She stands among the grey scape with
So many muted colours inside her.
But today is a day of monochrome miasmas-
Of grey gulls that skim the pewter river
With wings that know such measures.

The greyness leeches her to the technicolour
World she knew long ago
Somewhere down the river.

A cauldron of rage wages above her
Filled with the bursts of brigands of
Grey restless beauty.

There's a rainbow now!

As it archly
Shows its palette she sees the separation
Appear ever nearer...
Above the rainbow is cobalt
Beneath it a merely flat grey.

Underneath her umbrella she enjoys
The puttered thwacks of soft water indenting
Thin fabric with a firework crack.
Suddenly she's back
Her shoes are black and her eyes are grey.
She wishes everyone was a million miles away.
She wishes everyone could stay.

No saben.
¡Perdonadlos!
No saben lo que han hecho,
lo que hacen,
por qué matan,
por qué hieren las piedras,
masacran los paisajes...
No saben.
No lo saben...
No saben por qué mueren.

Se nutren,
se han nutrido
de hediondas imposturas,
de cancerosos miasmas,
de vocablos sin pulpa,
sin carozo,
sin jugo,
de negras reses de humo,
de canciones en pasta,
de pasionales sombras con voces de ventrílocuo.

Viven
entre lo fétido,
una inquietud de orzuelo,
de vejiga pletórica,
de urticaria florida que cultiva el ayuno,
el sudor estancado,
la iniquidad encinta.

No creen.
No creen en nada
más que en el moco hervido.
en el ideal,
chirriante,
de las aplanadoras,
en las agrias arcadas
que atormentan al éter,
en todas las mentiras
que engendran las matrices de plomo derretido
el papel embobado
y en bobina.

Son blandos,
son de sebo,
de corrompido sebo triturado
por engranajes sádicos,
por ruidos asesinos,
por cuanto escupitajo se esconde en el anónimo,
para hundirles sus uñas de raíces cuadradas
y dotarlos de un alma de trapo de cocina.

Sólo piensan en cifras, en fórmulas, en pesos,
en sacarle provecho hasta a sus excrementos.
Escupen las veredas,
escupen los tranvías,
para eludir las horas
y demostrar que existen.

No pueden rebelarse.
Los empuja la inercia,
el terror,
el engaño,
las plumas sobornadas,
los consorcios sin **** que ha parido la usura
y que nunca se sacian de fabricar cadáveres.

Se niegan al coloquio del agua con las piedras.
Ignoran el misterio del gusano,
del aire.
Ven las nubes,
la arena,
y no caen de rodillas.
No quedan deslumbrados por vivir entre venas.
Sólo buscan la dicha en las suelas de goma.
Si se acercan a un árbol no es más que para mearlo.
Son capaces de todo con tal de no escucharse,
con tal de no estar solos.

¿Cómo,
cómo sabrían
lo que han hecho,
lo que hacen?

¿Algo tiene de extraño
que deserten del asco,
de la hiel,
del cansancio?

Sólo puede esperarse
que defiendan el plomo,
que mueran por el guano,
que cumplan la proeza
de arrasar lo que encuentren y exterminarlo todo,
para que el hambre extienda sus tapices de esparto
y desate su bolsa ahíta de calambres.

Son ferozmente crueles.
Son ferozmente estúpidos...
pero son inocentes.

¡Hay que compadecerlos!

Florica's vacant look
haunted by the spectres of doom,
occasionally bursting of wit.
Still wishing to be blinded
by that can't sleep love.
Not understanding all it was said
they assumed she was unhinged,
but neither of them care about.
Night sky lays in her half-closed mouth,
languidly merging with the ceaseless clattery sound.
Florica's glazed eyes,
her sore body rests now
in the miasmas of unconsciousness.

1.

Doing violence to enemies,
opposing forces, fighting friends
beloved antagonists, ag me on, indeed.
Let me be angry and you be awesome, as we
presume to make reasonable temptations.
Cure violence, make your mind a peace.

Solitary you,
with nothing but you influencing you, alone.

No enemy is in here with me, and my books
hold mere words. And what are words but thought?

2.

Exhalent dancing in sunshine,

sighing unsignifying beautiful curves,
nothings being said,
shown for the seeing, as art at the moment.

in some sense system,
an old and common one I met while
measuring my culpability, a point

is the finest imaginable mark to make in eternity.

3.

Ordinarily, as the hammer falls,
to meet the anvil on the second beat.
T' know.
Violence cures nothing,
knowledge does the opposite.

Is this good and evil fruit from one tree?

Is addiction mental?
Is mental cognate with spiritual?
How do habits work in co-inhabitation?
Yes and how,
I may tell you it is, if I am right
in my thinking, or if I am wrong
to the point of evil, taking

away the given life of solitary grace.
Spirit and truth in thought,
then words, repeated
to remember, recall

all we need, in oppositional states,
is a sense of order,
to be out of
in the court, where poets practice
homophily and strive to fit peace

upon the time whence all true tellings
spin off old threads across New Mexico.
- what if your dad gave Feynman a ride
- down to Santa Fe, in that old Chevrolet?
and Feynman told him the significance of chance.
In spun quark analogies of natural liberty
in order.

No yoke is lighter, less loathsome to behr,
mere thought we got in our kit, PIE old
as born again, anew, to day it until

the freshets all run dry. {Day as a verb.}

5.

Propose a purpose,
as when one fits a pattern, plaid
or paisley, vertical or horizontal plain

visionary wistful solitary man, thick fake,
feeling like Neal Diamond, and not knowing,

any why for these crumbs I cast into the sea.

Young sterile men, young bulls and studs,
suffer reality, as the act of living, as can be done,

under these same weight circumstances,
nitrogen and oxygen and all the other bits

of informed knowledge, fit for use, good or evil.

6.

Artisans and Partisans,
always feel some same pains, it's natural.

A hundred years ago,
my uncle, Malcolm, who represented…

the ancient clan's offering to the king,
who kept his own tamed dragon chained
to his priest's performance of the auspices.

Today is perfect.
The sun has also risen.

We may imagine poetry effecting ever,
after a day such as this shall be said to have been.

A hundred years ago,
my uncle, Malcolm, who represented…
the patriarchy of my mother's people in war…
pledged pawns in the hegemonies conservation,

in order to attract prosperity, pure form good luck,
the homogeneity of any wedom demands hands,
good hands, to do the work,
aligning religamental tendings to common pivotal

points. Precisely between one instant and another.

Cardinal quarks, six ways to someday,
the bottom quark.

No yoke.

7.

Nothing.
I'd have said Hadrons can't collide,
but I'd have never known if I was wrong.

I could have taught it as life's finest point.
The law of grave digging.

Initially, due to stink.
Miasmas, demanding, shreeking -
crawling with feeding biting flies, help

help, help us recall the survivors of that time.

Is it once in every other while, and this time
ours to examine, was our wedom's destination

now, or later?

Were there innovations emitting invitations,
to word plays with only elementals performing

haps as hap can, haps as haps may, haps in per-
fection of patience so sublime,

a teacher learns the old saw still cuts,

„Men must be taught as if you taught them not,
And things unknown propos'd as things forgot.“
\critical mass, Christmas carol - this is not the end/

Alexander Pope as quoted to Franklin by himself.

'men ought be taught naught as well. I said.

8.

From what I can recall of how
theories of everything stack upon a given point.

What.

Out acting what you verbalize, what you say you are,
homophonizing with the health of your countenance,

that sameness known best for it's use in stripping lipid
chains into sticky tiny pore clogging pus.

Certain madness is not anger, actually rage is madness,
not anger at its most useful
swat
at a pestilent misfolded truth contained
in a fly by POV.

9.

Listen, is that Earl? No, no
though he holds a certain Magnificent Obsession.
--- sweet Tuscan Nightingale song, from noble soul,
cursing ignorance and incapacity and
useless rules.

Ah, grammarized code of proper speech,

prompt my response to statistical chance,
best of luck,
that's their secret.

What were the odds, before the odds were
determined with existing data deterging the

inner and outer fields over lapping,
as might bubbles used as
Venn Diagrams, messaged meaning sensible

commonly, at this point in time.

Justice yet alluding us, nah nanna nah,
you can't catch me,

I'm not your disease.

10.

What true stories do, is teach.
Lying stories do that, too.

What we are, as human augments,
after thoughts in other words,
arguing augmentally in mind,
learning ai tested for facts,
repairing quarkish inner sense of knowing,
no one of us only spins one way when dancing
in the dark,

no one of us recalls another never met, as foe,
we all come in to fill the empty vessles, not a few,
as a swarm of wills let go to make honey in slain lions.

11.

Nature, reality, the universe, first song

makes life abide
by rules in timing ordered information
to eventually sink
to the top part of the bottom line.

Florence Nightingalian wisdom, amima-y-me,
she sweetly suggests
you take a bath,

and rethink the oddity of your being me, imagined.

Ignorance, incapacity and useless rules.
Interesting times, statistically not so long infected.

Manufactured consent among the governed,
housed in a single all enclosing story, a compleat
fisherman's guide to phishing in the future after all.

12.

So, and so, and so what… if I persuade
with sweets as all dangerous strangers do,

how might we feed our offspring milk and honey?

O, read another's mail in the spirit, eh, Galatian?

If any other come with another enhancement,
trust not that wicked messenger,
driving hex-head screws too deep to unscrew,

to hide links to the Pirates of the Macintosh,
not the face of the money, the spirit behind it.

People who can imagine the message Hello,
is enough, to make the magic pens manifest,

at the behest of the generational groaning,
howling for peace under the actual economy
of greed and pride.

And subsidized gambling links to stray hopes.


13.

These holy traditional non-private interpretations,
mine, for which I must be judged, I know, I said

I did, and I did, but you did not see, so
what
am I
sup-posed, under? Atlas and I, we shrug.

Anything is believable. Once we get the idea in verb.

Thirteen is culturally an odd number everywhere
cardinality spins on dimes novels mixes of messages,
left in print burned ages ago.
Impressions after Pulp Fiction.
'Zeke 17:1 is the real riddle under it all.

Lingering aroma is immediately different.
Stench.
Rotting corpses on some never buried battlefield washed
with raging water when the weather retakes time,

this is the time when Greenland greens,
and peace is sung, where no peace was,
and we were manifested as sons, wombed and un,
in the self same spirit of truth manifested as salve,
to a dry land.

Sudden air full of winged seeds
Blowing froth on the dawn.
Season of simple joy
Wizarding light from the east.
Yellowing grass yawning
In the last of days of dry,
Zippy insect life slowing
To a tumble buzz, heavy
As sleep, just before sepia dreams
Begin to comfort the earth,
Fruit pungency replacing heady miasmas.
It’s like leaving a bright clearing for a forest
Sanctuary, light dimmed by cool shadows,
The gentle change of one life-state
For another.


,

Through longing
and loneliness
I've now found
A home in this
place where we all share
Our secret, sacred selves

In this kinship,
I have found
I am secure

I feared
I was a fool
To speak of bliss
In constant sorrow

I feared of
Weaving webs of words
Too thick
To let the light shine through

Only gandering, instead
Upon a meal of
Conceptual fortitude

But with a mind full of cobwebs
And miasmas of parasitic insects
I will do whatever it takes
To keep myself thriving

coming to consciousness is a must
yet its painful to retain all these words
sordid shards of nothingness
i am learned for i know that i've learned nothing
except what i’ve earned by remembering
plenty of ways to fake a riot
keep quiet or dry it in the sun
sheltered on the run
blasts from guns to gynecologists
solecisms and syllogisms
miasmas of the mind
time unwinds in butterfly defenses
semblances of the freedom we traded
resemblances to our mothers
and our grandfathers in helmets
filled with money left to rot in the sun’s basement
the used ones who wait for their retirement plans
to conclude their lives with guttural fluctuations
effluent and stagnant waters, frenetic daughters
portraits of amazement
the lazy masters sadly agree to replace them
sweaty fixtures grasped our hands and minds
sign language kept silent
stretched out in striated alignments
cut me some slack
for there can be no turning back from this place
she gave everything away save the furniture
which wasn’t hers anyway
once it takes a hold of you
it doesn’t like to let go of you
grab the fire by its nose
and release the hose
if you wish to control the soul
water pouring from our bones
i bow down to your ground
we are going home
arguing no more
our moist hearts becoming clearer, nearer
i am breathing louder in my own theater
and in my own studio i am making music
that makes the flowers bloom

Thunder beckoning my tribe
Of foreign hunters from the sky
I fly on wings of solid steel
Centuries of anguish to appeal

He rides the lightning from afar
While trailing from a shooting star
The fiercest wind, a crashing sound
Mephistopheles inbound

The Satan's spawn, demon of wrath
Is on a malevolent path
Onto a rendezvous of  souls
Intent on taking all control

He hunts the weak to gain his power
Until will come the final hour
A battle between beast and man
The fight to take the promised land

In days of six and nights of five
The promised one will be revived
He will forsake his own
To sit upon his mighty throne

The innocent will be beguiled
All hatred will be reconciled
But this will all just be a hoax
And the world will be engulfed in smoke

Miasmas of the blackest night
The death of innocent by blight
Inseparable of death
Inoculating breath
Is taking hold of me
Suddenly I can see

And from the sky there comes a sound so loud!
In my mind I am alive again, though gasping for air.
I say please, save me!

They take my hand and I'm above the clouds.
And lighting fills the air.
And everything is energized, we're floating!
And I can see myself over there!
It's not over; he's back, the final conspirator!

So I grab hold of him, and I start punching him, but I'm just a boy!
They were there with me, my comrades, and they attacked him with the various building blocks.

But he unleashed a fearsome attack. All from his body it exploded. Shrapnel made a mark to me.
I fall feint.

And when I wake up there he is; Mephistopheles, standing over me.
I say, Mephistopheles! Why??
And he say, because there is no point!
And I say, what does that matter? You don't need a point to be happy.
He said, now, that happiness isn't everything. And he stabbed me in the neck.





But in my very last breath, no longer inoculating me, he say that it is to live that is to mean and that death is just to be as much.
I gasp!
Then it all fades again, this time for good. But the last thing I see, my comrade is falling down upon him and the final blow ends it.

Yeah, he got his wish.

we go out fishing for feelings in the dawn
his music burns holes in her skin
her heart is a tirade of injustices
do punish these children for believing
give them ropes to end their lives
study the tides of men and women
how kindness and violence
must always intertwine
what a waste of hungry eyes
they shine like mindless flies
blind as the days of our lives
binding our hindquarters
straw and hay make headway
presents for the undeserved
serve me cold and quickly
his energy is amazing
shifts like the feathers of a bird
make space for agony
thanking god for its companionship
compassion is magic
its action, talent and enthusiasm
miasmas of space disintegrate in our face
grief is next so why wait
for the beauty queens to eliminate
happiness is a cure or a curse
start with the best and finish with the worst
blessed unrest has taken its toll
i am bold and hungry for money like candy
smooth and rigid i must drown my edges
and submerge suffering in tender kisses
fits of rage and fists of fury
humanity is denying its real duties
to return to beauty, love and truth
you speak of kindness
as if it was proof of all that's good
misunderstood people
bark orders at themselves
stand in judgement of their health
feelings dealt and hearts withheld
bells and whistles are expelled
stochastic rhythms from our cells
blessed music is in our legs
let me go and i’ll fly high
keep me chained and its likely i will die
don’t let the fact that its impossible
deter you from trying
in the end you may be surprised
by how quick you took to flying

Have you seen the rain in grey Berlin today?

Above the cherry blossom's egg shell trees
where we
engaged in critical ideas at three;
pure white thoughts rippling beneath
miasmas in the asphalt creeks,
primordial, yet still so meek.

The city lights ate hopes with these
canine teeth from West to East,
fluorescent mouth to feed.
Still I am at ease;
about remaining crumbs to keep;
at the border of our fading sleep.
Am I a sheep?

I saw the rain in grey Berlin today,
tomorrow it may be too late.

© fey (15/04/25)

50 years


ago, full of the
Righteousness of God.

He

?
who held my place
while insanity

With torn dreams, the
miasmas of lost love.

Bless me Father
you who showed
the ways to Hell

Baptizet me
Again.

The midnight (sirens
are lapping.
I stumble from
the drink of happiness

spilled on the sands.

You whose conscious is
trifled with like the fish
on the line

I eat
my disappointment

cold


Caroline Shank
Valentine's Day
   2025



Caroline Shank
2.14..2025

The Rapid Fall of Rashism

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Fascism

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

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

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



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




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



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



Execution

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

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

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

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



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




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



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




The Kremlin ****

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

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

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



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




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



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



Censorship

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



The Sacred Glue

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



FuckYandex and Googlecrap

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



The Maestro

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Kinda Hell

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Sociopaths and Degenerates

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

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

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



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




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



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



Arrival and Struggle

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

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



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




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



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



The Idiots


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



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




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



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



Dyrkin

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



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




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



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



Search Cage — Googlecrap, FuckYandex, and the Rest

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



The Steamroller

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Fascism Cubed

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Fascist Cops

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



The Human Edge

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

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

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



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




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



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



...It Creepily Approached

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



First Ones

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


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

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

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



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




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



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



Disposal of Bio-Waste

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Cops, or The Whip and the Carrot

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

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



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




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



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



Death to the Rot!

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Putler and ******

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Super-Duper

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



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




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



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



Putler’s Speeches

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

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



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




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



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



Let There Be Light?

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Nonsense Questions and False Answers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Bread, Spectacles, and… Incantations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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




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



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



Ceilings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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




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

Nothing is.
It is everywhere—between the spaces in your skin,
subsisting itself into the air.
The eternal Nothing drips on every surface,
creeping through miasmas of poison and delight alike.

Most beings move blind to Nothing.
They change because of existence, because of things, because of time.
Despairs shift them, so do their grails—
living through direction.

They find and keep.
Stand and fall.
All while Nothing saturates each bone,
each instrument of vision,
every strip of actuality.