pseudo crocodile
child of the deep...
    
if only i was born in the end of the 19th century...
my Auschwitz would have looked much
more differently...

i would have attempted less twin experiments...
to curate a cure for the Siamese...
i would have injected women
with wolf *****...
such a mild,
childhood fantasy...

                   and people worried
about the treatment of
          heretics by the church in
        the Renaissance;

if i were the primordial evil
of the 20th century...
i'd pocket my concerns...
where i began the 21st century with.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
oh, i don't really have a problem with them
talking...
                    it's only when they start babbling
about a necessary correlation between art
and morality,
              how being "moral" allows you to
construct meaningful narratives,
  where, either someone is good
                                                     \
            and descends into being bad
or someone begins by being
                good (ascends).
              /
      bad.
         that part about art, could **** anyone off,
whether left-wing, or right-wing...
  you can ascribe a moral dimension toward
art...   would a sober edgar allan poe
have written what he wrote?
well, sure... perhaps if ****** drank a few whiskeys
a day, and ate some meat, he wouldn't
have crafted the holocaust;
what the **** is with these stale housewife myths?!
this sort of talk can really get at your
           bone marrow...
and make it rot, and give you stomach cramps...
art... & morality?
           so being a moral artists allows you a coherent
access toward providing an educational
form of narrative that can be easily repeated?
          william burroughs... can you recreate
his technique?
              if you can... you're in the pile of:
complete failures;
                               oh, but i guess in the current
right-wing category, homosexuality is moral,
because: you're going to get a baby pooped out
from a gay's ***...
                           that's a very moral stance with
regard to the general cause of humanity.
             i already said, it's a dodo project incubated
by right-wing politics...
                                 as a child i actually thought
about impregnating human ***** in wolves,
or vice versa...
                oh look, a crazy scientist in the making;
but the **** you do with monkeys, or rats?
why not try to impregnate a man's ***** in
a wolf, or a monkey's ***** in a woman,
           or whatever acrobatics you can think of?
by now, the "angel of death" of auschwitz
                                                (josef­ mengele)
     has become really, really ******* boring to me...
as usual, sadists have no imagination
        they only have the capacity intra-species
                   horrors...
                        me? if i had the chance?
          inter-species curiosities...
             what would happen if you impregnated
a sheep with bull's *****, or like i already said,
impregnated a woman with wolf *****?
        see how josef mengele's experiments
with twins, look, rather pale?
             ah... isis and chopping of heads gets boring,
i'm looking for someone brave enough to
do these experiments.
   you can't ask of art a morality,
            as you can't ask of morality, an art-form;
oh sure, because you might as well stumble
upon something akin to voltaire's
        pangloss quote regarding tending
to your own garden (affairs), or dumas'
  athos quote: the best advice, is to give no advice;
as with listening to in extremo's song der galgen,
and turning into a berserker,
  as a glaswegian might turn into
(according to gavin mcinnes) with adelle's song hello.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
[for.                                     | MD]

or it is not. "Massachusetts, at 1 Cod mess-Sassi,"
which return is not an attack, "said Tanslathat,
Teslatat to the death of the General Manual tower auriliuli Taurus.
I have also heard of mental 1000 Anamiria:
" A girl is a taxi in front building, May asked,
Kaunas Bataini Kaus preparing the Rila Iraqi Yam, eight days,'' Ali said Ekva Tvova, a long building Latiuum, |
gray, angry and quickly force general tenths distributor
Promotion irimusicat mate advertising and sales.
The Guinness putteth on his garment;
and they could not understand him in it,
and Superman, Superman and the house of Mary,
and she was not afraid; Then it was time to smile,
then it is useful but not the daughter-in-law
that is very strong, so when they smile,
maybe in the history laid on 100 cows
and treats Pakistan estate privileges 100 people.
Better, therefore, drink brainwashing the mind
of lands or publicly available outside the bathrooms are in the tomb.
First, the path of the fire,                      he clenched his fist between the allies and the outgoings of it do not know about it.                Because of the design. Laughter, laughter, tears and tears,
yellow pop-ups, often in cold water, wind and pink,
but not serious, serious.                                      It is not easy to lose the Lord.
This is the price. Gold, Silver, and Blue is great.
A black, white and black, and between the sounds begin.
What is the depth of 500 meters, that is,
he is considered who does not have a hell,
and that which is in harmony with the things that exist,
and in the life of God, in the end;
not as it was out of a man,
which is the father of the girl.
Buffalo,                                       Terigumi Tragumi Gordum
struck for. We support "(5, 5), which most of us in the name
of Melissa Decker, who said: "Who wants to believe in God." (Luke 5: Guonon khotel Great Britain can be happy on earth.
Zora de Leslie of Guanti great Britain). door.
"Code of Massachusetts into the mess-1 Sassi," which return
is not an attack, "said Tansladat, Teslatat to the death of General
Mengele Tauer auriliuli Taurus. Other 1000 will have heard of me.
Anamiria "A parade girl asked a taxi in round Image,
Kaunas Bataini Kausassa preparing the Rila Iraqi Yam,
eighth day" signified Ali said Ekva Tvova
While the Latins gray, distributors Iraqi mate Irimuzi
or it is not. "Massachusetts in 1 piglet, Sassi",
the income is not burdensome, "said Tanslatthat,
Teslatat to the death in the general manual
auriliuli ridges tower. I had heard about the mental
1000 Anamiria:" A girl from the taxi at the building,
it is asked, Kaunas Bataini Kaus prepares
Iraqi Yams of Rila, eight days, "Ali said Ekva Tvova,
Latinum building a long, gray,
angry fast tenths of a general distributor
of advertising and sales promotion
irimusimate. Guinness Indian clothing.
brainwash,           rather not drink it in the land of the mind,
or publicly available outside the bathrooms
are in their hells. First, respecting the creatures
that trail of fire, and his sword is the fist of his companions,
and at the expense of another ye do not k now,
in the midst of it. From planning. Laughter,
laughter, tears and tears, yellow pop-ups,
often in cold water, wind and pink, but seriously,
very seriously. It is not easy to get rid of.
This is the price. Your gold and your silver,
and blue silk, a great slaughter. A black, white
and black, and the sounds begin. What is the depth
of 500 meters, that is,
it does not has to be considered is hell,
and that is,                by means of the harmony of things,
that is to say, in the end, and in a life?
so that there is from the father, who is the girl 's. !!!
the end, it is not a trail, Buffalo Terigumi travected
Tragumi was nigh to the tomb of gorda. We support
"(5, 5), which most of us in the name of Melissa Decker,
who said:" Who wants to believe in God. "(Luke 5:
Great Britain Guo non k hotel cannot be happy
with the Zora de Leslie great myth great Britain),
"the door. "Massachusetts code on the chassis-1 Sassi,"
in return, not an attack, "said Tansladat,
Teslatat death of General Mengele Tauer auriliuli dolphin.
Other 1000 will have heard of me. Anamiria
'parade girl asked a taxi ride Book, by Kaunas Bataini;
Kausassa preparing Iraqi Relay Yam on the eighth day,
"Ali said Ekava Tvova's long gray school,
Latin, distributors Iraqi partner Irimuzi"
Yash Feb 2020
Deceit, false flags waving.
Accusations, Gavel of Injustice.
Apate controls your mind.
Mentiras, Você mente.

Crying witches
bodies in the river.
Forest rituals
laughter and dance.

The Crucible, great Aurther.
White coated, glass-eyed
Judge John Hawthorne, you are.
Don't believe Abigail Williams

Salem witch trials commence.
Screaming ****** ******
Witchcraft! Sociopathy!
Don't throw me in the river.

Believe the innocent.
5 lives, central park 5
liars are adults, kids are angels.
Don't throw me behind bars.

Erro de diagnóstico.
White walls, white lies
empty promises, filled pockets
lamb in wolf´s cave.

Happy little pills.
Serotonin, mess up his mind
make him an empty shell.
**** him up, porque quem se importa.

White angel in white hell.
Josef Mengele, don't touch me
evildoer, you are. **** salute
go back to screaming Heil ******.

Touch me once, I will resist.
Tell me twice, I will talk.
Tame me thrice, I will scream.
Trail of final letters, suicídio.
Portugese
Mentiras - lies
Você mente - you lie
Erro de diagnóstico - Misdiagnosis
Porque quem se importa - Because who cares
Suicídio - Suicide
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
.ich haben! alles ich habem ist diese! das ist alles! sonst ist alles und nicht!

soylent green -
wumpscut....

can you excuse by
hyper-inflated
joy of finding....

a leftist safe-space...
like it might be
a gorilla
with a village incubation...
hidden by

dian fossey...

            you're really
looking at a quasi
mengele anticipating
twins...

      i'm watching this
echo, chamber...
     this, echo,
chamber....
                      
      and i can't help, but,...
smile.

once the holocaust
survivors die...
open warfare.
Johnny Noiπ Jan 2019
Or Note. "This shows that there was a return to cash
Tens  awats tanks mass of Lisbon Orleansilli Manila
Teto died in the towers." Anamiya 1000, "said the taxi driver
about a few key Kususti Banians Euwauwu, Almaz Euwawa
and Latin High jasmine Promotion of Wharf in principle
and the five-star can see, either for public display."
   Baths, fire crews in Hell, the force of the waters of the crime found blue,
         and the friends of the head of a great many roses in the black of gold
and silver.                                              A black and white
and a voice that says the Catholic Church is the end of life?
So, what is the name is the father of. !!! In the end,
                            the narrative by way of a serious drama
about Tigris' |  | baby found near the tomb.   "(5, 5),
most of us in the name of Melissa Crowder,"
Who wants to believe in God? '(Luke 5: Britain
and the great work leap Gothamoreau not out of Britain
and into the Code of the Code of Massachusetts;
Massachusetts' no "T-anne new." dead is dead: Oromilia &
Shaw dolphin seems to Taitati Khasasar.
Reiki works in Iraq on the eighth day
Jacob prepares Ali 'Vladivostata and the ugly of America,
Iraqi Press Amiramim or not.                    "Massachusetts in 1 piglets, Sassi,"
income is not burdensome, "said Tanslathat,
Teslatat to death in the general manual auriliuli ridges tower.
Listened to the mental 1000 Anamiria:"
A taxi girl in the building is asked,
Kaunas Bataini Kaus is preparing the Iraqi
Yam of Rila for eight days, "said Ali Ekva Tvova,
Latinum, who created a long, gray,
angry fast tenth of the general distributor
of Iraqi music,     |            mate sales and promotions,
not to drink it in the mind's mind
or being publicly|  available outside of the bathrooms
is in the hell the creatures that come out of the fire,
and his sword is the punch of his companions
and at the expense of another not on her knees,
laughter, tears and tears, yellow pop-ups,
often in cold water, wind and pink, but seriously,
very It is not easy to get rid of it, it's your price,
your gold and your silver,          and the blue silk,
a big slaughterhouse, a black, white and black,
and the sounds start. What is the depth of 500 meters,
that is, should not be considered hell, that is,
through the harmony of things, that is, at the end and in life?
so that there is from the father, who is the girl. !!!
the end, not a trace, Buffalo Terigumi traveled
Tragumi was near the tomb of gorda. We support
"(5, 5), which most of us in the name of Melissa
Decker, who said:" Who wants to believe in God.
"(Loukas 5: Great Britain Guonon khotel                       cannot be pleased
with the great legend of Zora de Lasley of Great Britain),"
the door. "Massachusetts code in the Sassi-1 chassis,"
in exchange, it's not an assault, "said Tansladat,
Teslatat's death of General Mengele Tauer;
auriliuli's dolphin. Bataini Kausassa preparing
Iraqi Rila Yam on the eighth day," Ali said
Ekava Tvova's long gray school's Latin distributors
are Iraqi partners, Irimuzi Or Nott. "In Pigs,"
Sayisus had no income on incoming cash tanks,
"Tensawats, tetoes died on Manila's Orleansilli
towers." 1000 Anamiya      "When asked about the children
of short-lived taxi drivers, Kususti Baniani Keys Euwauwu,
Almaz Euwawa, the Latin Grand Wharf Traffic
and Promotion, was not able to see a five-star general
or public display." Fire crews from their bathrooms
are in Gehenna, the sword is the head of friends,
But the water, the wind and the roses are so serious,
not too blameless, your price, gold and silver, blue silk,
the great farmhouse, black, White and Black,
and in Voice Does the Book of Mormon mean,
in the end and in life?                  So, this is the Daughter of the Father. !!!
The end, not the path, the drama narrative
was near Tigray, near the grave of the grave. "(5, 5),
in the name most of us Melissa Crowder"
who desires to believe in God. "(Loukas 5:
Great Britain, Gothamorea can not rejoice
in the great myth of Great Britain. In Marsha's
case, the Massachusetts Code is "Not Spoken,"
Trannesaw, "The Dead Commanders, General
Than Shaw Oromilia Dolphin Is Dead".
Taitati Khasasar Iraqi Reiki works to prepare
Jacob on the eighth day, "Ali" Eva Vladivostata
High School Grammar, Latin, Distributors Iraqi
of Amiramim Either NOTE. "He sues Hits
had no income incoming cash tanks' Tensawats,
Teto died in Manila Orleansilli towers".
Anamiya 1000, "the children were asked
about a short taxi driver, Key Kususti Banians
Euwauwu, Almaz Euwawa and Latin High Traffic Promotion Wharf;
also the chapter,             and I am not able to see the five-star general
of the public for the sake of ostentation.
"the fire of the crew and their bathrooms
are in Gehenna,                                in the head by the friends of the water,
it is the roses of so many,
not the crime of the value of gold
and silver and blue, and one great
black a black-and-white,                                       ||  and the
Voice it is not in the book of the
Catholic Church at the end of life?
So, this is the same father. !!!    In the end,
the path the narrative was a serious drama
about Tanguy near the grave. "(5, 5),
most of us in the name of Melissa's Crowder,"
Who wants to believe in God. "(Luke 5:
Great Britain, Gothamorea not a leap
into the big play Great Britain. And Marsha
cause in Massachusetts, code is 'no' Tannenew,
"the dead guides above Shaw Oromilia's |
dolphin has died." Taitati Khasasar Iraqi Reiki
works on the eighth day;
prepare Jacob Ali, 'goes to Vladivostata' High School
and lives with a Latina Distributor of Iraqi Amiramem
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
g-swizzel books'
video

    my thoughts on recent
booktube drama
....

...........................................
...........................................
......................................
.........................................
.......................................
.........................................

10 minutes later...

...........................................
   ....................................
............................­..
.......................................
...............................
      ..................................

  i'm still blinking...
blinking...
blinking...
dazed & confused
but still blinking...
blinking...
    dazed & confused
but still blinking....
blinking....

the **** just happened?!

and focusing on about
1mm x 1mm x 1mm
focus point...

what the ****?!
is this what making fun of 20 year olds
looks like on the #resist movement?
this is the backlash?

i'm 30... i'm pretty sure i'm
categorized as a millennial...
but is that:
millennial snowflake,
or millennial: up yours!                 ?
you need a pronoun before that
?         insinuation of,
said word? yes? no?

oh **** me, we're becoming
pedantic now... o.k....
UNSAID word... surd... fine...

whatever...
              i'm watching this book review
video and, and...
i'm trying to think!
       but i can't...
i'm starting to focus on
Australia's Master-chef exploits!
i want to think,
i want to think!
             but all i have is custard
for thought... ****...
    
put on some operatic metal,
therion, with the song
rise of ***** and gomorrah...
****... no good...

   back to the critique video...

fake reader girls...
          mental health concerns...
and then... some comments by some
*******...
   my theory?
pedophiles are not into smoking
and nicotine hangovers...
or heavy drinking...
which...               ****** one ******...
never... enough.

               no!

**** me... i thought i'd never manage
to find an echo chamber...
but discovering a safe space?!
wow!
             wow! wow! wow!
this is amazing!
              
   i never thought i'd come across
this zoological phenomenon!
     **** it... this calls for sampling
some if not all of the circa five minutes
of chris isaak's song
wicked love...

      it's like... discovering a village
of gorillas and ****...!
safe spaces! wow!
wow!
   it's like...
i'd really want to have
a trans-gender Confucius- disciple
of a man...
the sort of empiricism that
could be exchanged with
a child like that?!
  priceless!

please please please please please!
please!

give me these leftist monkeys!
i want them, i prize them,
i dream of them!
i want to study the role of
safe spaces as the replacement
concepts of the Gulags...
please let me...
          
i'm as itchy as Mengele...
please let me...
  i'm dying to know!

alternatively:
  can i have the Dian Fossey role?!
it's a ******* jungle...
and i've just come across
the stereotypical left,
the atypical paid protester type...
i'm excited, no argument
against that...

   but please please please...
i want to study these people
at a closer range of affairs!
Mateuš Conrad May 2022
chances are... i've probably forgotten something... A
as it happens: per usual...
when you have a lightning storm in your head...
you wait and wait for the thunder, i.e. the words...
but since you're having a blitzkrieg moment
(just like when Stuttgart did a blitzkrieg
against West Ham in the first 2 minutes of a game):
it's sort of: disorientating...

i think i might call this:
sammeln einsen denken...
   i even have a pseudo equation for this:

english "<" german
    while... german "<" Norse...
        hell... cousin *******... but more:
branching off...
   etymologically speaking...
    it's hard to grapple with the nouns
let alone conjunctions...
but at least nouns refer to concrete things...

colours... shapes... "details"...
contortions...
then again: **** Germany did invade Norway...
while glorifying the neutrality of Sweden...
who was it that called the Swedes
the Polyphemus' of culture?
   oh... right... Knausgaard...
     i like i hate him i like him i still have
volumes 5 & 6 to read through...
and spring and summer and winter...

hmm... gather my thoughts... and idle hands do
the rest... i just watch the cascade of scribbling...
i pretend to play a violin while
stroking my beard...
i just need to find the right song to ensure
i have a rhythm-stamina
i'm pretty sure one cat of mine will break it
with a: "can i come in and lie in your bed"?

yep... just happened... the window is open
and i direct him onto my bed
and as he nudges / nuggets his head into my
pillow i'll continue...

****... i have to wake up at 7am tomorrow morning...
chances are... the skip will come between
7:30am and 9:30am... there's plenty to clear our
from the garden... all that concrete pieces
i broke down with that rented kango... etc. etc. blah
blah...
oh: i'm not work shy...
i even know why i'm doing this current work...

upon checking tickets... directing people to their
right seat... on the sly i noted the price tag...
it's "work" and it isn't work...
i just need one song to focus on to write...
i don't do: listen to a whole ****** album...
i need a concentrated dosage of something...
esp. sound... on repeat... on repeat...
i'll restart it countless times before finishing
my doodle and relaxing...
but until that time... it's one song on repeat...
on repeat... on ******* repeat...

i've have too many lightning strikes in my head
to let go of them: but i need some buoyancy...

think of *** think of *** think of *** think of
thighs think of collar bones think of elbow
think of knees think of foreheads think of hair
thing of lips think of: every, single, ****** time...
i walk into a brothel...
what do i sniff? bourbon and skin cream...
not ****** type of scents... just like:

i remember the very old memes of the internet...
one wasn't even a picture,
it was more of a question...
can two straight guys share an umbrella?
the other one was an inversion
of the myth of a mermaid...
i.e. a picture of a mermaid...
d'uh... oral ***... and counter to it...
the legs of a 6ft leg model with her torso
replaced by a fish's upper body...

           that is truly debatable...
but then again: it's not...

why do i do this job? currently? i could be earning
more if i a stuck to construction...
but that's the thing about working with family:
when it's great: it's ******* great...
but when it's ****: it's rancid...
family members can take so many liberties when employing
you...
          i liked the work though...
30kg rolls of felt... here and there...
tar doughnuts dropped tenderly like ****
into the boiler... i didn't mind...
but i'm writing poo'etry... i need to assure myself...
i need to build up some skills of dealing
with the crowds...
obviously i'm planning to perform some
of my scribbles...
              
but i find an impasse...
the rhyming ping-pong... crass...
advertisement crass poor-aesthetics of the words
being ushered it...
unlike: Aud Lang Syne: which?!
no Shakespeare can beat...

i find no comparison with any modern poet...
i even tried it with Ezra Pound...
i'm left with the tradition of Horace and Ovid...
these two ******* have my mind boiling...
there's no rhyme:
there's that unbroken lineage of consciousness
that can be as both subtle as it can be overtly
dynamic...

****... i knew this would happen...
i'd start writing and forget some minor points
i wanted to add...
oh... right... what's the...
ha ha... of the square root of a schizophrenic squared?!

now that's borrowing from Alfred Jarry's pataphysics...

i.e. √schizophrenic²?
        it's a joke... practically: what's √4² = 4...
which is equivalent to scribbling...
hmm...                            š = sh... no?
so? what's? √schizophrenic² equal to?

i'll tell you:

    √schizophrenic² = bilingual (-ist)
well, the joke follows further... just because you're
white you're presumed to be one of those
native, white lost boys...
who don't perform at school...
        i'm still waiting... not for an apology...
**** the apology... i want the dumb-founded
glum look on these "medical" sadists...
these pharmacological Mengele disciples...
i'm just waiting: i'm good at waiting...

was that it? i put on over 20kg from their supposed
"cure" medication...
and... what? anyone hang themselves like Judas
for wrong-doing...
Satan managed it right... confuse them...
tell them: AND... somewhere in between
KNOWLEDGE of GOOD / EVIL...
because man conflates the too...
   man's concept of law... of jurisprudence is exactly that...
Moses' poetic genius or...
"god": there are three ranks of superior creatures
the mind extends towards...
angels... demons... geniuses...
i count geniuses a rank above...
    stressing: if people used to imagine a cyclops...
a minotaur... a Cerberus... fairies...
i think geniuses are the most manifest
when translating the extension of the mind
toward them: since through them
they manifest in body... Newton!
                         geniuses are creatures most self-evident
from past examples of their pact with man:
a pact made prior with Prometheus:
who... not being a god... could spawn this crafty
cohort of... equivalence? dwarfs?!

i vape and i suddenly turn into a scientist in the eyes
of my cat: the smoke the smoke mesmerizes them...
unusual if i'm smoking a "chip" of a cigarette..
wild eyed, they are...

but it has been a good autobiography so far...
reading a mingling of Stendhal with Marquis de Sade
in my teens... returning to Ovid in my mid-30s...
it's a good sexuality to have...

esp. that time in the brothel completely obliterated
by those 12 prostitutes... a tube's equivalent of
a carriage of legs...
can-can... they could have danced a can-can
folding right leg onto the left leg: folding...
and vice versus...
i also loved the rejections... future rejections
now seem... contained...
i deal with them like i deal with being soaked
by rain: no sugar here...
          i make a slight grimace... i idle my frown...

i have more in common with Ovid and Horace
than i have with these complaining poet-activists
that are "fishing" with a rod and line and sinker
worth's of rhyme: and yes... Wayne Static of
Static-X is dead... join, the, ******* queue...

i know the current job could be classified as...
low "quality"... low "status"...
there's no reason to believe i can maintain
a drunken crowd... absolutely none...
the world is harsh... get used to it...
i can be nice in person:
but when i allow myself to scribble something:

eh... i sometimes alleviated myself
with the comparison to Wolverine...
esp. from that cover by Johnny Cash
of a Nine Inch Nail's song: hurt...
but... i was always more of a Juggernaut sort
of guy... a Magneto sort of guy...
i can't remember the last time i played
a computer game... crosswords bore me...
su doku: fair enough...
i write: i cascade: i spew...
     crosswords are a thesaurus for me...
i don't like sphinxes... or sphinx's riddles...

when i'm open to a narrative... i'm keeping my
"guns"... well... wooden swords...
i'm pretty **** sure the people i'm working
with don't know anything about me...
i'm only doing this job to get some...
experience in maintaining a crowd...
i'm thinking: perhaps it's time to become
less a creator and more an entertainer?

i sometimes walk the streets at night...
i peer in...
some old lady is usually watching the t.v.:
so... where's the fireplace?!
where are the grandchildren listening to stories
of old?! where is the passage of time?!
sure as ****... it isn't "there"...
the t.v. replaced the fireplace...
i'm having insomnia libido...
personally... i want to **** and if i wanted it so much
i should follow suite... instead?!
drinking is better...

that's the glory of the internet...
some of "us" just adapted to it...
we didn't waste time to adapting to it...
it was never about anything practical...
in terms of using it for internet banking or internet shopping...
some of "us" required an open flow of
information...

i start listening to Hawkwind's
                      hassan-i-sabah...
i know the allure of Islam...
                     i know it all too well...
  Christianity over-complicated itself...
it's a "monotheism" but given the number of schisms
it might as well be categorised as a polytheistic religion...
given the number of versions of "christ":
that cosmopolitan messiah...
who moved people from Nazareth to Jerusalem and then:
undermined the existence of the Hebrews owning any land...

a Greco-Judeo conspiracy against the Roman empire...
why? the Roman plagiarism of the Greek theology /
mythology... i.e. how Zeus became Jupiter...
how Hades became Neptune...
proud Greeks... even prouder Hebrews...
oops... Roman script was not Persian cuneiform...
it didn't... simply "die"...
now... emboldened with access to technological
"improvements": how is it? how is it, going
to simply die off?!

i find Christianity complicated...
no wonder i wasn't confirmed...
while that famous atheist Richard Dawkins was...
you just need to find the right sort of Islam
to secure your mind in this whirlwind of
Christianity imploding... for however nth time...

you start listening to Hawkwind's
Hassan-i-Sabbah...
the Elder of the Mountain...
you peer into the Sh...
   that running joke from the 13th warrior...
so... what's your name?!
Muhammad ibin Ali ibin Rasheed... ibin...

    Ibin... son of... Ibin... a bit like Iblis...

see... that's the thing about the shisha pipe and
the "mobile phone" equivalence of it via
the vape pipes...
same ****... different cover...
i just counter my addiction to nicotine with
the amount of pearls of smoke
i egest... exhale with this pristine white
cauliflower smoke...
there's no high: biologically:
by now eyes are not biological extensions...
spiritual measures... add a mirror and we're talking:

and the devil came with smoke and mirrors...
rather than with fire and sulphur...
because?! gods come with the latter...
but i still need a "high" to write something...

the first time i tried ******* was with Khedra
in the brothel... i was 35 and prior to that...
no bother... i tried dating single mums who used
to date single boyos who were coke-heads
who... whatever...
i can become a plumber if i need to...
a roofer... a chef... bicycle fixer...
but i'm not a "bad boy": i know single mums
with attitude... i don't know how
this attraction works in reverse...
i tried... failed... moved on...
obviously i still write about it...
because?! it's a bit like discovering gravity...
or... the heliocentric model!

for someone who has been diagnosed as "mad"...
would you want to understand women?
by understanding women implies:
you stop loving women...
i'm still a Romanticist...
i want to love women: i don't want to understand
women... i want to remain feral...
i can't imagine myself being tamed...
i want to love women and not understand them...
ergo?

     i avoid women and i'm all the better for it...
i just see how they age...
fair enough... men aging is not exactly spectacular...
either...
but at least... there's the Benelux resolve...
some marijuana prior... some magic mushrooms
to alleviate the onslaught of dementia...
in a van Gogh horizon and then:

AUS MIT IHR KÖPFE!

no sentiments for the monotheistic-sadism of
homelessness...
a warm bath... the veins slit...
let life be life!
  and let death be death!

lassen leben sein leben!
und lassen tod sein tod!

don't grieve for the fractured stone:
to replace the shape of a mountain!
for a worthlessness of a: tomb!

     feed grief! via memory!
bind your love to those you remember!
and lessen the burden you try to forget
by ritual: with the exacting memorabilia
you'd want to confiscate out of existence!
of what?! of the grave!
burn them!

we can't ascribe ourselves to any one element...
we are the waters of libido and thirst...
we are the earth of staging frights of resurrected
empires...
we are the air that all breathe
and none do in the realms of the Trident(s)...
we are the fire of thought and feeling
by war and idiotic courage are borne...
we are the fifth element of:
stage-fright... of... caution of thought...
of... when Thor came to a Camden Town Pub...
with... seizures... with sparks...

i can't find a defence for Christianity...
i can find a defence for Islam...
i can find a defence for Judaism...
Rumi... the Qabbalah...
last time i heard... the Gnostics were shunned...
fair enough...

the roof, the roof... the roof is on fire... (x4)
we don't need no water let the ******* burn...
burn *******: burn!

you can't stress it more obvious: obviously...
obliviously so...
   splendid little world and my apathetic self...
since: last time i heard?
there's nothing worse than apathy....
   exactly! nothing worse than atheism when
it comes to the art of making narratives...
but?! apparently the prefix a-
implies: without: pathologies...
   insanely numb...
  insanely numb...
    and let's just pretend: like it sort of
might sort of: oh... oh... oh?!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2021
it takes me about 2 hours to drink a bottle of wine
in the form of kalimotxo by myself...
2 hours while i watch a bat fly around
chasing moth tapas...
2 hours from around 9pm through to 11pm...
before i finally relax and open a second
bottle... if i push it through to 2am
and wake up at 9am... well... problem solved...
whatever the "problem" might me...
an irksome memory most probably...
a past girlfriend... Siberian... hardly any
Mongol ethnicity in her...
but still all the more crazy...
apartment in St. Petersburg etc. etc.
the best *** i ever had...
until... the best *** i ever had was
with a Turkish *******...
so... that chapter is sort of done...
hang-up from the age of 21... now that i'm
35...
well... sort of wow... 14 years...
not bad...
                but i can at least find relief in not
being ****-hurt about not getting any...
on a spectrum:
the alpha the beta and... mr omega man...
how i'd love to own a dog...
but taking it to a public place to ****
and then have to bag that **** and dispose
of it... and i've seen them!
those dog-walkers...
even in the advent of facemasks and hand-sanitizers...
did the dog walkers use hand-sanitizers picking
up that hot-dog-of-a-****?
no... sure... it's through plastic:
double-sure Irish revelations concerning
the ******...
put it's one thing sticking your whittle itch'ard
into a mouth of floral batters and
oyster digestive juices...
and picking up a dog's hot loaf...

oh sure... for the love of looking into
a dog's eyes and seeing all
that b.d.s.m. playing out...
                   i suppose dogs are great when
growing up...
but once you age...
you find miracles in little things
like... your cat deciding: no...
i'll take a **** in the neighbour's garden...
am i to... arm it with a c.c.t.v. camera
so i might know... where he... did the deed?

rain of pigeon ****...
if Warsaw is a city known for the happiness
of pigeons and parking-meters...
i guess London already knew about that...

- because all the world is filled with
a grift for defocusing narratives...
because: you can never experience thinking within
the confines of a unifying narrative...
a narrative of focus...
from the many: unto none...
or... from the one: to the few...
that's why i better believe
the astronauts of text, memes...
the advertisers... because... poets are paid
peanut while "journalists" are
being paid: a wage-gap...

on a Saturday... on  Sunday...
taking the knee: it's absurd... since you're not
taking both of them...
like one might at a Catholic mass...
but beside that...
some reverse psychology at work:
"taking the knee"...
   em... didn't Derek Chauvin take the knee?
you're taking the knee?
i'm taking the knee...
here's my knee-cap...
you're taking the knee?
Derek Chauvin took the knee...
apparently he "took the knee"
to the point of... suffocating a man...
hell! let's all take the knee:
let's take too!

how about i lie face down and imitate
crucifixion: how about not ******* off
some ethnic **** - because all
the white english girls are hell-bent of proving
us wigs perfumed: pampered in
baby-powder as being anti-racist:

racial equality? hmm...
i'd love to see it in two instances...
on a 100m sprint event
at the Olympics...
and... also at the Olympics...
at a 100m sprint event in the pool...
i'd love to see a white man win the 100m sprint...
perhaps i'd also love to see a black man
swim... just swim...
for all the racism in h'america:
no wonder: if you band-up together
and call yourself african-american:
but you have no idea what
Zulu warlord sold your for:
clearly a fair-game of exchange of goods:
a TRADE...
it's not like these... David physique European
wimp lords managed to chase and
chain the Goliaths of Africa...
i look at them now...
walking freely in the prospects of Europe
and think to myself: how the ****?!

don't give me that **** that a limp biscuit
cuck armed with some iron pebbles
and some fire ***** shot from a rifle
could overcome...
a zealot barbarian wielding a tomahawk...
if half of the african-americans knew
their heritage:
if you'd identity me as Russian i'd take
offence...
some Arab pushing me Quran
on Edgware Rd thinking i'm German
while having a mulatto indian-anglo-saxon-celtic
girlfriend... i don't mind...
mistake me for a Serb...
hell... mistake me for a Dane...
but don't mistake me for a ******* Russian
or a(n) Ukrainian...
we might all be white...
but i'm pretty sure money dries up pretty soon...
what... Maurice... no... it wasn't Maurice...
Malcolm X... no... i'm pretty sure
it wasn't him...
oh you know... pan-Africanism...
like pan-Slavism was a thing...
Marcus Garvey...

       exodus back to Africa... like hell the Jamaicans
were going to give up Jamaica... ha... ha ha...
slavery in Russia and just nibbling on some
vantage point of the east:
it must feel... satisfying to known that
a foreign entity might have enslaved
"you"... beside the people of shared heritage...
what with whatever serfdom was...
hardly a matter for deciphering
cobbler professionalism...
a man as limb: limb the extension of
some other's peruse of... unforgivable pleasures...

i still make a killer of a mango curry...
thanks for the recipe...
i'll see you in New Delhi... perhaps... never...
i have to: come at "it" full throttle...
it's an agitating prospect seeing
zombie-esque drone partying up slogan
chatterers...
i'd be willing to break my jaw...
and my nose... just to hear them shut up...
i'll sooner **** on a kidney bean
seed and watch Jack imitate Jacob's ladder
than... whatever is left with: that than...

no wonder... the 2nd bottle of wine will be drunk
in under 2 hours... i'll fully lubricated...
relaxed enough to spew...
if only race was as fluid as ethnicity is
absent in the case of Brazil...
or for that matter...
all of south america: with the exception of
Argentina i suppose...
why? hiding ageing Nazis...
it's not like Joseph Mengele ever faced a firing
squad...  or hanging...
well... what he did face was...
having a brain haemorrhage while
taking a dip in a swimming pool...
i guess you might call that: double-drowning...
the gods really invested themselves
in that death...

oh i can imagine the.... breaking of the bones
while still revelling in doing
a puppet show... as the ****** drowned...
he'll be dearly remembered... just for that...
my "tale" is hardly tall...
but... if you haven't been involved:
the currency of duping manhood
with a pharmacological cocktail of...
chemo-soup: to match up to the brain
being all fat and: the proteins are ****** at...
only and only at the proper release point
of invitation: via Alzheimer's...
that's when brain tows... muscle! ugh!
killer proteins that solidify liquid fat
of oil into: curd-esque cheese clusters...
wonderful ingenuity... who might need
a ******* insect parasite...

why not turn to dieting?
women diet a lot...
i don't know: well: i do...
i rather burn off the calories than hide them...
women can diet all they want...
i tried it once...
out of sympathy for the cult she joined...
i lasted for about 12 hours...
it was already too much that
i drank my coffee black without
any sugar...
give me the ******* plough!
let me exhort and exalt the body...
i don't need to diet: to feel this creeping sensation
of a thousand non-existence "things"
nibbling at my fat reserves...

it's bad enough already: than seeing this pan-African
movement and...
it's like me visiting Kenya: visiting the macaques
feeding them sachets of sugar and tea
trying to escape the sun:
feeding the shade on a balcony wasn't enough:
some Muhammad with a crocodile farm
while his daughter: clad in a niqab swimsuit...
sure... "racial equality":
me... porky skinned:
in the full glare of equatorial sun...
i'm hoping for a rash...
come the night and the ivory beauties...
with skin as molten coffee mingling with
chocolate... buttered up...
smoking marijuana... i can only imagine
the brothels of Mombasa...

race is one thing: ethnicity: another...
but then again:
i'm pretty sure the african-americans
in their "congregation" of southern-Baptists
can't tell a hammer from a sickle
from a ******* horseshoe when it comes
to the ancient disparities between...
Nigerians and Kenyans...
just like whites are supposed to...
call me a ******* Russian one more time...
German? eh... the historical relevance of
the Wends... i won't mind...

the Hebrews... oddly enough: they're not a race...
they're an ethnicity...
you can mistake an 'ebrew for a European...
or a Mediterranean olive skinned:
somehow pseud-Greek... somehow pseudo-Roman:
st. Augustine.. Tunisian in disguise?
the race of the Baltic Sea people...
tell them they're all expected to eat
Baltic sushi: or raw-herring in a creamy dill sauce!

the world came knocking at my door...
my peace... mein nacht...
2 hours spent drinking a bottle of wine in comfort
with the wind caressing the tree...
like my hands weaving the nakedness of a *******'s
body... each groove where the flesh and muscle
"weakened": where the bones were left:
exposed... at the knees...
at the elbows... the collar-bone...

someone of a continental persuasion will tell you:
don't guillotine the head
of the beer...
in England you're expected to be cheated
when drinking a pint without a beer's head...
the foam...
i too want the beer's head moustache...
unless you're drinking Guinness...

if all these african-h'americans had a quencch
of "thrist" knowing they were...
said X... or said Y...
money is worth as much as tomorrow allows...
to spend it: rather than invest with...
personally i'd like to know the name
of the warlord that traded our limbs
for the precious stones...
then again: it's not like picking cotton
was anything akin to mining coal...
so... what?

now all this propaganda by the:
i hate them... they're ha-ite...
why why... urban liberal anti-racists...
i hate anti-racists... they have no knowledge
of metaphors... or for descriptive language
to begin with: their knowledge of physiognomy is
half-wit short of Picasso's impressions
of how: Africans see their faces
without the use of mirrors...
how they see themselves in masks...

to hell with your ******* "ally": too!
i'm looking at the most degenerate of my supposed:
degenerate of the specimen...
such... classy... high primed:
individuation: quotients...

- who hurt you? oh babe... who hurt you?!
- baby... i think i hurt myself...
years later i noticed she was still hung-up
on that one morbid swan of the highest kept
expectation: widow Zeus...
at Loch Lomond...
thank god for that Turkish *******:
she finally gave me an inkling into
how to tell apart: limp from limb...
toe from tongue...
i wouldn't want some... pigtailed
imitation schoolgirl dream, either...

give me the proper *****: the armchair...
the respectable: glass of wine that i might sip
and there would be... rivers of it... working their way
into my beard and down my neck... onto my chest...
give me... the thirst never to be quenched!
cheap romance novels for girls...
newly knighted phantoms compensated with:
***-mad dogs readied to be relieved of
being broke by: a leash of
sacrificial mundanity!

ask a girl twice... Thai: not a "surprise": an authentic Thai
bride... so no ****-in-a-lacklustre...
what the colour of my eyes were...
this is still biology class...
in high-school... that's before i shunned a tonne
of weight...
she didn't guess... grey? blue...
oddly enough: they're still grizzly... GREEN...

- as i write this... from a consensus agreement:
the ****-boys can have all their
shifting harem-caurosel all they want:
and eager have...
you have to cycle a while to spot all
the flavours of solipsism:
the empowered women alone in their cars
singing along to songs no one
wants to hear: my heart overflows to drift
into a quasi-sympathy... for a millisecond...
before i'm reminded of something
by a shadow cast by a a tree...

i want to return to a grave that's best
pleasing the colour of my Iris...
the world keeps knocking at my door...
however real or however metaphorical...
i'm not answering...
it's all... pretty much... custard...
thick splodges of it ruining the concern i have
for pin-pointing the knife
at the focal posits
of where to best insert a knife:
since... simply shooting myself
in the head with a shotgun is generally
agreed upon at, as:
a ******* bad idea...

     i wouldn't dare... or even convene myself
to later somehow, bother...
**** the ethno-masochism of english girls...
not that i am in any ways "welcome"...
if they're going through that:
**** a black guy phase...
  thank god i don't earn enough
to keep one "happy"...
thank god for a many a great a number of "things"...
Turkic women: who's hair as black as it is...
raven black teasing blue...
blooming blue teasing at...

i'm heading to a "somewhere" from where
the Mongolian breath arrived at: arrived at to begin
it's.... original migration and: receding culminated with...
i don't need these blonde anglo-saxon wash-ups of
mythology... to hell with Helen!
last time i heard: she only fakes not enjoying what
later: becomes apparent...
i'm not saying she's implicitly gagging for it...
but she she's not...

she's not exactly toying with the ascetics...
she's having *** as an aesthetic...
she's always having more fun:
even in the process...
she's mediating the third-person voyeurism
more than the person she is having ******* with...
it's hardly a person by then... piston works?!
piston works... ergo: piston works!

i can't compete with her already achieved experience...
i could only come around finding...
someone more experienced:
a nymphomaniac *******:
someone who could spell it out to ne
directly: i would be taking the back-seat....
i'd have my arms amputated when
she performed her oyster-*******-trick,,,

coming in at £2 per minute...
oh sure... hear me bemoan all the injustices of
the trade... when... there are some....
on only-fans... not filling to touch!
i squint my eyes...
i squint my eyes even more...
i'm left with ******* a lemon...

                 what?
Starry Sep 2019
A wise man from the sky
Not buddha
But hippocrates
Comes back to wrong the wrongs
Of those like mengele
While the Chakra
Float overs his head
Indicted the
Highest intelligence
And wisdom
Chem in Food, and Lies on Air

ChemTrust.
LieNews.
Just look around —
Obedient fools
Eat poisoned ground,
And cheer the rules.

A world so bleak,
Where madness reigns.
If thought’s not weak,
Then break the chains!

Withdraw within —
Your soul, your shrine.
Don’t bow to sin —
Let truth align.

The final storm
Will cleanse with flame.
Farewell, deformed
Fascistic game.



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



Chasing the Carrot

In a world turned upside-down,
Fools keep marching round and round.
Burdened, dazed by life's "great mission" —
Endless loops of blind ambition.

"Seek your happiness!" they cry...
"Try again!" — the same old lie.
But repetition, said and done,
Is the sign the mind is gone.

Each new try, a fresh torment —
Nothing gained, just punishment.
Only fools believe the tale
That through pain, joy will prevail.

Like a donkey, chasing dreams,
Fed on lies and shallow schemes,
While the Goat, all sly and slick,
Leads it to the final trick —

To the slaughter, blind and still,
In this world where truth is ill.



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



Fu-Kung-Fu

Your kung-fu? More like Fu!, my friend —
The stink is strong on every end.
The filth that rules from way up high
Makes all this madhouse multiply.

And down below? There’s sludge galore —
This world’s a mask, a shape-shifted sore.
Step wrong, and you’re knee-deep in slime
Unless you purge the rot in time.

That rot wears such a lovely face,
All dressed up in charm and grace.
But shame is gone — it's not the trend;
It rides its wave right to the end.

And that wave wants to swallow all
In oceans where the liars call.
To truly live and make it through —
Your shield must be Fu-Kung-Fu.



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



A Song About “Happiness”

I’ll soon write a song —
Full of peace, full of light.
Where I rise from the wrong,
Cling to good, hold it tight.

But that song will be born
With a needle in hand,
In a ward — mind all torn —
In a world gulag-planned.

Genocide everywhere,
And it’s not even new.
Try to grasp joy — if you dare —
In a storm made of untrue.

All this “truth” is a lie,
All this pain — by design.
Monsters rule from on high —
And call madness “divine.”





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



The Press

Life slows to a crawl,
Like a press that grinds —
Bleed, or feel no fall?
Bleed — and maybe find

Not death, but a spark,
While the bloodless fade —
Zombified and dark,
Flatlined and afraid.

Pressure’s rising still,
Till we’re dust and bone.
Not “a little chill” —
No. Just fear alone.

CowID gave a taste
Of what’s yet to come:
Fascism embraced —
And the press rolls on.





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



So-called “Feedback”

“It reached the top!” — that worthless pest
Will “fix it all” at their behest.
Not fighting rot, not taking stand —
Just greasing slides to filth and sand.



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



Voluntary Disposal

It’s not that painful, if you choose:
There’s war and junk to light the fuse.
Without the fools, Earth takes a breath —
Insanity just breeds more death.

They want us gone — it’s "for the best!"
The wicked lie, more well-dressed.
But now it’s not just lies — it’s slime,
Fed to fools in filth and grime.

The beasts grow bolder, day by day,
Their truth? Obey — or fade away.



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



"Common Sense" Is Killing Us

"Common sense" is what we’re taught —
But with patterns, minds are caught.
Heart forgotten, lost its voice —
That shuts down the deeper choice.

What’s beyond is sealed away,
And without it, minds decay.
Heart grows weak, and so does soul —
Emptiness becomes the goal.

Feelings fade — replaced by schemes.
Fools push "logic" over dreams.
Blind and broken, they persuade —
And torture others in the trade.



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



The Track of Destruction

A life of stripes, so dull, so gray,
Where black and white both have their say.
The price of motion, clear to see:
In shadows deep, you’re bound to be.

You fall into the darkest night,
And think that gray’s a hopeful light —
But in the gray you’ll disappear
If you don’t shout the word "No, here!"

To schemes of Hell, to motions planned,
Laid out in lines, throughout the land.
The final stop — "Decay’s design,"
Erasing fools through grand design.

Through madness, they have found their way,
As "CowID" marks the break of day.
The mind is crushed, the truth undone,
The track’s been set — the race is won.





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



"The One" — A Hassle

The "one true love" is such a bore,
It's worn out in films, it’s all a chore.
Where are the fiends of wicked ways?
Where’s the thrill in their wild craze?

The ego of some foolish girls
Has grown so tiresome in this world,
That only Addams’ joy and cheer
Can pierce through all the whiny fear.

The rest is just a hormone rush,
A youthful thing — a fleeting crush.
The real intrigue’s in the low,
The ebb, not high, the way we go.

Breakdowns, tragedies, and snide —
In these, life’s meaning seems to hide.
Can’t even catch a single phrase
In "love will find us" endless maze.





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



Thoughtlessness

Thinking’s hard, and thinking’s scary —
It shatters the image you’ve grown.
If you think too much, they’ll carry
The tale that your mind’s overthrown.

A world of thoughtlessness and decay,
Degradation’s now the law.
Surrounded by fools? Then away!
Run fast before they make you raw.

From all the ties and obligations,
Be touched by thought’s clear, shining light.
There are no “good” circumstances —
The world is doomed, it’s lost the fight.





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



Religion

Born from fear, a shielded need,
A death for Reason, dreams that bleed.
An empty hope, a fleeting call,
For in its grasp, we lose it all.



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



Idolatry

We bow, we kneel — it's all the same,
In ashrams and this world's cruel game.
Without idols, we are left to stray,
For fools are lost in empty sway.

A Führer twin with empty news,
The void has sunk to its lowest views.
There, we'll embrace the lies we find,
As idiots wade through filth and bind.



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



Don't listen to the "voice of reason,"
If you're unsure, don't heed the season.
If by the virus of the mold,
Your mind's been caught and bought, it's sold.

Any effort's doomed to fail,
When a dull template leads the trail,
Wounding all the clever schemes,
Driving clarity from dreams.



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



In Hell

Endeavors all are vain,
Clarity’s but murk and stain,
Each step a march toward death's embrace,
Your path from Dread to DREAD’s own place.



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



A guessing game for clueless minds,
Tests at school — what’s left behind?
Endless toil, then pour a drink,
At nightfall, the world’s on the brink.



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



Economic cattle

Money, money, money, money —
Savage, vile, a void inside:
If you’re lucky, it’s neurosis,
If not — you're just a lower guide.



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



Independent thinking as opposed to borrowed knowledge

If you won’t think, just take the noise,
A flood of info, dull and cold,
Your spirit weakens, mind decoys,
And wisdom shrinks, its power sold.



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



Political clowns and the so-called "army"

A general and a clown: the fight,
The clown’s the one who takes the lead.
The people fail to see the blight,
Of systems, herds, and all their greed.

They worship strength, though misguided,
Loving "business talk" so grand.
Through the ages, still divided,
Bringing ruin with each hand.

Clowns will inject their vile concoctions,
Stronger than the CowID tide.
A hundred Hiroshimas, in their actions,
When reason’s dead and truth’s denied.



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



Negative selection

Separator of whipped cream,
Or in the sewage, dark and grim?
What remains when all is drained?
Perhaps life's meaning, unchained?




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



Vanity of vanities

Vanity of vanities brings,
Nonsense to the mind it clings.
A mindless fool, corrupt through and through—
Run for cover, it's the thing to do.

Though the media will find your hole,
Fewer fools will lose control.
The fascist's creeping, vile and sly,
He'll flush us out—but not tonight.

Global fascism's drawing near,
"Vanity of vanities" disappears.
The world has turned to a madhouse place,
In lies, in fear, in crude disgrace.



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



What will happen after CowID?

Doctor Mengele, idolized,
Will soon be praised if this survives.
What’s left of this world’s disguise?
In madness, chaos slowly dies.



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



Queen of Queens

Queen of the Infernal Realms,
Total Lies sit on her throne.
The High Priest—Lucifer,
Mind and honor, both overthrown.

The Queen cannot be replaced,
She’s ruled since the world began.
Without deceit, no life to face,
Not even the fool or beggar man.



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



No great honor it is, ‘midst the twisted and blind,
To be called a "thinker", "enlightened and clever".
If you’d rather let struggle and hardship refine
Your pure craft — then be sold-out and soulless? Never.

Push the mob to the back of your mind and be done;
It’s but fuel for satire and barbs that you’re hurling.
That parade of buffoons, that grotesque marathon —
Flee their praise — it’s as filthy as sewage swirling.

Their threshold of madness keeps rising each day
Like Bubka’s old records at peak elevation.
These are no longer people — just herds gone astray;
You’ll fulfill your true work only in isolation.



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



Uniqueness, like a virtue's claim,
The Path will wipe mistakes away,
Where conscience fuels the burning flame,
Its goal: the fear, the world’s decay.

Few will leave this foolish place,
And even fewer, when you see,
Reach that point — they hold a trace
Of gods, in their divinity.



--- Total 25 poems. ---
Into the Abyss...

Mask or helmet—by command,
Down he falls at evil's hiss.
Not in life, but in a land
Lost in tales as dark as this.

Fools are countless—hence the chains,
Hence the fascist rule persists.
World obeying wicked reigns
Drags itself to hell’s abyss.



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



"The Doctors"

Doctor Goebbels, Doctor Brown,
Doctor Mengele—the past.
They fell short, not sinking down
To the bitter end at last.

New “doctors” rise to take their place,
Through them, CowID took its flight.
Not as wicked—just a waste,
Lost all reason, lost all light.

First round struck—a grand success,
War became the next in line.
Wisdom weighed—so little left,
Now the world tilts past decline.

Third round waits—to drag it deep,
While the second rages still.
Old-school horrors haunt our sleep,
New disgrace just waits to ****...



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



"Arguments," Not Facts

“Arguments,” not facts, they claim,
Spread their lies both far and wide.
Fraud and terror—tools the same,
Used to keep the mind confined.

Truth is scarce—a fleeting spark,
Drowned in falsehood, lost in mist.
Hope is fading, skies grow dark,
No true message from the Heights.

Only instincts, faint and weak,
Catch its echo—brief and low.
But deception reigns, and bleak
Is the world where falsehood grows.



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



Evil’s No Joke

Make a joke, then brush it by,
Let your soul be veiled in lie—
That’s the path to grow so cold,
Turn to filth with heart of stone.

Mock the Evil right away,
Strike with sarcasm—make it pay!
Simple alchemy, yet strong—
Sharp and swift, it won’t go wrong.



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



Dream

The death machine they plan to halt—
Those rotten fiends, so sly, so cruel.
They're sick of killing souls, at fault—
They crave a world reshaped by fools.

I woke. If demons haunt your sleep,
Their promises will soon appear.
Yet one thing demons always keep—
Their mission: spreading lies and fear.

This world’s a dream, the same old spell,
For centuries, blind faith obeys.
Deceived by filth, led straight to hell,
Its fate—serve Darkness all the way.



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



Slavery

The wretched slave condemns the Chain,
Blames the world for all his pain,
Yet fails to see—his blinded sight
Breeds the filth he claims to fight.

Despising life, its wretched mold,
He is its root—both weak and cold.
And since the fools are all but few,
Decay rewards decay in due.



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



With a Washed-Out Mind

With minds washed clean, with souls run dry,
Now fools are all—no questions why.
We heed the howling beasts demand,
Their voices spreading through the land.

That howl ignites a chilling fear,
The beasts delight—our doom is near.
Upon the block, we stand in line,
While **** declares: “All’s fine, all’s fine.”



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



Independent Thought

A mad world ruled by ancient lies,
Deceit that’s stood the test of time.
It forges chains within the mind,
Ensuring reason stays confined.

Since childhood, all are trained to heed
The fool’s beliefs, the crowd’s decree.
And fools prevail—their thoughts take lead,
Through them, the beasts secure their spree.

But few will break this cursed spell,
With Truth their guiding light remains.
Yet most will fade, unseen they’ll dwell,
Lost in the war where Thought is slain.

Still, one must try—resist, defy!
A fight may yet the soul defend.
For if the spirit fails to rise,
This world will rot until its end.



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



The "Social Ladder"

Trade honor, mind—just serve the slime,
And filth will lift you up in time.
In sewers, climbing brings its perks—
A larger scrap, a noble smirk.



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



Stray Souls

A house cat, tossed into the wild,
May change—but won’t be lost to time.
While man, once cast aside, defiled,
Will rot like trash, left to the grime.

For beasts, instinct remains intact,
Far stronger than in human kind.
Yet still, this world is cold and cracked—
If even mad souls lie confined.



--- Total 10 poems. ---
Total Slavery

You can leave—at least it seems,
So is slavery just dreams?
But escape? Now that's a trick—
The world’s a prison, walls too thick.



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



The Abyss of Satanism

Standards matter—goods must last!
Schooling? Now that’s just a laugh.
Dumbed-down minds, no guiding form—
Fuel to feed the abyss’s storm.



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



Running in defiance of ***

No troubles haunt your private life
If you avoid its heated thrill.
More space for thought, much less of strife,
And peace that bends to steady will.

Hormones can rest—let miles inspire,
For running’s faithful through the years.
It won’t betray like burnt-out fire,
Unless excess brings pains and tears.

Fights cut much deeper than the track,
And claims can wound more than a fall.
No shame from treachery attacks—
Just herbal tea instead of all.



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



Cadres decide everything

Schools of Pol *** and informers' brigade,
Goebbels' own studio, lessons in hate.
Doctors like Mengele—monsters are made,
Crafted to keep us all under the weight.

Geniuses? No, that’s too much of a task—
Raising new Hitlers is harder to do.
But turning a **** into one with a mask?
Just start him in law enforcement crew.

****** once shouted of nation’s great need,
Branded a villain when all came to light.
Now the same monsters are learning his creed—
“Health” and “progress” their banners in sight.

“Health” won the war on CowID they spread,
“Progress” has lit up a battlefield’s flame.
Fools nod along as they're easily led,
Fighting and "healing" in ignorant shame.

Now there are legions—too many to save,
Hope for this world is fading to none.
It crumbles to filth, a fast-rushing wave,
And Satan stands as the last worshiped one.



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



The Carrot of "Knowledge"

The fool sees knowledge as a prize—
Pass all your tests, and soon you’ll be
A learned *** in foolish skies,
Content in hollow company.

But dare to add a bit of nerve,
And you will lead the blind along—
So long as you know how to serve
The "duce" keeping your herd strong.

That truths are bent, that lies run deep—
Such things don’t bother donkeys' minds.
They only crave what they can keep—
The promise of their petty finds.



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



Masks and Fools

The foe appears as a kindly uncle,
Yet in deeds, he's ruthless, cruel.
But for ages, fools adore the masks,
The simpletons and jester’s tasks—
"Real men," they say, "the golden rule."



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



Sacred Grounds

The cross shines brightly all around,
Gold gleams with beauty, pure delight!
But to the soul of a bound man,
It pulls with force, though not so right...

For the Free Spirit, it’s dark and grim,
A life of toil and weariness within.
To them, any place is blessed and true,
Where Enlightenment comes without the view.



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



"He who doesn’t work, shall not eat"
In those words, slavery’s no disguise.
But that's old news. The new "test" we greet—
CowID’s the trial for the broken lies.



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



In ignorance, there’s peace of mind—
Like cows in stables, calm and still.
Enlightenment is not a bind—
It’s alchemy. The fate, the will.



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



To Die for the Global Asylum

"Live, be dead, be truly dead. Do all you wish— it will be well."
Bunan.

The splinter of this shabby life
Lodges deep within your mind.
Pull it out— let it burst forth,
Shame and misery intertwined!

As though you were dead,
But not a heap of waste—
The Spirit’s borders erased,
And with it, war is chased.

The war’s fought by the twisted ones,
Who made you their slave.
And all the troubles you face,
Are artificial, misbehaved.

Expand your mind, so simply—
That’s the way to go.
Otherwise, you'll perish a fool,
Propping up the Asylum's flow.



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



Crooked Comparisons

A fascist, like a leaf,
Falls into the Autumn's sway.
But the CREATURE, like a worm,
Gnaws at all that’s in the way.

The fascist, a CREATURE,
Grows upon the tree of doom.
The king is formal,
His enemies in the womb.

Winter comes,
The CREATURES will survive.
But the fool,
Once more, won’t stay alive.



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



Chipollino is the Only Man

Chipollino’s the only man
Among the veggies, standing tall.
The cucumbers will find a plan
To heed the rulers of them all.



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



The Ram’s Hell

Fears and lies on every screen,
Yet the rams still heed the scene.
They can't break free, they can't awake—
The Ram's Hell goes on, for their sake.



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



Enslavement by "Ideas"

The fascist’s talk is sharp,
The humane, so meek and mild.
Like a blank sheet,
The people beguiled.

Not enough for all—
Give them "the idea,"
To bend the fools,
And rule them forever, in fear.



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



The Pendulum of a Creative Soul and the Struggle of the Mediocre

Struggle's not a pendulum,
But a slide down low—
A monument to foolishness,
A triumph of madness’ glow.

The pendulum swings—
Light, Knowledge— Dark.
The creative never falters,
Or madness leaves its mark.

The pendulum swings to Dark—
Close your mind, retreat.
But when it swings to Light—
Create, and life’s complete!



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



Metamorphoses

Kalashnikovs­—pencils bright,
Drawing wars into the night.
But the soul's true revelation,
To hell with it—world's damnation.



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



Dreams in Dreams and in "Awake"

"Life and dreams are pages of the same book."
— Arthur Schopenhauer


You keep turning through the pages
Full of nightmares, lies, and pain.
Wake up "conscious"—fool for ages,
Just to fall asleep again.

Yogis train to dream while knowing,
Yet it's hard—the gods still sleep.
That is why this world keeps glowing
Like a festering, filthy heap.

Be a god! Don't fear the ending,
Burn the rot down to the ground!
Stop decay—no more pretending,
Let the flames consume the mound.

Sunlight helps—it sees the reason,
Burns the bottom year by year.
Each new season, with more treason,
Sinks still deeper in the smear.

Spirit’s realm will rise thereafter—
There, a god must take his throne.
Dice in hand, you'll play with laughter,
Crafting worlds to call your own.



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



Easier With Time

Hour by hour, it feels less dire
Swimming hard against the tide—
For the Soul. Yet some require
Struggles measured, pain applied.



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



The Petition System

Vote and cheer—no real choice.
Blind and deaf, the people stay.
Idiots, rejoice! Rejoice!
Now it’s you who rule the day.

Pick a puppet—just a token,
Spun by one corrupt brigade.
Madmen march to chants unspoken,
Drummed by lies their masters made.

"Pay your debts"—the cry is spreading,
"Citizen" must heed the call.
War or "sickness", self-unthreading,
Dying’s duty most of all.

Media beasts control the masses,
Guide them like a mindless horde.
Fools are glad to serve as glasses
For the talking head they’re poured.

Yet they claim it's "good"—how clever!
Only few can see the game.
Darkness rules the world forever,
Bound by Evil’s endless chain.



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



"Imperial Spirit" of a Rotten Colony

In the marshlands, fools are rushing,
Craving war without a clue.
Ruled by ****, their world keeps crushing,
Sinking deep into the blue.

"Imperial faith" is choking,
Binding all with iron chains.
Few rebel, defy the yoke, and
Face the wrath of mindless brains.

No bright future—none in sight,
Stupor drags them far below.
Brave ones fall without a fight,
Death has come to steal the show.

Judgment's near—the **** must perish,
Clean your house, rebuild anew.
Only peace is worth to cherish,
Else you’ll march to ******’s doom.

Cargo-führers play their roles,
Clumsy puppets, petty trolls.



--- Total 20 poems. ---
Johnny Noiπ Feb 2019
The rain has been celebrated by its parents,
parents, grandparents or Jewish idols, a list
of Paravarama scavengers,                                                wester­n sunbathing,
desert, safe wagons,          the physical characteristics of the girl in the south, southwest, southwest,                           Indian women,
comfort, comfort, acceptance,              change,                                 ­   change,
consolation,
tattoos are great. One of her favorite
Arab-American Air Articles lifelong arrows
and "Turbulent Warfare" - Meddan.
AVN Soldiers came out of the door
or it was my first design and fools.
Bettie is paid. A green horse, Quills Hover,
Rugby, the king of Saudi Arabia,
the volcano, was presented to a woman,
a woman, a land, & a list of all ages,
men, women, stars, music, red lights
mother of the mother and a newborn son.
It is amazing to see the Jewish Dialogue.
William Iger memorabilia,                                         computer programmers,
computer programs,                                                        ­           and musicians
by William R. Irrar,                                                influenced the preferences
of bearded visitors to their delicious
and sweet family and home. Residences.                 Dreams: Listen to a song
that Maria bought. Beautiful skin design.
The Irish Irish lady and mother regularly regulates Hammond.
Female gods - a simple Spanish language,                such as the Spanish ***. Margarita Mengele threatened him
and eventually a book would never
ask Quintin's bed,  who lost a song.
Paul must have been married to the "wife" of America.
Southwest beautiful, beautiful
and blue southwestern United States,
part of the prostitution of Russia.
John Gramme Lovely, wonderful,
good, gold, Canadian geese,
Frank Hale, Asce, Acid.                     From the back of the games on Google to German security. List of Italian lights
that captivate stars, parents,                       friends or Jewish sections of light.
South, West, West, Water and Mothers,
Women, Idol Culture, Western Sun,
Security Plans, Indian Women,                                                        Cle­ansing,
Comfort, Acceptance, Change, Change, Peace, Reform.      Three-part Arab trio. Information gatherings
and sports stars: Jack Sham sin Winner,       from the original project portal or hateful, and my grandfather.                                           The Beater is paid
I'm a baby after the monster,                                                           the streets,
the men, the women, the stars, the music,
the red lights and the mother of the mother.
It is amazing to see the Jewish debate.
William Archangel Listen to the memories
of the scientific community,
computer software, Mexican music,                    black melodies, sweet tones and sweet black pieces.                  The infamous child born in Ireland drinks traditional Indian drinks on Thursday.
It is called God;                     called a very simple technological presentation
in the Spanish language,                                                        ­       as new facts.
Margaret Anne A's grandson
falls under a bowl of bowls
and an angel does not see music
on the inside theme. Rainfall
reflects all the rain on all Jewish
parents, including parents,
grandparents or Fame Hall,
Western Sun, Life of Desert,
Car Safety, Nature Herbs,
South, Southwest, Southwest,
Mother Mother, Mother, Culture of India.   Extremely palliative consolation, consolation,
        consolation          The highest tattoos of the APA of the Arab Air Force
on HPLC and the "Guerrilla Wars" -
Gate of Medieva VN in Pyrovolos;
My first job was grandma's grandmother.
Bettie is paid for women, women, land,
the list of these years, men, women,                   stars,
musicians, red lights and death, the new green horse, the diaper, the rabbi, the king of Saudi Arabia,                                            the tree of the orchid.
It is amazing to see the Jewish Dialogue.
William Iger memorabilia,                                     computer programmers,
computer programs, and musicians
by William R. Irrar, influenced
the preferences of bearded visitors
to their delicious and sweet family
and home. Dream Songs Listen
to Maria's song.                                                            ­  Beautiful skin design.
                        The Irish Irish lady and mother regularly regulate Hammond.
"The Highest Quality"

The quality of assholery
Has reached the highest peak.
The quirks that once were savories
Are gone, as souls grow weak.

Boring freaks in "perfect" lands,
Tighter now, they’re bound.
Easier—those out-of-hand,
They walk the lighter ground.

Go seek the quirks, the oddities—
There you’ll find the light.
******* in their lies and greed,
That’s where the source of blight.



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



"Ding-****"

Ding-****, ding-****, I’m the fool who talks,
Here to convert you to "faith" today.
You’re a slave—one law in those walks,
To crush with orders, led astray.

Just fools to smite. To comfort, lie,
With rotten heresy to heal.
And herd them off to die.
If you "believe," your mind's unreal.

You must not "believe," you must KNOW.
Self-reflection brings the light,
That’s what will help you truly grow—
For beasts will lie in faith’s dark night.

Their lies will swell, their numbers grow,
In doctrines that enslave the mind.
Here, all religions serve the foe,
And evil chains all souls confined.

In childhood’s grip, they lock you tight.
The fool seeks others just to bind.
Ding-****, ding-****—The evil’s flight:
Don’t open doors to what you find!





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



A Poem for Aging Children, or Overton's Windows

Mama washed the frame—
The frame by the window,
Of Overton's name.
A drama in the shadow.

Overton’s windows—
It’s all that we see!
Above the law’s lows—
Devour the filth, you’ll be free!

Soon cannibalism
Through windows will spread.
The windows, the prism,
By which the FOE’s led.



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



Fools, Beasts, Lies

Fools, beasts, and lies—
Hell’s infernal glow.
Forgetfulness, it rise,
And Evil’s attacks grow bold.
All around, it’s ROT AND WOE!



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



The Family Cell

A petty world — their rows, their "peace,"
Obsessed with every small caprice.
This satyr-swarm just drains away
Their strength in quarrels day by day,

In petty fuss, in endless chatter —
No room for battles that would matter:
Like spotting foes from friends — no use —
They’re trapped in cheap and ****** views.

A cell? A cage! And in this pit,
The spiders squabble, snarl, and spit.
And what of children born inside?
Will they escape it? Will they hide

From petty griefs, from mental chains —
And taste the world beyond their pains?
But no — their childhood, sharp as thorn,
Will fester, rot, and leave them torn.

This tiny world of family ties
Will be the fool’s last, proud disguise.
No freedom in this world shall rise —
The family's a slave’s device.





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



Sobered by Soul’s Pain

If soul’s sharp pain has made you see,
You still can find a path, be free —
If Mind stands strong against the blight,
The rot, the madness, and the night.

No pain? Then corpse you are, my friend —
Join zombies on their mindless end.
So many flocks of brainless sheep,
Though drooling idiots run deep.

That dreary path — it leads ahead
Into a worldwide camp for dead.
Already now the madhouse moans,
Yet idiots march like faithful drones,

Still tame today, they trudge along,
Led by the media’s cursed song.
They do not know they'll be erased,
They're meat already — souls displaced.

They bow to beasts — that’s clear to see:
CowID showed it openly.
In this madhouse the minds are crushed —
In nearly all — that is the hush.



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



The Swamp of Stupidity

The swamp of folly — thick and vile,
The clutch of lies — a constant guile,
The stubborn, cold persistence of
Betrayal masked as law and love.

Their motto: "Serve the dark, obey!"
But that dark’s painted bright and gay.
To be yourself — insane, they say,
In this world turned the twisted way.

A madhouse — simple, straight, and grim,
Still in its early, evil spin,
Yet even now, beneath its crust,
It grows — a bloom of total Lust.





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



An Army of the People?

An army of the people? Lies.
It never lived, it never tries.
The beasts are in complete command —
And fools rush in to lend a hand.

The simpletons — so quick to trust,
Deceived by lies, by smoke, by dust.
They turn on neighbors, proud and loud —
For slaughterhouses, cheering crowds!



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



People’s Army? Don’t Make Me Laugh.

An army of the people? — Joke!
The filth’s in charge; the herd's provoked.
The crawling beasts give every cue —
And brainless cattle stomp right through.

The idiots — so proud, so dense —
Fall for the cheapest lies and scents.
They butcher neighbors without shame —
For slaughterhouses — in their name!



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



No People’s Army — Just a Herd,
Obeying beasts without a word.
They march to slaughter, loud and proud —
Their brains already in the ground.



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



The Broken Record

Goebbels — plebbels: same old song,
Played again — but now a farce gone wrong.
Lie and lie, and lie once more,
Lure the cattle with a ****** door,

Promise "Eden" through brute force,
While herding them to Hell, of course.
You shear the sheep, you roast their meat —
Just keep their minds in mad defeat.

Hold them raving through the years —
Their downfall echoes through the gears.
To ***** it up — their only art;
The dream of change? A wishful ****.



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



Same lies, same farce, the cattle cheer,
To Hell they march, year after year.
Their dream of change is just a scream —
A rotting, broken, dying dream.



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



"Money in Sacks,
Bags Under Eyes"

Money in sacks,
Bags under eyes —
Drink, and you're wrecked,
Betrayed by lies.

Better to fight —
Victory’s sober!
Aim, hit, and strike —
No drunken cover.



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



Drink and you're doomed —
Fight and you rise.
Victory’s clear —
No *****, no lies!



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



Hunchbacked Freaks

The idiots stack their lies high —
A camel’s ****’s a lighter sight.
The media, with fervent cry,
Whip up fear, lead to the night.

Two humps — they’re lies and fears combined,
The final straw they coddle still,
To bring about the fall, designed,
In filthy, wicked, hateful skill.

The spine will crack, the path grows clear,
A slaughterhouse, it’s drawing near.
Yet in this world of twisted lies,
They’ll call it health, with blinded eyes.



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



Lies and fear, they make their ****,
Their final blow, a bitter lump.
The path leads down to slaughter’s gate —
But they’ll call it "health" — a twisted fate.



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



Twisted and Fallen

Twisted, sunk down deep below,
They babble of a place they know —
A paradise, they claim, they see,
In a world where Evil’s free.

Good is Evil, so they say,
Insanity rules every day.
With lies, they push the fools around,
Sick of it all, they drown in sound.



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



Twisted lies, they call it "Good,"
Insanity in every word.
Sick of the lies, the twisted schemes —
They live in nightmares, shattered dreams.



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



All the Fools Grind Their Power

All the fools grind down their might,
Too much of this foul, crawling blight.
And you live, half-hearted, weak,
Caught in a tightening noose, unique.

They surround, they break you down —
Like a strangling world, it drowns.
Generations fail and flop —
As long as there’s "free cheese" on top.





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



Fools grind down their every might,
Strangled by the endless fight.
Generations lost in vain,
Chasing cheese, they’re bound in chains.



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



Mad Slaves

"White and fluffy" —
Here, a mad slave.
In this foggy world,
The mind’s a fading wave:

Black’s called white, and white is gone,
The body thick, but mind’s withdrawn.
Though flesh is full, the brain’s a mess —
Just twisted lies in pure distress.



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



"White’s called black," they twist and break,
The mind’s a fool, the body fake.
In madness lost, they serve the lie —
With empty hearts, they live and die.



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



Disgust

Disgusted. The shame can't be washed away,
And slavery deepens with each passing day.
Desires in FILTH? Only Diogenes
Won’t rot into ******, pathetic disease.

Love? Friendship? In SLAVERY? Hollow and dead.
A mad little serf has no heart, only dread.
What's honored? Just nothing — a mindless decay:
Get drunk, get dumb, feed your gut — fade away.

No life here — just rot, in a shameful disguise:
All "growth" is a fraud, a procession of lies.
Here Spirit is slaughtered, and Reason is banned —
Just lunatic screeching across this dead land.

And only a few bear the Light, bear the Truth —
But vanish in nightmares of treachery's tooth,
Of fake manufactured catastrophes' art,
Their cross left behind… for a fool with no heart.



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



Rotland

This isn't life — it's rotting shame,
Where spirit's crushed and mind's to blame.
You kneel, you drool, you feed — then die.
While truth is nailed and left to lie.



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



The Judas School

Trust is now change in a traitor’s hand —
They’ll bleed you dry, and they’ll call it fair play.
What’s left of your heart? Just pulp or sand,
When ruin comes swift — the betrayal way.

They’ll rat you out, sell you cheap for a thrill —
While trust keeps dreaming of wonders and grace.
Here “friends” are Judases, grinning with skill,
And “wise old advisors” — the snitch in your face.

"High feelings"? A trap. You’ll be played and abused.
It’s all cold math — the rest is a lie.
And soon, even decent ones turn and get used —
For pennies, they sell you and wave you goodbye.

The world is a Judas school — plain to behold.
A fake little virus made clear who obeys:
The freaks in white coats, the regimes bought and sold —
Unleashed their fascism in orchestrated waves.

Now Judas High marches toward the camps —
This trust, this belief — a fatal disease.
Trust is a sin: on their banner of tramps,
A red cross is stabbed through the heart with ease.



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



Judas Class

They preach with a smile, then stab from behind —
Trust is the noose for the spiritually blind.
The cross on their flag? Not of mercy or grace —
It’s driven through hearts with a butcher’s embrace.



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



The Futility of a Poet

A poet's despair — a cry in the sand,
Unheard in the void of a lifeless land.
A life full of strain, of torment and pain,
With horror that freezes the blood in your vein.

Poets are skinless — they’re born that way,
And skinless, experience won’t come or stay.
But with no experience, what can you give?
Your soul stays silent — too raw to outlive.

To write is to walk the long road alone,
Or scatter your sparks till your fire is gone.
The dangers are many — you may go blind,
Write nonsense and think it’s the work of the mind.

No fame will come if your verse has fire —
This soulless world doesn’t care or admire.
Your poems may serve just to blow off some steam,
But steam chokes the soul, kills the passionate dream.

Useless, and fruitless, and hopeless, and grim —
This path has no joy, just sorrow and whim.
But if you write true to your soul’s wild storm,
You’ll find, midst the horror, one refuge — still warm.



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



Skinless

A poet is skinless — he bleeds when he speaks.
The world wants silence. And silence it seeks.



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



The Punishing Sword and the Red Banner

The punishing sword, without red flags to wave,
No chants of young zealots, no slogans to save,
No fiery madness, no cult to ignite —
Alone, it’s a blade with no reason to fight.

Brute force alone won’t make devils the kings —
But wash out the brains of the dull and the weak,
And soon they'll be wielding their own brutal things,
Whipping themselves while they slobber and shriek.

They’ll beat the dissenters, the doubters, the sane,
Who flinch at the nightmare and echo no cheer.
Fascism's power is not in the pain —
It thrives when the coward becomes volunteer.

Then crawling and snitching become the new norm,
And bootlickers bask while the others are crushed.
So better become a “Pioneer” in form —
The helpful little creep will leave you untouched.

The sword has sunk deep in the people’s mind —
It maims every thought, kills the soul from within.
The goal of the darkness is always aligned:
To torture the spirit — by poisoning reason.





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



Obedience

They don’t need chains — just rot your brain,
And you’ll swing the whip, then beg for pain.



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



Of Greed and Betrayal

Writer D.H. Lawrence once cried:
“Shut all the schools — let ignorance reign,
Or lies and deceit will soon override,
And man will turn beast, bred cunning and vain.”

Today, it’s the doctor — a fraud in a coat,
A butcher of souls in a clinic of fear.
The world is a camp, where the dumb gladly vote
To follow the whip with a patriot's cheer.

"Knowledge" now reeks of deception and noise,
Truth has been banished — no facts, no defense.
Just loud DECLARATIONS, a choir of toys,
And traitors who sell us for trifling pence.

They hoard from the future — these ******* in silk.
Their grandchildren inherit despair.
Blood-soaked coins, Judas-bought milk —
And the end for them too... will be there.

Such is the schooling they proudly provide —
A factory breeding the coward, the snake.
To Spirit — it's torment. To Thought — it's a tide
Of shame for the Real, of Reason’s heartbreak.



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



Blood Coins

They steal from the children, they trade in the dead —
With lies in their books and a whip at your head.
"Education" breeds Judas and trains him to preach.
What soul could survive what these traitors teach?



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



Decadence in Hell

A poet’s true work is to strip every nerve,
Then strum them like strings, with no shame, no reserve.
You’ll rot into silence — unless you're the "first"?
Then you’re just a sellout, degenerate, cursed.

Ignore all the critics, the forms, and the rules —
Write what your nerves scream, not what pleases fools.
If nerves have decayed, if they've snapped or gone slack —
Then die where you lie. Don’t bother come back.

You’re always below — just a few ever burn
With fire so fierce that their minds do not turn.
They vanish like phoenixes, blazing then gone —
Replaced by the stupid who stumble along.

Now global fascism won’t flinch at your kiss —
No “sweet little poems” will soften this abyss.
So blast through the filth with the full force of flame —
Let cowards in Hell choke on truth and on shame.

When nerves are still tight, then the Heights can be heard —
Their resonance comes like a soul-shaking word.
Not all here have rotted or drowned in pretense —
Some fight with raw verse against dead decadence.





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



Hellfire Verse

Your nerves are your weapon — don’t dare let them die.
The Heights only speak when you burn, not comply.
This world is a grave, and its poets are few —
So scream with your blood, or the rot becomes you.



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



Sheep, Jackals, and Wolves

There were wolves — ask Hesse or Vysotsky’s song.
Now traitors in jackal-skin scurry along.
No heroes today — too “noble” a word;
Look up for a second — you’re gone, unheard.

In the jackal-world, there’s a different law:
Sniff for the rot, keep your snout in the straw.
Honor? A coupon. Just shred it for gain —
That’s the jackal’s life: all teeth, no brain.

It pays to be filthy — no one will chase
The jackal who kills with a cleaner’s face.
He hunts like a clerk, all quiet and neat —
Another day’s slaughter, another spreadsheet.

Now all the sheep are herded to **** zones.
Why waste the thrill? Mass death sets the tone.
The sheep stay calm — “It’s treatment,” they bleat,
While jackals howl law through the zombified beat.

Their wild new order shrieks from the screen —
Agree, or you’re mutton, minced and clean.
Doubt is forbidden in pens that stink —
A sheep with questions is meat in a blink.



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



Jackal Order

The jackals write laws with a blood-slick pen —
And sheep call it "care" as they’re herded again.
Look up? You're devoured. Ask nothing, stay small.
This isn’t a farm — it’s a slaughterhouse stall.



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



Grayness

Weakness and dullness,
Greed and deceit,
Laziness, fear, worthlessness,
With sadism’s soft beat.

False “human kindness,”
The fake, polished “care,”
Empathy's stinginess,
Folly everywhere.

Foolishness reigns,
Intellect is strange,
Primitiveness spreads —
Evil in every range.

Endlessness of malice,
Unyielding decay,
Only filth survives,
No dignity in the fray.

Only ******* matter,
Idiots swagger with pride,
Lies build up like towers,
Genocide is wide.

In prison they settle,
The norm is to bow,
Slaves to their poison,
The rot fills them now.

Boldness is nothing,
Only beasts and their lies,
Subtlety vanishes,
Truth buried in disguise.

What remains is the stench,
What ends is the mind —
The filth will be scorched,
But never the blind.



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



The Gray Curse

They live in the filth, in the lies that they weave,
Only fools rise, and the honest deceive.
The weak stand unbroken, their venom is clear —
But truth will be scorched, and they’ll disappear.



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



The Pendulum's Law

Are you tired, weighed down?
What nonsense! Strength will come,
Once you learn the law —
The “pendulum.” With it,
Your potential will grow,
When you build YOUR world,
Where creativity is the law,
And everything else is smoke —
You can't build a home on that.

You were oppressed by the world,
But didn’t become a fool.
You understood — run from the trap,
For in Bedlam, fools will shackle you,
Imposing the laws of Darkness,
In that stench, you’ll suffocate.

Only creative forces
Will rise again, sweetly.
Let what is of the Spirit,
And sanctified by the mind, be cherished.
Let it be small, the rest —
A heap of miserable waste.

Reject the lies and rumors,
Create, fight, laugh,
While on that filth, flies
Dance upon the manure.

But this dance is Vita’s:
Soul and mind are crushed,
And Light is almost gone.
Only creativity is Light,
In this world of evil, condemned.
The only advice —
CREATE! That is the answer to Evil…





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



Pendulum’s Call

When you're tired, don’t be fooled —
The pendulum swings, your power renewed.
In the world of lies, create your own light,
That’s how you fight Darkness, with all your might.



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



The Doppelgänger Puylo and the Kremlin

They blew up houses in Volgodonsk, Buynaksk—
That filthy Puylo, bringing power to the beast.
It spread like ink, a blot in the dark—
A doppelgänger leading the sheep on their feast.

He drives them to slaughter with his lying tales—
Worse than ******, the harm he has done.
The Kremlin, the filth, at fascism’s rails,
Follows orders from the world’s evil sun.

He rules as a tyrant, a brutal dictator—
Gives out decrees, and the Kremlin, they strain,
While the liar-provocateur broadcasts, later,
Spitting poison, turning truth to disdain.

Cunning lies eat away at the mind and soul—
The sheep grow duller with every breath.
And the zombobox, cold and remote,
Is either a clinic or propaganda of death.

The forecasts are grim, the bottom has cracked—
Only collapse and decay lie ahead.
If they endure this Kremlin filth intact—
Then Satan himself will be pleased with the spread.



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



The Kremlin’s Rot

Bombs explode, the lies run deep,
The Kremlin leads the sheep to sleep.
The forecast is ruin, decay, and dread —
Satan smiles, as truth lies dead.



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



The Menagerie

A swindler, spouting “truths” he never means —
A politician, bureaucrat, judge, or prosecutor.
The clutches of **** tighten like a vice,
In a world of disgrace, a universal ruin.

Two-thirds of all "seats" are filled by shameful beasts,
Walking filth, fascist trash, traitors in disguise.
And the "sweet" songs they sing are fewer now,
Turning bitter like acid, truth's demise.

The global lie has spread, and all the creatures
Serve the common master, everywhere.
Fake countries in their drunken stupor,
Tied by lies that hold the fools in despair.

They chain the masses tighter than before,
And the chief vassal is the propagandist's hand.
Two-thirds of the people, dumbed down and torn,
Have lost their minds; the damage is grand.

****, traitors, and the vile have ravaged it all,
The world has become a MENAGERIE — a sad, grim end.
Spiritual bonds between men now fall,
Satanism is the new faith — "God's dead."





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



The Beastly World

**** rule the world, their lies take the throne,
Two-thirds of the fools are now lost and alone.
The world is a menagerie, where truth is dead,
Satan now reigns, and the faithful have fled.



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



Blindness and Deafness

A bright plasmoid flashed high in the sky,
Gaze upon it — slowly it fades away.
If you’ve incarnated as a fool, you’ll deny,
“It’s all just stories,” you’ll say... thus blind and deaf.

To Pure Spirituality and the “subtle realm”…
A monster of blood and flesh — you’ve become, bound forever.
The Lyre’s a donkey’s burden, nothing to overwhelm,
And the vile creatures — as lords they now endeavor.

Memes are invented, or "funny jokes" —
Meant to mock such observations, to grind.
The pseudo-scientist, with endless tricks, provokes,
Spewing nonsense to **** all truths we find.

To knowledge concealed, all motives are dead —
Like a fool repeating “scientific” trash,
Lies intertwine, woven with lies in thread,
While the "school" is occupied by the darkness’ lash.

"Science" and "school" are now mere superstition —
It’s time to light the fires, the pyres rise.
Only Spirit and the Hidden will bring us equilibrium,
In Real Knowledge — it can’t be destroyed, no matter the lies!



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



Darkness and Lies

In science and school, dark fools remain,
Their lies are a mask, their wisdom is vain.
Only Spirit and Truth will restore balance —
Real Knowledge cannot be crushed by the fools' malice.





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



Betrayal

Betrayal has reached its utmost height,
Turning this world into pure absurdity.
You cannot be whole, a mind full of light,
In a world so corrupt, where Mammon is deity.

The traitors destroy their children’s minds,
Infecting them with poison so deep.
Then with shameless lies, they try to bind—
A father’s not a man, but a worm for the heap.

When everything is sold, meaning’s gone,
Only children left to trade and barter.
The circle tightens, no way to run,
The noose of betrayal is getting sharper.

They feed them garbage from an early age,
Like Mengele’s filth, a puppy at best.
Betrayal is inherited, passed on in rage,
It’s Groundhog Day — but with horns on the chest.

These traitors, their lands stripped bare,
Cities like jungles — chaos, despair.
But all those souls, the Universe will weigh,
And find them zero — then the vermin’s last day.



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



Betrayal's Grip

Betrayal has poisoned the world we hold,
Turning bright minds to dust, to be sold.
But in the end, the Universe will decide,
And the traitors will have nowhere to hide.





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



The Fire of Awareness

Let the Fire of Awareness engulf all Hell,
Forget all you knew — lies are spread far and wide.
At first, you won’t like it, as I can tell,
You’ll see only deformities, nothing to hide.

An inverted world, where the Spirit’s true spark
Is but a flicker, not the consuming Light.
Here in this Hell, the darkness leaves no mark—
For all are fed the madness, day and night.

This madness, this material void we call life,
Where you’re just a hamster, spinning in place.
A fog of forgetfulness, causing strife,
Guiding the world along the same disgrace.

It leads to the Concentration Camp of New Times,
Where fascism reigns, merciless and cold.
The "Red Cross" for fascism is their paradigm,
They’ll crucify all — then Hell’s grip will hold.

So center yourself in Spirit, take the road
Of discovery, where intuition is king.
Feel the Power within, let it explode—
For anything else leads to the abyss, to suffering.





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



The Fire of Awareness, short version

Let Awareness' fire burn through all the lies,
See the world twisted through false, blinded eyes.
But center your Spirit, and you’ll find the way—
For only with truth can you rise from the fray.



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



No Analogues!

"No analogues!" — but by lies, a weapon’s formed,
No limits here — it’s all to keep you misinformed.
Destruction, shame, genocide, decay,
The remnants of freedom, everywhere they slay.

No analogues! — a double-faced dictator,
The artificial pain, a blatant truth’s erasure.
A traitor official, and a cop-provoker,
Propagandists reign there — the analogues are no more.

Even Goebbels would serve coffee to their needs,
In this ultra-poor land, "values" they feed,
Like swine in their filth, soon they'll need no bread,
For they’ll feast on a super-fiend, instead.

They now call themselves demons —
The tribe of Judas, astral burps and lies.
Betrayers have become the new Wehrmacht legions,
And in this army, ******* multiply.

No analogues in human history —
Such a fall has never been.
Many have fallen, but this absurdity
Was never before something to be seen.





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



No Analogues!

"No analogues!" — lies form the weapon of choice,
Destruction and shame, they’ve stolen our voice.
No past can compare to this monstrous decay —
This fall of mankind, there's no words to say.



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



Worldview

Worldview’s the foundation, the core of the mind,
How you perceive things, that’s what you will find.
In a mind that's imprisoned, all chains and all blocks,
Few are the thinkers, the rest are just ox.

When the psyche’s in line with the animal’s tread,
The yoke’s always ready, the herd’s being led.
Not a world, but a zoo, with the stench of decay,
For the "vegetable" type, it’s a suffering day.

Fake drugs, fake viruses, new wars in the making —
They herd the flocks like before, for the taking.
The herds, as a whole, deserve this fate they abide,
For the "truth" they all know is the TV’s loud tide.

Shift your focus — you’re a Spiritual Being,
Out of the herd, though the chances are fleeting.
It’s hard to escape — the flock’s clouds are thick,
The sheep march to slaughter, the Mist’s cruel grip.

The herds are but food, always that has been,
This slave world’s a cage — it’s time to burn it again.
How vile, how disgraceful, how corrupt the swine —
For the spiritual ones, the herds cannot align.



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



Worldview, short version

Worldview is the key, how you see is your fate,
In a mind full of chains, there’s nothing to create.
When the herd’s all that’s left, the world’s just decay —
For the spiritual ones, the herds are in dismay.



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



Eternity and Infinity

Give the slaves half a liter, a heap of lies,
That the Führer spits out every day in disguise,
Also some food, and eternal mirages —
Immortality for slaves! No need to analyze.

Here everything's different, that's why fascism thrives,
It rules through fear, to frighten the herds of lives,
Then push a new foolishness, dressed as salvation,
But beyond that — no more, no more hesitation!

The record's been played, but it’s ETERNAL still!
Madness grows stronger — now vinyl, it’s real.
And the whole little world has sunk to the floor,
Where the INFINITY of their stupidity soars.





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



Eternity and Infinity, short version

Serve the slaves lies, and food for their pains,
Fascism's still reigning, through fear it remains.
The world’s fallen deep, where fools hold the reign,
And their stupidity's endless, in infinite chains.



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



The Solution to the World's Problems by Apocalypse

Tumbling through the void,
Just explore, don’t aim too high,
Let your soul, in simple joy,
Reach for ties with the Most High.

A satanic world, yet God
Is unspeakably far away.
Building in evil, flawed,
You multiply NOTHING in your way.

A Cataclysm will save us,
It comes from far afar,
It’ll destroy the fascism,
Though the burden’s heavy and bizarre.

To see the Evil and not change
A thing within this place,
The hammer will hit, sharp and strange,
And Death will solve it all, with grace.





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



The Apocalypse Solves All

The world is twisted, far from light,
Fascism will fall in Cataclysm’s fight.
Evil seen, but change too slow,
Death’s the answer — that’s the final blow.



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



Satan

The receiver, that filth, it has in its grasp,
And an army of vermin, who’ve betrayed it all.
No need for floggings, execution’s past,
For shame, fear, and whining no longer call.

When once all was done — on the conveyor,
Far more nourishing, souls to collect,
No need to gather — fools bring them to bear,
For universal treachery, lies in the air,
And beyond money, no one’s direct.

Only a few fight against the Evil,
They’re called fools, and their efforts ignored,
Unable to harm it, yet still so medieval,
The horned goat has made everything deplored.

But a twist of fate, a cataclysm near,
It will sweep this shameful Hell away.
The fools will vanish, along with their fear,
And those FEW will find salvation that day.



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



Satan’s Fall

The filth holds the receiver, lies all around,
Few fight against Evil, their efforts unsound.
The fools will vanish, their reign soon to end,
Only the Few will salvation transcend.



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



Harvest Time of Darkness

The world’s a brew of lies and fear,
And fear breeds deeper with each sneer.
You stand already on the block
If you march with that rotting flock,

The herd they flatter as "the crowd."
Best walk alone, away, unbowed:
If clothes define you at first glance,
The jailhouse marks your last advance.

Stay wise, stay honest — flee the pack,
The world’s a madman’s hunting track,
Where scoundrels ride on slaves below,
Yet slaves themselves — too blind to know.

Now is the Harvest Time of Night:
The mind in chains, the spirit slight.



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



Pseudo-Science, or The Black Letter as Black Mark

The blackened letter — the blackened brand:
Each line is dripping with deceit.
Their rotting “science” stinks on hand —
It rides the fool in the backseat.

See global warming: humans "fume,"
While cows let loose without a care.
And clueless people just assume
Whatever CRAP the LIAR dares.

There’s proof galore — go take a look:
Their stitched-up lies are crude and loud.
Enough! We’ve read their crooked book —
We’re not their sheep. We bite. We’re proud.



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



Search Instinct

The search for truth — that burning trait —
Is what makes humans truly live.
While fear and sloth and bowing fate
Are all the herd can ever give.

To swallow lies without a blink
Is cattle’s mark — a soulless mess.
When all is madness, stop and think:
To feel the truth is to progress.

Even rats inside a maze
Drop their food and flee the night.
Is it instinct? Is it craze?
Or madness sparked by lack of light?

Madness reigns — it chokes, it stinks.
Yet rats outmatch us, inch for inch:
They dare to doubt — while man just sinks,
Drowned in a sea of coward’s cringe.

Forget the herd, forget their script —
Their ready answers all are lies.
Seek your own — through ash and crypt —
Or be a rat... who never tries.



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



The Ego Cycle and Paranoia

The ego’s loop, in fear entangled,
Distorts perception to the core —
The mind gets lost, confused, and mangled
By all the filth and inner war.

This loop of fear and false suspicion
Is perfect fuel for any scheme:
Scare them first — then with precision
You plant whatever in their dream.

To fools, all nonsense becomes law —
"Approved by experts," fed like meat.
The ego walks toward the flaw,
And **** just watch, enjoy, repeat.

The ones who rule this global ward —
They know the script. It’s not obscure.
The ego's cancer marches hard,
And every ***** feels secure.

So now he swallows every sin,
Mistakes the poison for delight.
His soul's gone soft. He won’t begin
To bite — his mask fits just right.



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



When Time Speeds Up

When days fly by and blur away,
Something’s wrong beneath the skin.
The surface smiles, but deep in gray —
Your soul’s in chaos, lost within.

When you burn bright — time stretches wide,
Each moment vast, intense, alive.
But if you’ve shrunk and lost your stride,
Then you’re too numb to even strive.

Time’s not "knowledge" — that’s a fake:
That “truth” is poisoned, full of lies.
They chain your mind until it breaks —
Those horned “lords” in priestly guise.

They’ve built this cage, this blur, this race,
Where time speeds up — a cursed delight.
The rats all hide in cozy space,
And wait for demons to feed them right.

The Spirit lives beyond all time,
But time’s a noose they’ve wrapped around —
By spawn of Hell who make this slime,
These worms who rot the holy ground.



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



Weapons of Mass Deception

Lies and traps, and staged offense —
That's the main game in this place.
Shake the idiots, make them tense —
And they’ll swallow every case.

Two waves fill the poisoned air:
Fear and falsehood, broadcast loud.
All the rest’s just cheap despair,
While Hell reigns above the crowd.

Every system, every name
Rests on ****** that sell their voice.
They lie, they hype, they fan the flame —
If we don’t shake, they cut our choice.

Blow a tower skyward, then
Blame it on some foreign trace.
Tweak the laws, deceive again —
Freedom wiped without a trace.

Too much horror to contain
In one poem, brief and tight.
If you trust these fiends — you’re insane.
You're a dumb, pathetic blight.



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



Blank Page

A blank page waits — it pulls, it calls,
It begs for that first fateful line.
The first — a valve. Then silence falls,
And words begin to flow just fine.

If the poet’s spirit burns,
The lines will pour, both strong and right.
But if his gift no longer turns,
He’ll spill out rust — not words, but blight.

The page is pure. And if your soul
Is just as clear — it shows, it speaks.
No foolish noise can make it whole;
Only truth is what it seeks.

Let the Heart speak first — then Mind
Can shape the frame, refine the sound.
But if no voice inside you shines,
No use in waiting for it now.

For if the Mind commands the Heart,
The song is doomed before it’s born.
You can’t just bolt a door to art —
You’ll make a mess. A lie. A scorn.





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



“Servant of God”? Then You’ve Been Had

"Servant of God"? Your mind’s been wrecked —
God needs no slaves. But demons do.
Those horned and filthy fiends collect
Obedient cattle — blind and true.

They roast their meat not in a pan,
But in delusions, bold and loud.
Each lie inflames the minds of man —
This is no world — it is a shroud.

We live in Hell. And breaking free
Is not a tale from sacred lore.
It is a challenge to the Me —
To Spirit, burning at the core.

No dumb book will show the path.
The chains of others bring no gain.
Think for yourself — or feel the wrath
Of borrowed wisdom turned to chain.

The Mind must serve the Spirit’s light,
Or else you lose the sacred thread.
This isn’t style. It’s not a rite —
It’s life or death. You feel it — dread.





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



God needs no slaves. The Devil feeds
On minds that kneel and call them "creeds."
Your chains are lies. Your prayer’s a bribe.
Break free — or rot inside the tribe.



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



You drown in lies. The rat breaks free.
Who's closer now to truth — or me?



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



The herd obeys. The rat resists.
You serve the dark — it barely twists.



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



No truth is handed. None is owed.
Seek — or rot on their dead-end road.



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



If Heart is silent — stop the pen.
No Mind can fake what's true, and when
You try — you stain, you smear, you miss.
The Soul writes clean. Respect the bliss.



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



Your fear-built ego blocks the light —
You praise the chain, you beg the blight.
You lick the boot and call it fate —
While truth stands armed outside your gate.



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



Your "science" reeks.
We smell the fraud.
We’re not your sheep.
We bite. We’re God.



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



Lies in your lab coat,
filth in your creed —
We burn your banners.
We’re done. We lead.



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



A blackened mark for
a blackened mind —
Your truth is rot.
You’ve fooled the blind.



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



If you trust the screen — you’re owned.
If you fear — you’ve been dethroned.
Lies and terror breed control —
You’re their target, not their goal.



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



Time is a trap, a choking thread —
A gift from demons, masked as grace.
While truth stands still, the herd runs dead —
Their clocks devour the human race.



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



Psychotyranny

Psychotherapy? No — Psychotyranny!
A tool to leash a dead and beaten mule.
The herd’s gone mad, and shrinks, with sick uncanny
Smiles, outdo butchers. Lies? Their basic rule.

Their twisted “theories” — Freud’s obscene inventions,
Other mental tortures — madhouse filth and flame.
The mule is dead — a zombie — no redemption.
But freaks rejoice: a dumbed-down slave’s their aim.

Dumb us down from childhood — school, indoctrination —
They **** the soul and crush the mind instead.
No true physicians here — just exploitation.
They skim the cream off every life gone dead.

These wounds are planned. They warp your mind with terror,
With filth and panic, till you’re sick and small.
Show a hint of mercy? Fired for that error.
They profit best when you can’t think at all.

They breed our madness, feed it through the ages —
“Help” exists on paper, nowhere real to see.
Their science lies. And while we rot in cages,
They gut our minds — their goal? CRUSH utterly!



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



Psychotyranny

They broke our minds to keep us tamed and low,
Called it “care” — a lie dressed up for show.
The shrinks are wolves, the patients led to slaughter.
Truth drowns in pills and propaganda water.



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



The Poetry of Self-Immolation

The poet’s cold fury burns brighter than steel —
No weapon on earth strikes deeper or truer.
Let madness around us devour and reel —
Our answer to Hell is: “We shall endure!”

It’s time to return to the Source, the beginning,
And burn this vile world in the fire of truth.
Forget all the fascists, the fog, the false winning —
The Source wipes it clean, renews us like youth.

The poet — a fakir, a dervish, a flame,
But silence and patience will not always stay.
Now rage rises up — no longer tame —
Self-burning is poetry’s final way.



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



My verse is a blaze — not a prayer, but defiance,
A torch in the dark, not a tearful compliance.
This world must be burned, not mourned with regret —
Let poetry rise, a firebomb threat!



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



Through the Looking-Glass

I’ll never see a world where Truth and Honor
Defeat betrayal’s rotting, creeping blight.
This age, like leprosy, corrodes and hollows —
It feeds on those who burn the brightest light.

Only one lie holds any real dominion:
“Super-money” — that’s the god they trust.
It rules this rotting realm with cold precision.
The Stepan Razins vanished into dust.

Among the fools and crawling human weakness,
We drag our days, then die, then start anew —
And each rebirth — more hopeless, dumb, and bleakness!
The fools have multiplied — their grip holds true.

To see this once again? A fate far crueler
Than simple death — annihilation's best!
What grows is fear, and chains grow ever cooler,
In this warped mirror-world of filth and jest.



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



Mirrorverse Strike

This world is a mirror — cracked, diseased, obscene,
Where gold makes gods and truth dies offscreen.
No rebels left, just clowns in chains and smoke —
Let fire erase what mirrors never broke.



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



The Inner Realms of Soul

No bonds, no flags, no chains of duty,
No faith in lies — that’s how to stay a man.
Obey, conform — they steal your beauty
And herd you straight into their slaughter-pen.

Obedient cattle in foul enclosures —
That’s what they call “the state,” “the law.”
The proud, the bright face swift erasures —
The mind and spirit meet their final draw.

So some escape into the silence,
That realm within, beyond their reach.
New fascist masks, the same old violence —
The Goat now rules, and morals bleach.

The world grows poor, dives toward disaster,
The fiends accelerate their track.
Only within can one stand faster,
While filth and ruin flood the black.





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



Inner Strike

The world is rot — ruled by the Goat and chain.
They brand the soul, then flush it down the drain.
But deep within, where tyrants cannot tread,
The fire lives — unbroken, though half-dead.



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



Doomed

Without the Power that births Creation,
Tradition’s “art” is mere stagnation.
In this grotesque world, true form can’t grow —
What’s called “creative” lacks the soul to flow.

No spark of Source? Then all is murk —
Reflections warped with lies that lurk.
And so this doom cannot be shaken:
All’s off the mark — when Soul’s forsaken.

But true Creation — that sacred Flame —
Lives far beyond the fascist game.
Yet most still toil in dead routines,
Half-blind with fear, devoured by machines.

The slaughter by fascism floods every land —
Not humans now, but clay in demon hands.
They mold obedient beasts from men,
Through lies repeated again and again.

But Forces of End, of righteous unmaking,
Will rise to halt this global faking.
Beast-born decay will meet its close —
For Nature revolts where filth overgrows.

And Death will come — not as damnation,
But clearing space…
for true Creation.



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



End Before Creation

They burn the soul and call it “art divine,”
While beasts are bred by lies in every line.
But filth can’t last — the end ignites salvation:
Death clears the way… for real Creation.



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



"Elections"

You’ll choose a doctor or a pilot
With far more care and scrutiny,
Than you’ll ever give the “president” —
Clean-shaven, smiling wide, deceitful, "free".

He speaks so smooth, what’s more to say?
For the people, he’s the man, they say!
But when he blabs of “freedom’s” call,
And “democracy,” it’s just a fall.

He offers recipes, so grand,
To fix it all — yet they all fail!
Year by year, the “people” buy the lie,
For the man’s a clown, a swine who prevails.

Invisible, the swine is the one
Who set the test, and he has won.
The people, as always, fall for the fun,
And in the lies, they’re gone, undone.



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



The Clown’s Game

A clown in charge, the lies they sell,
While you pick doctors with care, oh well.
Democracy? Just smoke and mirrors —
A fool's parade, while truth disappears.



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



Control of Soul Over Mind

An impossible task, no doubt —
Luck won’t help, nor endless shout,
Nor the madness, tears, and cries —
Only inspiration, soul’s full rise.
But here’s the rub — the strength is weak,
Always fading, failure peeks.
Without the intellect to bind
The Spirit’s force, what will you find?
A mess, a drag, and endless bore,
Only nonsense reaching your door,
If the swine that lead the flock
Sell their souls for soup and talk,
And craft their lies so slick and sleek,
No truth will pierce, their grasp is weak.

An impossible task, you see —
To tame the soul’s own mindless steed,
“Intellect” — a ***** that’s bought,
These creatures know, and never fought.
In lies they drown, with every breath,
They smother those who challenge death,
And bend their minds to evil’s course —
Dogs envy their corrupting force.
They drown the talent, twist the truth —
A war, not brawl — a battle’s youth.
Lies ****, and truth is cut away,
Like CowID, that shows the way.
The fool, deceived by feeble faith,
Follows the beasts into their wraith,
Raising fools to mock the mind,
In total lies, the fools are blind.

The world is rotten — hell below,
The stench of media’s foulest glow.
They rot the soul, and steal the will,
And crush the brain, unthinking still.
But if your soul can master mind,
The beasts can’t touch, they’re left behind.
That’s how you save yourself from doom,
In a world of *****, filled with gloom.





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



Soul vs. Mind

The soul must tame the mind’s blind bray,
Or beasts will lead you far astray.
Lies **** the truth, and fools will fall,
But spirit’s strength will conquer all.



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



***** Colony: "Problem-Reaction-Solution"

A ***** colony in the sea,
The brain’s a trickle, ears full of dung.
Though not all is woe, it’s misery —
The sea of lies, the tears that’re flung.

Steamers bring their hollow lies,
A cargo of the baseless truth.
Misfortune grows, it never dies,
Their work’s just making pain, uncouth.

The twisted fools, their only aim:
To shove more problems in the frame.
Jokes forgotten, no more games —
No more dilemmas, just the same.

Stress. Oh hell! Prepare the plan —
How to hoodwink every man.
The ***** colony, decay —
If you believe their lies, you’ll pay.



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



The *****’s Lie

They breed the lies, then sell the pain,
Make fools of men, then shift the blame.
The *****'s game, a rotten scheme —
Believe the lies, you’re caught in steam.



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



The Howl of the War Propagandists

As a war propagandist,
You’re shot down, since you were born,
A different foe: “upbringing” —
Preparing you for slaughter’s horn.

This war herder, a stitched-up freak,
A devil’s trick above the meek.
In every pen, the world’s a shoot,
All our pens have turned to loot.

CowID showed the tale,
Not much left, too faint to hail.
The herd is driven to the camp,
Slaughtered by the twisted stamp.

War propagandist now —
He’s power, law, and shows you how.
The fools can’t see, they’re blind to note,
As they munch, they drown in hope.

And under crunching, howling din,
Those mad of mind will meet their sin,
The fiends of hell will wipe them out,
And history’s done, there’s not a doubt.





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



The Propaganda War

They feed you lies and call it law,
The herd is led, too blind to draw.
The fiends will feast, and minds will fall —
Propaganda’s grip, the final call.



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



Learn Not to Break

Learn from the cats — wild, streetwise,
Full of lazy grace and surprise.
Do they have fleas, or endless sin?
The lies of “warriors” are built within.

Just like sarcoma, deep and raw,
Who here is wise? No man, no law.
Satan’s their guide, they kneel to him;
To the beasts, slavery’s grim.

A tiny cat will chase away
The dog, to keep the pride at bay.
While lies corrupt and gnaw the soul,
They crush the weak — that’s their goal.

Where’s the insight like the cat’s?
The “dogs” are beasts, worse than that.
Mad and wild, their lies destroy
The meek and lost, they’ve no employ.





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



Master of Subtraction, or The Path Without a Path

Up the dust-choked rise,
Like climbing rays of light,
Though nerves may rot and die,
(But for all, I fight),
Not fooled by "Heaven's" lies,
I’ll flee from filth and blight,
Where souls have been destroyed,
I’ll flee the endless night.

No more to stay in Hell,
Not a moment more —
Like Don Quixote, I rebel,
Against the madness they adore.
Madness, filth — too little else,
So I rise with might,
Rejecting rotten thoughts,
That poison mind and sight.





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



Advice of the Old ****

Stress resistance comes from exercise,
While women and liquor — poison and lies!
And the steady run will help you through it,
Like a dynamo, it’ll charge you to it.

It’ll drive out the nonsense, that weighs you down,
The nonsense that kills — now, people are clowns.
Trust no one, relieve your stress, and hope,
Find your own way, laugh at the dopes.

Increase your critique, trust your instinct too,
Reject the filth, let their madness stew.
With a sharp mind, you’ll crush all the vile,
In this world of madness, daring is the style.

Seek and dare. The run will aid the fight.
Sneeze at the filth — let fools chew their bite.
Fight fascism, genocide — show them no mercy,
Or chaos will reign, and you’ll be their prey, a tragedy.





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



Swallower

They spew their lies, with force and heat,
To distract from questions we repeat;
With filth they cloud the vision clear —
Thus roars the furnace of Hell’s sheer.

From questions, who these fiends may be,
And who they serve, whose goal they see?
In lies, like frying oil, they stew,
No crack of light in Hell to view.

In lies, they’ve wrapped it all up tight —
A perfect seal to block the light.
Their souls, their minds, they've nearly killed,
Like targets shot through, pierced and drilled.



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



Luciferian System, or Paper Money

"Risen" in the market trade,
But to the depths, they quickly fade.
Paper reins and lies so vile —
A tide of filth, a wicked mile.

You ride in circles, round and round,
Forgetting life’s true, deeper ground.
You’ve harnessed dreams to chase a lie —
Paper’s all that’s left to buy.

Spiritual fire, flashes of mind,
Consumed by greed and wealth you find.
Money spreads like pestilence,
A curse that makes no recompense.

The System built a flea market show,
What use are memes in a fool’s woe?
Cash and thrills, that’s all they crave,
While reins decay and people slave.



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



Whom You Encounter...

You meet the dulled, the brainwashed, the misled,
Their bloated pride divorced from any reason.
They're fed with lies and fears inside their head—
The kind that nourish falsehood, hate, and treason.

The worst of it? The state-bred fear campaign,
Where fools parade as rulers of the nation.
If fear and evil thoughts infect your brain,
They rot your soul and wreck imagination.

Ideas — that's the root. And evil feeds
Them to the crowd as "values", grand but hollow.
New dogmas rise — and new insane misdeeds,
With beastlike minds too dumb to doubt or follow.

A frenzy of delusions, lies, decay,
And fear plus fear, then fear again — in layers.
It ends in death, though priests will try to say
It’s "life"... just dust dispersed by final prayers.



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



Fear-fed and hollow, beasts obey—
New creeds arise, and minds decay.



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



The Beyondness

“Seek not the Truth —
just drop opinions.”
— Zen Patriarch Sosan

Seek not the truth —
just slay belief.
The truth is Spirit, calm and brief.
Burn down your fears,
stop pouring lies —
The truth has fled this world of slime.

A global rot,
a fascist game,
With media dulling every brain.
The sane are few —
a scattered spark
In seas of madness, sheep, and dark.

The fools are meek,
the thugs are loud,
And lies spread thick — a toxic cloud.
All views are false
when soul is gone,
When Spirit’s light is not turned on.

Look deep within —
no fear, no fakes —
There, Light will rise as silence breaks.
It won’t be easy —
sloth runs deep,
And thought itself is sick with sleep.

Only intuition
can make you whole,
It is the compass, it is the goal.
Truth isn’t near —
it’s beyond the known.
And you will reach it
once ego’s gone.



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



Truth won’t be found through thoughts or lies —
**** the ego. Let Light rise.



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



Flickering

They brand you fast — a clan, a trade, a land —
The tribal mark stamped deep into your mind.
Thus, Primal Thought is stripped by sly command:
A global fraud, sensations redesigned.

Names flash like ads, while chains of “values” cling
More tight than shackles iron ever could.
And so, the masses worship everything —
Obedient, blind, and stupid for “the good.”

Cunning and cowardice take up the space
Where truth and spirit used to stand with grace.
A rotten trick, compensatory shame —
Each wave of fools breeds more of just the same.

They swap the labels, but the game’s the same:
Fascism dressed in every kind of name.
Be it ******, or Mao, or Churchill, or Tsar —
One filthy pack, and the filth’s still in charge.

The real beast hides — it rules from the fog,
While global “Tao” is madness in a clog.
Fear doesn’t grow like flowers in a field —
It’s sown, then fed, its harvest pre-concealed.

They grow it with care, they groom it with flair —
That’s what “real politics” always declares.
The zombie-screens flash jesters and ****** —
So rulers need not whip you anymore.



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



New masks, same chains — the plague is old.
They breed us blind, and sell us gold.



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



Combat Psychotherapy

To "adapt" your mind to hell —
That’s their treatment plan. Oh well.
A cheerful donkey in the bin,
While the global madhouse spins.
Reason? Gone. And Spirit? Dead.
Conscience? Trampled, left unsaid.
Is this tale or tragic farce?
Chekhov wrote of such a ward —
Number Six. But time flew past...
Did we change? Or lose it fast?

No — it’s lost. And lost for good.
Mass hypnosis, poison food.
Schools of idiots, screens that lie —
Churn out drones, and truth must die.
When the crowd is ripe and mad,
Then the blast of mass psych spasms
Wrecks all minds, makes reason shatter —
That’s the core of war-born patterns.

Beasts now rule this stupid Earth,
And why war? To prove their worth?
No — it’s bait. The perfect cheese
In the trap that drops with ease.
Poisoned souls? That’s not enough —
Darkness breeds more devil-stuff.
Freaks in rags of thought and power
Train insane in every hour.

Adapt the madness for the war
Against the soul — that’s at its core.
And fate, with all its twisted jest,
Grins cruelly at this loony quest.
They’re no pawns — more like disease,
But they’ll wipe the board with ease:
Kings and pawns, and every fool —
All consumed in madness’ rule.





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



Adapt the soul to serve the fight —
And call it healing. Pure black light.



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



No Film Today

No film today — the director’s a fool,
The script was sold to some corporate tool.
What’s left to show? A slop for the sheep,
So foul it reeks of rot too deep.

Flush it straight down — that’s all it earns.
This “projector”? Just a toilet that burns.
The world’s gone septic, sunk in waste,
And “critics”? Coroners. No taste.

They poke through corpses, call it review —
Of rot and stench, they always knew.
And still the ****-flood won’t be stopped,
Since media thrones can’t be topped.

We gulp down lies as sacred truth —
The end? A crawling, mindless brute,
Obedient, vile — a soul long dead,
Who feasts on filth and bows his head.



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



The film is dead. Long live the slime —
They sold your brain to filth and crime.



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



Those Who Shatter Worlds

The ones who crush this world to dust
Don’t do it blindly — no, they must
Correct the odds, direct the flow,
So herd-like minds won’t even know.

The crowd obeys “desire’s path,”
But that’s a rigged and charted math.
In Hell’s Domain, the laws are clear —
Obey, consume, and disappear.

It’s not just greed — it’s full control,
Propaganda scripts your soul.
“Education” forged in vice,
And monsters rule us — cold as ice.

A beastly gang now grips the Earth,
Their puppet-master mocks all worth.
Name him plain — the Demon’s mask,
While idiots still fail the task.

They rule like fools, but still they burn
The world again — no will to learn.
The sun blazes brighter still,
But not by some demonic will.

The darker things become each day —
The closer you’re to void and grey.



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



They rig the odds, then torch the sky —
Obey the lie, prepare to die.



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



Division and Unity

"To bring the many to the One — that is the root of beauty."
— Pythagoras, 6th century BC


Not to unify — but break:
That’s the path of fake "progress."
Love the fragments, for their sake —
Crushed and stamped beneath the presses.

Then forget the whole you were,
Lose yourself in cheap consuming.
Rot in fear, obey the slur
Of media filth and soul-assuming.

And thus the world comes to its end —
A camp of digits, cold, controlled.
Division breeds the final trend:
A nightmare forged in lies and code.



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



They shattered One to sell us dust —
Now chains are built from fractured trust.



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



On Methods of Curing Cretinism

A sheep-brained, virus-ridden clown,
A zombie soldier — this is End.
Where fascist beasts have seized the crown,
And madness reigns — their perfect trend.

The bottom’s gone — the hole is real.
The idiot now leads the crowd.
For beasts, such fools make perfect meal —
Just feed them lies, then flush them loud.

The world’s digested, flushed in lumps,
A giant **** of “civil thought.”
What’s left to serve with these dumb chumps?
Some brains — but most are sold or shot.

So few still think, and less each day,
As rotten minds infect the stream.
Regression screams. The sick will stay —
No cure for them but fire and flame.

To save the Spirit’s last remains —
That is the task, that is the aim.
A Cataclysm shall break the chains —
Burn cretinism. End the game.





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



No cure for this — just holy fire.
Burn down the swamp of brute desire.



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



“History” — Penned by Hacks

"History repeats because we lack historians with imagination."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


It’s all written by hacks — that’s law.
Even “history” gets their flaw.
A villain funds some myth to spread —
A sellout scribbles lies instead.

No honest mind will take the bribe —
He knows that trash will twist his tribe,
And choke his children in the end —
Let Evil warp what truths depend.

The media twists “what really was,”
Distorts the world for filthy cause.
Today or yesterday — it’s hell,
And ruled by one who hides it well.



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



Lies write the past, hacks stain the page —
And Hell returns in every age.



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



The Cleansing to Come

"The lesser evil must be praised as good."
— Niccolò Machiavelli


Evil grows by its own plan —
The “lesser” soon becomes the grace.
Each step down, it fools the man,
Till rock-bottom hugs his face.

And now we’ve hit it — CowID
Made it plain for all to see.
What do maggots call “the good”?
Whatever keeps the price tag free.

They crave cheap junk, a stable rate,
They plug their ears, deny the loss.
But Earth is gone — it’s far too late.
The filth will burn beneath the gloss.



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



The world is lost — enjoy your screen.
The purge begins to wipe it clean.



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



I'll Build a Castle in the Air
Crowned with a Tower of Delirium.
A carefree life — beyond despair —
With rules I wrote, my own Imperium.

But orderlies came in a pack,
And with them marched a cop in tow.
They dragged me off — no coming back.
The law is clear: No dreams. Just woe.



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



Dreams are banned — the world’s decree.
Build a castle? Welcome, psych ward key.



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



“Victories” and “Change” Beneath the Yoke of Satanism

"Many triumphal arches were later worn as yokes."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


When Evil wins, the **** proclaim
Another “triumph” in its name.
And soon the herd is yoked once more —
A different chain, the same old war.

Each “victory” is just disguise:
One yoke removed — another flies.
“Change!” scream the screens with fervent glee —
While necks are chained more zealously.

The Media howls: “A golden age!”
As lies replace the iron cage.
From yoke to YOKE — the people fade.
Their gods are dead. The devil’s paid.



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



From triumph arch to choking yoke —
The “change” is real — now bend and choke.



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



Socialist Realism

Chapaev, Petka, Anka — all
Are cursing through each bitter brawl.
The commissar? Their “guiding light” —
A live reproach, a holy blight.

“Freedom” thrives by feeding lies,
They build a camp — with “socialist” skies.
The grand experiment won’t last —
Their commissar’s a clueless ***.



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



They built a camp, they called it “bright” —
But filled it full of flies and blight.





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



The Universal Lie

"To lie is to insult myself more than the one I lie about."
— Michel de Montaigne


Self-inflicted pain,
The world pushed to the brink.
Truth is slaughtered once again —
And lies are what we drink.

That’s why the masses rot:
Defective minds, diseased.
So many “holy Sundays” bought,
So much delusion pleased.

They need their daily dose
Of fiction, fat, and ease —
To fill their guts with empty hopes,
And rot in Global Lies and grease.



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



They **** the truth, then cheer and feast —
The global lie now breeds the beast.



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



The “People” Rose — So They Were Told

“The people rose!” — or so they claim,
A puppet screamed the noble aim.
“Stand tall again!” — the order sticks,
Then off they go to **** for kicks.

Not for a flag or sacred land,
But medals, cash, a ****** hand.
What’s rising here? Just swamp and fog —
Centuries deep in filth and slog.



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



They “stood up” straight — with boots in gore,
Still sinking deeper than before.



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



The End Draws Near

The end is coming — can't you tell?
But reason’s jammed, not working well.
Fear-fogged lenses smear the view,
So nonsense passes for the truth.

Through rot and lies and veils of dread,
The herd denies the doom ahead.
They call collapse a minor glitch,
While media bark, whine, curse, and pitch.

The people “live” in fairy tales,
Wearing delusion like chainmail.
And those who speak without a leash
Get crushed by fools in helmets — each.





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



The world is burning, blind with fear —
And cowards jeer when truth comes near.



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



Poisoned Lines

These lines are laced with venom — pure.
But **** won’t read; they seek no cure.
To strike the proud, to break the wise,
We crush their fear, unmask their lies.

They're filled with dread, with rot and shame —
Few walk the world still clean, still sane.
This realm is ruled by fevered cries,
Where Darkness thrives on global lies:

Lie, and threaten, crush the meek,
Till minds are cattle, dumb and weak.
Submit — and you become the swine.
That swine’s the Darkness by design.



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



Submit to lies — you rot inside.
The swine of Darkness wants you tied.



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



The Frailty of Mankind

Serve the Eternal — nothing less.
No “human warmth” in that abyss:
It’s fleeting, weak, a dying breath,
For Earth today is ruled by death.

The human now’s a devil’s brand —
An icon of a doomed command.
CowID, rashism, fear and lies —
We “live” beneath the final skies.



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



Mankind’s the mask of Satan’s game —
The end is here. And we’re to blame.



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



The Old Optimist

The youth, a fool, is led by smiles,
His mind is pure — it runs for miles.
But fear would break him, tear his heart,
So lies and delusions play their part.

We raise the false, and blind his eyes,
While shame is buried deep in lies.



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



The lies lift him, but truth would break,
His mind is weak — too lost to wake.



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



The Lone Wolf

Are there rules, or instincts wild?
How many lies, how much denial!
Here fear and howls and vicious barks,
The world is drowned in endless dark.

If you’re outside — you’re cast aside,
To beasts you’re mad — they’ll take no pride.
They’ll show the pack, just what’s at stake —
The mind is dead, they howl and shake.

The lone wolf’s path is few and rare,
From them alone, some truth may flare.
For all the herd — they bring no gain,
Just stupid noise and endless pain.



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



The pack is weak, the lone wolf fights,
The truth is born in lonely nights.



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



Madness Strikes Like Machine Guns

Madness mows like machine guns' fire,
Crossing flames, no chance to tire.
The infantry’s fate, it’s set in stone,
No matter how tough, you're on your own.

Generations march to those same guns,
From every squad, just one survives.
It’s no coincidence — the mind’s undone,
For the beast’s will, the goal deprives.



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



The guns are deaf, the truth is mute,
The beast controls, the mind’s pursuit.



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



The Global Cockroach Darkness

The darkness in the cockroach’s lair,
Is hard to grasp, it’s everywhere.
In fascist filth, where lies abound,
The beasts will lie, without a sound.

Few minds remain, so sharp, so pure,
In wars of blood, or thought demure.
And if one’s found, they’ll crush the soul,
In battles where the mind's the goal.

It’s not the Dark, but Fear that reigns,
And in its wake, the filth remains.
The world of traitors, lying ****,
It stinks of death — the horrors come.

Sanitation, that's the key,
To cleanse this filth, and set us free.
But time is short, the rot’s too strong,
The stench has lingered far too long.





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



The rot will burn, the filth will fade,
The beast shall fall, the mind’s crusade.



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



Personality or Schizophrenia

Is a lie the core of self,
Or is it just schizophrenia's stealth?
A different thing? Isn’t it clear?
This question’s simple, never fear.

Yes, schizophrenia!
For the self to vanish,
When the mind dictates,
And the soul will diminish.

No book will tell you this truth —
The world’s gone mad, there’s no proof.
Only a few will fly like birds,
Not writing books, but breaking words.

They won’t write pages —
To sober up the sages.
Maybe I gave too much,
So bury your mind in a crutch...



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



The mind is blind, the soul decays,
Only truth can clear the haze.



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



Dead Flesh

They yap — ignore it!
They lie — ignore it!
The world’s got no grace:
Lie bolder,
Be colder —
Among the “kings” who...
...decompose.

Alive? Move ahead!
Leave the rabble,
All the lies of the BEAST—
Away from decay!
The Spiritual Path
Goes through the fright
Of the dead-“men.”
Ignore! Ignore!!!

"Other worlds,"
Gifts of the mind,
And beauty’s find
You’ll reach, my friend,
When you LEAVE,
Then you’ll drive the nails
In the coffin of lies and diseases—
Or be gone,
Not worth a cent.



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



Lies and death — they rule this land,
Only truth, when you take a stand.



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



Drive Fear and Nonsense Away

The death of the heart’s a way to hide,
To escape reality, and crush the fear inside.
So they drive QUESTIONS from the mind,
Fill it with nonsense — that’s the way they find.

A cocoon is formed with rotting core inside,
It’s death, but alive — now it no longer hides!
Yet to the BEASTS, you’ll be but a pelt.
This ostrich world will sink you to where it’s dealt.

The bottom’*****. The zombies walk, wretched and slow,
No future for the living, just a hollow, dead flow.
Freaks without hearts, the judas, they cheer,
But the film will end with death’s final sneer.

Dead to the dead. And for the living, awaits
A mockery of paradise, a quarantine of fate!
If the heart still beats, it’s bound in this cocoon,
So drive fear and nonsense away, and make it gone soon!



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



Why is the Pseudo-Life Suspended?

The thread’s been snapped? Or just a whim?
You hang by nothing — lost within.
A life so wretched, just “for show,”
That’s why you’re here — and just a shadow.



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



"The Distant Light"

With sorrow deep, the Soul is veiled,
For by the "distant light" betrayed,
The fools rush on, deceived and blind —
To Hell they race, no peace to find.



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



Victory on Paper

"Of cheerful good" they write,
Yet in the ravine, you’ll find,
The traces of the game —
That evil leaves behind.



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



Boxing Nonsense

Mini, ****,
AI, proxy —
In nonsense, it’s all fused.
The world’s insane:
With boxing’s game,
It’s turned to rage, abused.



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



Restoration of Strength

As much as needed —
So it will be,
To the brink —
Then they’ll return to me.

Save yourself?
No need for that —
"Life" becomes the noose
For the rat.



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



Furnace of Rage

I’ll heat the furnace white-hot,
And to hell with it all;
In the Dark, I've reached the spot:
Only Fire can end this rot.



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



Smash This Hell

Smash this Hell —
Or you’re a rat.
If you’re pleased with scraps,
With sheep in your pack,
And the master’s your media,
Your goal’s in the past —
You’ll never escape:
The rats will eat fast.



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



Oil Painting, or Global Injections

"School" — life’s tonic: no pill
Can describe the madness found,
Add some shots to **** the fools,
And it’ll paint the scene around.

An “Pre-heartattack” picture forms,
What a mess, it’s all a wreck!
If idiots believe in Evil,
Then the world’s on its last check.

Few are not these idiots —
A drop within the sea,
It’s all gone, it’s all lost,
The end of Thought and Liberty.



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



Pomegranate, Gift of the South

The pomegranate, southern gift —
A life-giving delight.
If health is sinking, swift,
Try this fruit to make it right.

You’ll feel it in an instant —
The nectar pure and sweet,
It drives out the resistance,
And turns the tide to feast.

Healthy? It won’t harm you,
There’s nothing better, true —
It gives you strength anew,
So take it in, it’s due.



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



Harvest of Darkness

The world’s a pit of fear and lies.
You stand alone — or you will die.
The mob is filth. Their leaders — worse.
Each breath they take, a deeper curse.

The wise don't beg, don't sell, don't bow.
They fight — or rot with cattle now.
The **** ride slaves, then drown in shame.
The time has come. The blade — the flame.

No gods, no dreams — just war and dirt.
No second chance. No shield. No hurt.
Stand hard. Stand fierce. Or rot away —
The Harvest reaps who fall today.





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



The Traditional Vile World

"Lost in words, confused in concepts,
Man loses the scent of truth, the taste of nature.
What strength of thought one must have,
To suspect this moral stench —
And with a spinning head rush out
Into the fresh air,
Which everyone around is taught to fear!"
Alexander Herzen


Born in a Hustle-Bustle Bedlam,
You're drowned in fog of empty words.
At first, you trust your dad and mama,
Delighted by their fairy worlds.

As years go on — more myths, more stories —
Fake science shines like Perrault’s tales.
Yet slowly darkness claims the glories:
Through lies and fear, pure evil sails.

They drug your mind — “morality” they name it,
While daily bread enslaves your soul.
You spend your life just stuffing stomachs,
Oblivious you're losing all.

The media’s constant foul persuasion
Will rot your heart without a trace.
You won’t perceive your own damnation:
A ****** fool — a soulless face.

Thus "traditions" are constructed —
A tool for Darkness, bold and broad.
Through "sacred customs," souls corrupted
Are shaped into an empty horde.



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



Overstrain of the Creator

The artist’s fatigue is beyond all measure—
Words miss the mark, and toil brings no gain.
And “life,” as it does, flies past without pleasure,
A tangent, indifferent to beauty or pain.

Alone? Of course. That’s the toll and the treasure.
A curse for the fools—but a crown for the few.
He’ll squeeze out his blood on the canvas with pressure—
No tears are allowed. There's too much to do.

No whining, no meekness, no crawling submission—
That’s filth for the fakes, for the weak and the bored.
It’s rage without end, and the ruthless ignition
Of strength that exceeds what the flesh can afford.

And what does it yield? A result that is tragic:
No help—unless lying becomes your new voice.
Through darkness you walk, without hope or with magic—
But after you die, you may finally rejoice.



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



Bleed or Be Nothing.
No tears. No pleas.
Just burn through the darkness
On shattered knees.



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



For Whom the Bell — and Other Tiresome Crap — Tolls

For whom the bell — or school bell — tolls?
For whom drone sermons, grunts, and rolls?
For all. But deaf and dumb remains
This world in chains, too bored for brains.

What sings the clown upon the stage?
Of myths — the “truths” of every age.
The herd just loves that fairytale,
It masks the rot, the stench, the jail.

When noise assaults from every gate,
Our ears explode — it's all dead weight.
It’s time to think — but droning floods
Will drown each spark beneath the duds.

There’s just one law: endure and crawl,
And trust the talking heads — that's all.
These idiots won’t wake until
The world breaks loose from Bedlam’s will.

The Global Bedlam soon will split,
Collapse into a screaming pit.
But now — more lies, more talking heads,
More “songs” to rot your mind to shreds...





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



The bells all toll — and still you snore.
They feed you myths, you beg for more.
But Bedlam cracks — and when it falls,
No lie will prop these rotting walls.



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



The sky will scream, the earth will tear,
The myths will burn in poisoned air.
The bells will toll — not one will hide.
The Beast you fed will now decide.



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



The bell is cast. The end is near.
The age of lies dissolves in fear.
The sleepers fall. The blind shall see.
What was — shall burn. What is — shall flee.



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



And lo — the voice like thunder spoke:
“The chains shall snap, the veil be broke.
The night shall rise, the proud shall drown.
The lie shall wear the iron crown.”



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



The Traditional Rotten World

"Entangled in fake words and notions,
Man loses truth’s and nature’s taste.
How strong must thought be, through the poison,
To fight the stench and flee in haste!"
Alexander Herzen

Born into Bedlam's filthy spitting,
You're drowned in smoke of rotten lies.
At first, you trust your parents’ fitting
Of fairy tales for shut-down eyes.

The myths grow thicker, filth grows faster —
Fake science dressed in Perrault’s grin.
Yet creeping through this bright disaster,
True Evil plants its roots within.

They **** your mind — call it “morality,”
While bellies rule your toiling life.
Your days dissolve in ******* —
A breathing corpse, devoid of strife.

The media’s foul streams will bind you,
Corrupt your soul and rot your core.
You’ll never feel how filth enshrines you:
You’ll stink of death — and ask for more.

That’s why they sing of "noble traditions" —
The sludge through which the darkness spawns.
Through sacred lies and dumb submissions
They mold a herd for future dawns.



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



Harvest Time

Fear and lies — the world's disease.
Bend your neck — or die on knees.
The herd obeys; the **** command.
The last of men make their last stand.

No dreams to chase. No gods to pray.
The blade is near. The hour — gray.
Stand hard. Stand sharp. Stand all alone.
The Harvest comes. Protect your own.

— The End —