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WhyamIaSpoon Jan 2012
My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.
You see after all i my mates laughed at me for being a little ****** kid

there was one friend called lyle who wanted to be my friend at school

and i at that time, thought this friend was cool, seeing i knew nobody else

but we had fun together, like a dream made me understand,that we used

to play basketball at the local courts which i thought was cool, and it would’ve

been nice, if my other school mates would join in, but we did play games

with other kids who dropped in, i just had a dream, where my mate the messiah

came in and taught me how to become respected enough to make it to hollywood

and before you say it, i know he isn’t my daddy, but i was a daddy figure to him

letting him stay at my house, you see we went to the movies and top floriade

and also to the national multi cultural festival, and the messiah said, instead of

shop food, how about you have multi cultural food, yeah, it’s tasty, hey, we also

went to each others houses, i had him sleep over, but i never slept over there,

mainly because, i have caused a lot of problems expecting to sleep over in my childhood

you see lyle came in my dream last night to show me the ***** cool kid, in the form of the messiah

he made the messiah, buy all these tickets to expensive events, like maybe a soccer game

between barcelona and ajax, yeah i used to joke with him, and we saw a stand up comedy event, and we find

that kind of thing very funny, but i heard the witch doctor who killed my previous life patrick dunbar

saying, hang on, are you the guy from the charnwood inn, and he told men to shut up, and i said

leave me alone, i am a family person, i don’t need the crazy demented witch doctor kidnapping my cool kid

the witch doctor, is trying to steal my mate patricks voice saying, i am not a cool kid, to make me too scared

and i really wanted a mate, and lyle was the only young bloke who gave a ****, like take me to bet on the footy

once we turned 18, but in school, we went to the footy and going over to each other’s houses, to play cricket or footy, and mate

lyle was a really big wild boy, he was, ya know a fast bowler and a tough footballer, and i tried to keep fit, so i can

outclass him, and i think i succeeded, but ya know, if you ******* a mate like lyle, he will get cranky, cause he has a

problem worth anger, we also slept in the backyard tent, where lyle said, i ain’t scared of the old boogie woman

but, i was wanting cool friends, as he liked the idea of going to bed early, and my family and lyles family all got together

and talked to each other, and i enjoyed my conversations with lyles mum, mind you, there were moments, where i was

scared to go over, because, i feel if i **** people off, i will have no friends, i remember me and lyle used to be big eaters

but, i don’t want to eat like that no more, because, i don’t want any blood clot, mind you i still eat a lot, but i write and do art

because i need to do things with my art, so my eating doesn’t get the better of me, there is more to brian allan than eating

too much, me and lyle were like two cool people playing bingo, and that was cool, you see,in my dream, my mum packed

a whole case of cakes, for me to share with all the young dudes at the festival, but the messiah felt uneasy and said i don’t want

to be a kid, he said he wants to fucken grow up, but i can’t understand why, he is telling me to grow up, and i hate the idea

of being treated like i am trying to be like other people, like my brother, i am like brian, just me, brian allan, i had fun with lyle

despite him being a loud mouth wild person who liked the idea of picking fights with everyone, but i have to understand

i ******* a lot of people, but this dream shows, all the fun times, i did a horrible crime, but i still think that it was my belief

of being greame thorne and pastrick diunbar in my previous life, being taken too young, was the reason of all my crazy person crimes

and dad couldn’t except i had a mental illness, and either can my old school mates, you see i ignored patrick at the st george bank

in the mall, and i heard him say get ****** brainy, like he was worried, why isn’t brian talking to me, and i said to pat, hi pat and

patrick went sarcastically hi brian, your brother isn’t around anymore, brian, we don’t have to be nice to you, i had fun with patrick

and lyle as well, in the new years eve concert to end the 1980s, me patrick and lyle went to the belconnen soccer club for the

end of the 80s nye party, and me and patrick and lyle had a few XXXX’s, and i got drunk and crashed over patricks house

and i crashed over patricks house, too much, patrick got sick of the fucken sight of me, i can understand in hindsight, that

i ****** him off, so i annoyed the mall crowd, and i was invited to a party, but because of the party i had at my house, where

my dad played taxi driver to all my drunken mates, and i wasn’t really a good host, because, i prefer the laid back lifestyle

partying out in the firehouse nightclub and the private bin in front of youtube, and i would love a televised youtube nye bash

on youtube, but they don’t, so i made my own nye bash, and it was pretty radically successful as well, i have still got my cool

jeans on, from those days, but i am a talented entertainer and actor now, and as much fun as i had with patrick and lyle,

those days are in the past, i am moving on now,

my granny took me to bingo too, my nanny watched the end of the 70s nye concert with me

i remember when jimmy barnes through beer cans at a concert at alberton oval, adelaide

yeah, totally radical dudes
dessa Aug 2020
caste to caste,
we are on a pyramidal paste.
less to none, the options to outclass
this is the cry of an outcast.
Crysta Gingras May 2016
For into the battle we ride
Screaming at the top of our lungs
Each matching the other’s stride
As the enemy fires their guns
For honor
For pride
We wage our crusade
For hope
For love
We are not afraid
The ice in your eyes
Stops our enemy cold
To stand against you, unwise
For no prisoners you hold
The fire burns in my soul
Leaping forth across the field
Blazing without control
Our enemy forced to yield
Together we outclass them
They cower and shake
We thrive in the mayhem
They struggle not to break
Do mercy we show our foes
Or fierce coldness to display
It may come again to blows
Until then our blades we stay
To each other we look
Our eyes soften for the gander
Like a story out of a book
Especially for a bystander
This battle was not easy
Nor will it be the last
So I reach to kiss you sweetly
Before the calm can pass
For my angel
brandon nagley May 2015
Absurd accumulations, broad- cloth's to wipe each bays station! What a joke of clownery tools.Irritated refuge, instigated neices and nephews miss their woeful father's.... One for a count, a whole cell to a slaughter.
Down and out lane I make mine way to your lonesome hell, where ankh arched wells draw back from higher hills..Robust outbreak of plentiful disease, orthopedics outclass your sneeze!!!!
Ovation applauded to ******* alike!!! Ordaters to outvoted daters, silence is thy key to your miserable life!!!!
Pasturage for slobs, corn for all cobs, your colonels panel design twists slow around the vine!!!!
Seconds until six, ten minutes until nine....... Will you behave like the boy you should be?
Or could have been?,
preservationman Jan 2015
Words inspired by Dr. Martin Luther King
Inspiration with empowerment
Every sentence by the hour
The image in having power
No period could ever certainly stop
It’s the movement’s that keep all of us on top
We shall overcome
Yet the fight continues and we are not done
Together we are all one
The sunrise in standing and looking beyond our cries
Every effort should be our try
Surpass obstacles that label us outclass
Take no backseat in being last
Races are about associating and living among
Races come in all shades and we are one
Freedom is a given right
No challenge just asking for respect and being polite
Races are not asking for the world
It’s our voices in being heard with understanding being the swirl
More than just Washington, DC steps
Not Las Vegas where you can place a bet
Speeches are made to keep the world abreast in aware
There should be no negative caution in our beware
Think on resolutions, but not be a square
The focus point in how races can go from when to there
As a Content Writer/Poet the voice is in our hands
It has become a solid demand
Think about what causes us to write
Think about how we will continue with Dr. King’s fight
Dr. King fought hard so that races would be recognized
That is enough for us to energize
The mission wasn’t truly complete
History has regained itself with bringing deceit
Slavery was a thing of the past
But the outcome didn’t last
The fog has lifted and we can see clearly now
But today we have a battle and we must show the world how
Speak with positive initiatives
Let your word of voice be like the raw of thunder
But not take cover and hide under
The mirror shows the image of whom we are
Dr. Martin Luther King who took this far
Races that come together are like no other
A separation between
A battle of good and mean
Honor the man who said you are a person
Honor the man who instilled dignity and purpose
Dr. King who died for us
Step up the platform being a must
Dr. King, “Thank you for inspiring me”
I will carry your dream continuously for all too see.
Arlene Corwin Feb 2021
The things I wonder about are things I write about.  The things I write about I wind up by exploring, for one does not know how much one knows until one starts to write.

              Ambition

I’m never certain
How I feel about ambition.
I suspect a ‘pro and con’
Existing one inside the other;

A doubtful aim,
Passive as a dream that may be
Based on what’s illusory.
Or like a hurricane
That drives though friendships, kith and kin -
Anything that blocks the way
To his or her supremacy.

A triumph or a trump?
Does it falsify what ought to be
In inner you and inner me:
Peaceful and in harmony?

Ambition’s song feels somehow wrong;
The canvas of acceptance torn.
One's always read
One should be lead
By what goes on right now;
The loving of the here and now
The road that leads where you should go.

Ambition spends its time on what can be;
Wasted energies too in a rush
To reach objectives preached eons long gone
Standing  for patience, modesty and reason.
I’m not certain how I feel about ambition.

Ambition 2.23.2021 Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
  
.trump: a verb which means: outshine, outclass, eclipse, surpass, leave standing, concoct, fake, falsify…”
2..ambition: “from the Latin/French ‘ambire’ to go round soliciting, drumming up…A
Crazy flow, stick to only what ya know, word mojo,
Kicks like the gear, when they glow, never put on a show,
Front row, saw cuties throwing *** faces galore, had to store,
My memory, left her with permanent, chances to be, with me,
Slim waist cutie, I'm thinking she might, be the wife for me,
But it's too early, to contest digest, knowledge for the best,
Bet on myself, check my health, mental bank account,
Sitting good, for my wealth, contemplate my steps,
In stealth, caught a jet of air, reminiscing about her here, near,
Sounds so rare,
I feel like I'm not me, baby thinking about my lost, ZZ
she bought as sweet as strawberry, kiwi, with a splash of Bailey,
Creme Coffee, smell of honey, can I get the digits, properly?
Wanted as my property, have a few lads, and build a legacy,
My forever adorned lady, do it right, dance hall, like the JBs,


Tears rolling down the mask, outclass, thoughts blast,
Face the task, pages of grief, formed, out of the flask,
Front street, cant dodge the pains, that love to sweep, up,
Emotions, coasting pride, sitting in the back, grabs for posing,
Time love stamps, only for the few chosen, chimes to a golden,
Day, listen to what the violins say, cries of a new old tune,
Soon you'll see the happiness bloom, consume the gloom,
Floor out the pain, standing amongst the rain, rambles in my brain,
Will we ever see, each other again, my heart, my best friend,
Though the love bends, it seems nobody wants, to straighten,
The latch, cooked from the raw batch, snort over a catch,
Pitched, enriched, off your scent, loves a mystery, heavenly stitched,
A plethora of attention
focused on twentieth anniversary
regarding terrorist attacks
upon American soil nine eleven
two thousand and one,
thus Schwenksville poet
opted for his best métier write.

While riding atop a yak
both feet went wickety wack
trudging beast of burden a throwback
to the brainchild
of John Mauchly and J. Presper Eckert
devised Electronic Numerical
Integrator and Computer
otherwise dubbed ENIAC
cumbersome invention
programing machine no easy knack
also impossible mission or fit in pocket
book versus handy to tote
laptop perfect fit inside day pack.

As an aging long haired
pencil neck geek baby boomer
who reckons himself
as schleppy (snoop doggy dog) self groomer
cannot escape scornful passersby
sneering, snickering and snorting
at me, an utter embarrassment to humanity,
who also sports sophomoric humor.

Unfair for yours truly
to saddle anonymous readers
which travails of mine
analogous overburdening
an old decrepit ***,
hence lumpenproletariat
marxist (brother) fellow,
whose insensitivity
could be interpreted as crass

subsequently aiming figurative sights
upon fresh fields,
where leaves of grass
harvested by me one
Norwegian bachelor farmer wannabe
ofttimes dashes off to Lake Woebegone
to escape madding crowds who harass

him, cuz he accentuates whole foods
with plenty of fiber to avoid
experiencing lower gastrointestinal impasse
acquiring moniker windbag
courtesy humongous formed ****** mass
necessitating the expertise of Nass
(another name for Nishga -

a member of a branch
of Tsimshian people
of British Columbia inhabiting Nass
River basin and/or dialect of Tsimshian
spoken by Nishga)
homeopathic remedies outclass
those of 21st century medicine,

said indigenous people
interpret objection toward their
age old medicinal practice as sass
even consider disagreement violation,
a figurative criminal mind to trespass
and the subject in question
a veritable, (albeit harmless) *******.
preservationman Sep 2023
Homeless Man emotion
Heaven heard
Homeless Man felt alone and an outclass
Suddenly a rush of wind
Just then
Encouragement sat in
It was Heaven to the Homeless Man on Earth
Created with a purpose
Embraced with inspiration
You are homeless in the moment
Great things are going to be a turnaround
Heaven’s promise
There will be a pursue
Here’s what you should do
Trust and believe
Blessing is what you shall receive
Wonder is what you will see
Just believe on the Almighty being me
Pray no matter what
Your circumstance will become victory
You will have a story
Testimonial glory
One day
Tomorrow’s beginning
Hold on Homeless Man
Tell your story in what is too come
You will never be lonesome
Your mission
Your success
Your purpose
Your whole life defined spiritually
The outcome honest and true
Lost Indeed Mar 18
I'll wait for you, through storm of time,
No need for haste when our hearts are intertwined.
You don't bring a single thing,
Just let me hear your spirit sing.

I need you more than breath or bread,
More than the dreams that fill my head.
Your hug outclass the sun’s embrace,
A fire not even the cold can chase.

A love so deep, it brings me from grave,
Accepted by cards, Defying fate
No end could break, no force undo,
I'll wait, my love, I'll wait for you.
T
Babatunde Raimi Feb 2020
Be tenacious like the Gipsy King Fury
Believe in you right like Wilder
Duck and weave like Joshua
Wisdom is greater than strenght
Also, know when you're spent like the Klitschkos

Life is like a boxing ring
Who ever believed Ruiz would outclass AJ
Life will.always favour the prepared
He took his shot and overcame
Until you win, try again like Joshua

East or west, north or south
A golden fish has no hiding place
Starve your fears and feed your courage
That's the mindset of champs
And don't stop till you win

The Gipsy King was written off
He had succumbed to vices
Fell for the trappings of fame
But he came back strong
Let that thing go, before it downs you

Dear Friend,
The world is your stage
When you land those killer punches
You'll see nothing at the other side of fear
But success laced with joys

Above all, strive to leave legacies
Muhamed Ali is still the greatest
With his name in our history books
This legend will never be forgotten
When will your name become a brand?

Let me tell you about him
They call him "Iron Mike Tyson"
He still holds the bragging rights
The youngest heavyweight to date
He was a Gladiator

Like a Boy Scout, be prepared
Life will throw at you heavy punches
Pay the price for the prize
So you don't die a non-entity
Leave a mark

Never forget all your pitfalls
You'll need them to tell your story
When your glory shines
For you, failure is not an option
Friend, do you copy?

Shadow box with the best
They will show you your flaws
And show you the pathway
That leads to a glorious tomorrow

Don't say I didn't warn you
May this stand as a testament
Between you and I
That I tried to bring out your best
Stay positive!
preservationman Jun 2020
The Writer said
It was what the Poet did
The Writer and Poet both have a commitment and responsibility
Write what you think, and how you feel
A sense of purpose from conceal
The Writer’s theory of words with them being an anecdote
Then on the Poet’s point of view in words that are spoke
The Poet’s scene having a rhythm with a connection of emotional words
Well this feud had been going on far too long, but enough was enough
But one would wonder if the Writer and Poet really being together
They both seem to outclass each other
Now they are feuding on whose right, and the other whose wrong
However. When it comes to words and sentences, the Writer and Poet
Both need to get along
The idea is collaboration
For the reader, it is appreciation
The hidden Moon into a foggy night, but disturbances into unrest with eerie sounds in the distance could be heard in the darkness of night. Life not knowing tomorrow with an uncertainty woe
Now that would be the impact of both in coordination of the Writer and Poet.
Now you know it
So this feud came to an agreeable end
Now everyone can be free and write again
It’s a sleepless night, and write I shall because a Writer and Poet can
Storms and Dreams

I love the storm in heated Fall —
So much for "warming's" final call!
If you are sharp, awake, aware,
You’ll trash the BEASTS and all their glare.

The cows all ****, the plants all choke —
This world’s a gas-infested joke.
But if your mind is clear, not blind,
You’ll cut through dogma’s ties that bind.

You’ll see the Sun grow bold and bright,
Preparing for a searing rite —
To scorch all lies down to the bone
And burn this False World to the stone.

Yet if the Spiritual Man
Were not so rare, but led the clan,
He’d stand for Nature like a king,
And even calm the solar swing.

The Earth has called — the Sun replied,
Its blazing message cannot hide.
But why must all be turned to ash?
Let’s smash the LIES, not Earth, in clash.

That rot has poisoned field and sea,
And humans crawl like blight on tree.
While anti-humans rule the hive,
The Earth will cleanse — none left alive.



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



Two-Legged Sheep

A sheep is bred for Doom and Death,
For cultured Ends, for Final Breath.
A brand-new type, by fate designed —
Its brain near-pulp, its soul declined.

The Ramnavirus made it plain:
This world has lost its twitching brain.
They’re building camps across the sphere
For all whose minds are still sincere.

If you're not sick — prepare to die.
They'll craft a CowID to try
Outdoing past and future Hell —
Death dressed in white — a doc as well.

He stabs you with a poison lie
While Evil’s howling from the sky.
And fools — they cheer, believe the swine.
But now the fool's an old design:

The "sheepman" is the brand-new freak —
Submissive, blind, corrupt, and weak.
Will higher powers watch this farce?
This mad world worships Satan's ****.

Yes, he’s the god now, drenched in slime,
Ruling this age of filth and crime.
The sheep revolt? No — not a chance.
So let’s just smirk… as MADNESS DANCE.



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




A world of sheep — no soul, no clue.
The doc’s in white — the end comes too.
They cheer the camp, they love the chain.
And Satan smiles… through sheepish brain.



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



Light in the Dark

Gleams of Light —
Not a stream:
Song is sung,
Now comes the Dream...

Storm is rising —
Dark and deep.
Crowds await
Their "happy sleep."

Was the song
For them designed?
What a waste —
The deaf, the blind.

They won't feel it,
Won't awake —
On their knees
For "manna" fake.

Sing your truth
To just a few,
Call them forth
Through twilight blue.

Lead them past
The darkened veil —
Mind won’t grasp
What lights prevail.

Let your inner sense arise —
Light’s flare is a glimpse of skies.



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




The Light won’t flood a world so blind —
It sparks for those who seek and find.



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



The Net and the Zombie Box

Today I watch TV with glee —
This puke connects me to my "free"
And mighty homeland, drunk and dazed,
Still mourning Spirit it erased.

It drank itself into a grave,
Once wise — now proudly soul-depraved.
I’ll watch again — the rot, the trend,
Grows funnier… for poems to bend.

The zombie box? A vile parade —
Yet perfect source for truth displayed.
Hell’s broadcast in its rawest stream:
Each meme’s a monster’s mocking dream.

CowID was a circus act,
Broadcast on loop — no sense, no tact.
One gulp of that and you might drown,
Like minds gone rotten all around.

Just kidding, though — I never stare
At zombie screens. I’m more aware.
Reflections from the sheep online
Are more than enough for every line.



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




TV’s a sewer, spewing lies —
But in the Net, the stench still flies.
The herd repeats it all by rote —
And that’s the "truth" they love to quote.



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



Strangled by Memory, the Mind Must Die

"The most vital knowledge is the art of forgetting the useless."
— Antisthenes, 4th century BCE


Forget the useless! Toss it out!
How much crap they pour about
In youth — with strain and stiff decree —
Straight from Bedlam's ministry.

Memory overload — beware!
It murders thought beyond repair.
They “teach” with tons of reeking trash,
Till minds collapse in one loud crash.

This isn’t chance — it’s by design:
To **** the mind, by slow decline.
They swap your thoughts for toxic streams
And run your life through broken dreams.

The creatures lie — through work, through news.
In Mary's World of Twisted Views,
Deception's fine-tuned to the core —
They fake it better than before.

For ages long, their scheme's the same:
Plant fictions deep — then shift the blame.
The idiot in mental chains
Is easier to lock than brains.

He cannot think — so can’t perceive
The monstrous lies that make him grieve.
But call him “free”? He swells with pride,
While truth is mocked and pushed aside.

Forget the useless — hear your Soul!
It holds the key, the map, the goal.
And if you dare — with mind intact —
You’ll find the path they want you lacked.



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




Forget their junk — reclaim your mind.
The path to truth leaves lies behind.
Think clear — and all their fake design
Falls dead beneath your inner sign.



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



Consumption and Mass “Culture”

Main course, please! Bring out the herring,
Sausage, bacon — load the plate!
Pour some *****, keep it daring —
Drown the country in that state.

Gorge and chug — the proud ambition
Of the masses, dumb and proud.
Hence the chains and the submission —
Everything else gets disavowed.

***, “education,” faith — all twisted
To amuse and numb the brain.
Learn to grab what’s most delicious,
Skip the soul, pursue the gain.

Gobble down those rare sensations,
Shun excess — keep lies intact.
Lying well ensures your station —
It’s the top-consumer’s pact.

Lie with skill — and you’re ascending.
Truth? Just dead weight on the climb.
What you sell means more than meaning —
Emptiness becomes the prime.

Empty heads and zombie stations —
That’s the peak of culture now.
But this Hell of simulations
Won’t deceive us — not somehow.



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




They feed on lies and call it grace —
The mass “culture” is a feeding place.
But those not drunk on screen and plate
Still see through all that crafted fate.



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



So Bored, So Broken...

It’s boring now. It’s grim, it’s dead —
No more themes left to be said.
Worthy souls are rare as air...
Is it time to leave? — Who'd care?

Fools still swarm with base desires:
Breed and binge, then stoke their fires.
All this mess was made for It —
Born to gulp and breed and sit.

Years decay — the sane are few.
Don’t regret what you must do.
To linger here, mid mutant spawn —
Is death by boredom, drawn and drawn.

Worse than Misha’s fate, I’d say.
Our world shrinks more every day.
Trapped in trivia, caught in debt —
Tiny hooks, and tighter net.

The creatures lace us up with fluff,
Their petty lies — a steaming bluff.
Fascists shout from holy spires,
Spewing filth as sacred choirs.

All’s infected. Mind and Soul
Show the rot — a deeper hole.
Not a scratch, but sarcoma’s thread:
No bright years — just walking dead.

The House of Fools is overgrown —
The creatures **** to guard their throne.
War, CowID, and hunger’s call —
The fool obeys — and that's it all.



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




No heroes left, no fight to start —
Just mutants bred with soulless heart.
The fool obeys. The world’s insane.
There’s nothing left... but dirt and pain.



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



Disillusionment

Be disillusioned — crush your fear.
Be done with lies that rule you here.
Cling to nothing — it’s all dust.
Why rot among these masks of rust?

Disillusion — your first stride
Toward the Truth they’ve tried to hide.
Shake off this shameful, clinging crust —
Your mind’s a haze, your thoughts unjust.

Only then you’ll break the chain
That drags your Spirit down in pain
Into the hell where Thought is torn,
Where Soul is mocked, and Fear is born.

Sharpen instinct, strengthen sight,
Let your Spirit lead the fight!
Wage your war on global lies —
It’s not just you that Truth revives.

The root of spell is charm and trance —
A curse that keeps us in a dance
Of dumbing-down and blind retreat
In madhouse worlds made for the meat.

Smash the fascism — or it kills.
Live off-grid, outside their drills.
Man’s no longer free — he’s bought.
A slave no more — just labeled stock.

Need an example? — Muzzled face:
Their fake “plague” laid it all in place.
Where is Honor, Reason, Pride?
Truth is drowned in fascist tide.

So fight and rise — your Soul’s at stake!
Find the wise ones. Bonds to make.
**** this fascist global beast!
Stand for truth — or be deceased.



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




Disillusion — break the chain.
See the spell, reject the brain.
Soul won’t live in fear and lies —
So rise, or rot as Spirit dies.



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



The Dagger

The thirst for Truth, the drive to be,
And longing for true Liberty —
These two foundations, firm and raw,
Define your nature's deepest law.

But one alone will never guide
The flame of talent deep inside.
Without both sight and inner spark,
You’ll stumble, groping in the dark.

For every "giant" of the mind
Needs keen critique, and senses fine —
Let intuition lead your way,
And forge your Self without delay.

Unite the Soul, the Mind, the Will —
A molten blade of sharpened skill.
For only through creative fire
You touch the light that won’t expire.

The Spirit knows no full retreat
When chasing truth through cold defeat.
So seek! Defy! Be bold! Be true —
Only the master breaks right through.

That mastery begins as quest —
A search for paths that free the best.
But intellect, without the Soul,
Will rot, and never reach the goal.

So forge yourself — a dagger bright,
With Spirit core and Reason’s bite.
And strike the Beast, the soulless Thing —
It’s simple. Cut. And end its sting.



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




A soul-forged blade, a sharpened mind —
That’s how the Beast gets left behind.
No lies, no leash, no gilded chain —
Just one clean cut — through mask and brain.



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



Tensions

"The 'I' is built from moments of inner strain.
When those dissolve — the 'I' is gone,
and only true emptiness remains."
— Katsuki Sekida


Release the strain — and you’ll see clear.
Till then, you're just a fool, my dear.
You've crawled through lies with choking breath,
A walking ghost — half-dead to death.

Strain is born where lies reside,
Where fear and murk infest the mind.
That’s how the BEASTS destroy the bright —
Pure thought gets slaughtered in that fight.

But once the clutch of lies is gone,
The grasping ends, illusion’s drawn —
You’re not a lamb led off to die,
But One Who Walks. You ask: “Where? Why?”

Out of Hell — that’s where you go.
EMPTINESS — the path to flow.
Rare it is, like sacred breath —
When you break from herds of death.

Masses dumb, diseased and blind —
If you escaped, don’t look behind.
At first, no god you’ll find in space —
He’s risen far beyond this place.

Strain is ego, clenched and tight —
It births the rot, distorts the Light.
This world of filth and sold-out things
Will fall — it breaks on ego’s wings.

But what of those who break and go?
We’ll see, in time — don’t fear the flow.
Leave this garbage world behind —
Ahead, a Spark begins to shine.

Go within — let that be known:
Your intuition carves the stone.
Let your insight shred and tear
The LIES the creatures plant in there.

Lies in you — yes, more than few.
So clean your soul — let truth break through.
Let EMPTINESS be born inside —
From that, your Self will rise with pride.

Rebirth in Hell — the only way
To tear the iron gates away.
Delay, and you become the swine —
So charge, with fire, through their line!



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




Strain is ego. Drop the weight.
Emptiness will liberate.
In the dark, let soul ignite —
And blast straight through into the Light.



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



An Insured Case

An insured case —
A pension in Ugliness,
Called a country.
Simple as a guess:

A genocide prolonged,
Stretching through the ages.
Yet the “blessed folk” —
Are fools on empty stages.

Easy to rule fools —
Promise what you will.
Happiness far off —
A path forged by a devil.

The devil’s president,
King or other dunce.
A cop controls the media —
Like a hammer’s punch.

That hammer strikes
The mind with brutal force —
Lies nonstop —
The dull believe the source.

To live for truth —
Is sin in Ugliness.
The law — oppress
The mind, the nobleness.

An insured case —
A world decaying fast:
Head sick,
Soon led to slaughter’s past.

CowID revealed
The beast’s dark, snarling face.
If not yet crushed,
End with a swan’s grace.

Close the door with thunder —
That’s the answer to the horror
Of a world beneath the Beast’s sway,
Where darkness holds its law.



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




A world sick, ruled by lies and pain —
The Beast’s grip tightens like a chain.
But slam the door, make silence loud —
Resist the dark, refuse the crowd.



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



Dualistic Thinking

Dualistic thought can’t grasp this world:
It casts a shadow, flags unfurled,
Where sorting lines become a god —
And truth gets chained, suppressed, and flawed.

Cause and effect stand firm as stone,
Yet beasts and **** rule thrones unknown.
Their vision’s black and white, so crude —
What’s unseen simply eludes.

No tool can bring the near or far,
Introspection’s where the answers are:
What’s Soul? What’s Mind? The subtle quest
Beyond the mind’s verbose unrest.

A world of verbal diarrhea,
Its peak — the dullest, darkest idea:
Good and Evil, dual poles,
Where crocodiles outclass the foals.

No cynicism? You won’t survive —
Not sane, if you’re not sharp and live.
Most fools abound; dualism fails,
Though poets reshape words in tales.

Between the words lie gaps of fire,
And passion flows in rhythmic wire.
No words suffice, no joke, no play,
To frame the complex in full display.

But direct Vision knows no words —
Its depths outpace a thousand birds.
Intuition stands your guard,
Reducing lies and falsehoods hard.

Return to roots: the Spirit leads,
The Mind’s but servant to its deeds.
Then mind’s no fractured mosaic —
It fears no storm, no logic break.



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




Dual thought blinds — it cuts in black and white.
But Spirit’s flame reveals the light.
Mind serves Soul — in unity,
Fearless in infinity.



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



The Enemy’s Image

"Don’t retreat, don’t ever yield," —
A battle cry the dull have sealed.
The mindless herd, whose cruel game
Mocks common sense without a shame.

They lead us to the fight, the grind —
But build their prisons in our mind.
The "enemy" is set by them:
A mirror warped, a twisted gem.

They’ll find a dozen traits to blame,
To stain the “us” and fan the flame.
No quirks allowed, no strange dissent —
Division grows, their lies cement.

That propaganda fuels the war,
Painting foes as poor and poor.
Thus beasts rule fools with slight disguise,
Just changing methods, but the lies.



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




The enemy’s a twisted mask —
Designed to serve the tyrant’s task.
Divide and rule — the beasts proclaim,
And fools obey their endless game.



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



Rot from a Fool

Pinocchio crafts his Pinocchietta,
Wood once firm — now dust and fret-a.
They turn a man to lowly beast,
A clinical fool, the dullest least.

Entropy grows with every round,
Decay is nearing, creeping sound.
This world is sick with fatal curse —
Idiot’s plague, but none disperse.

Fools feel better in madhouse halls,
That madhouse — global — where all falls.
And Spirituality lies comatose,
The Spirit’s doomed if mind’s morose.

But all this rot will fuel the fire,
When rot itself becomes much higher.
Papa Carlo, dumb as cork,
Once dared to carve a fool’s fork.



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




From fools comes rot, decay, and dust —
Yet rot can blaze if sparked by trust.
The fool’s own doom, a twisted jest —
Made by the fool who built the rest.



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



Cotton Wool

In Germany’s dark war-time years,
No one was called a filthy fascist here.
But Cotton Wool’s long lost its mind —
Quoting “Mein Kampf,” and Goebbels’ kind,

Twisting words to spread the hate,
A fiery poison, seed of fate.
One half-leader rules the show —
And lies grow bolder as they grow.

Cotton Wool, simply put, is broke —
A fool’s fortress, fascism’s yoke.
Some of them fascists true and raw —
Could teach the Führer’s twisted law.

Yet German folk, more sharp and bright,
Outpaced these fools trapped in their blight.
History’s farce returns again —
The cotton crowd’s enslaved to pain.



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




Cotton Wool’s lost sense and brain —
Spreading hate and fascist stain.
Once proud, now fools who blindly kneel —
To darkness, lies, and iron heel.



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



Reincarnation of the Tachanka

The tachanka’s ghost revives the dread
Of orcs who flee where tanks would tread.
Where armor stalls and battle wanes,
A jeep with guns still holds the lanes.

The Rashist hordes in wild retreat —
Abandoning their broken fleet.
New tachankas bring their doom
To cursed fascism’s hateful gloom.

Makhno fought both Reds and Whites,
For freedom’s cause, his only right.
Ukrainians fight with fearless pride —
Their father’s song flows far and wide.



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




When tanks slow down, the tachanka rides —
Fear sparks in fleeing fascist hides.
Freedom’s fire in every fight —
Ukraine’s sons defend the right.



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



Armageddon Man

Stack your cash, think less each day,
Fortify your burrowed way.
Drink more, crunch your snacks with glee —
To hell with all that’s meant to be.

Forget the vows, the honor, shame,
Forget clear mind, forget the name.
Shed your burden — let “Councils” reign,
“Governments” will bear the pain.

Wipe out burdens, hard and grave...
But when disaster comes to save,
From those “Councils,” wrath will rise —
Sin’s atoned through End’s demise.

The End of History, global stage —
A total, fiery, final rage.
If fool today’s obedient pawn —
Your fate’s the end before the dawn.



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




Drink, ignore, and build your den —
While fools await the end of men.
Armageddon’s burning call —
One fate awaits us all.



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



The Yes-Man and the Patient One

The yes-man’s worn to bitter bone,
While patient ones are rock alone.
Trust in lies pressed hard like gas —
Now chaos rules, no turning back.

Here every madness finds its way,
Where once mere noodles hung to sway.
No sarcasm’s sharp enough
To sketch decline — the **** move rough:

Biobots must be turned to beasts
As fast as possible — no feasts.
Drain the global sludge away,
And pen the herds where they must stay.

No need for people — costly, slow —
Too much fuss, just let them go.
Turn humans into cattle, fiends,
And those who fight — end of scenes.



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




Trust the lies, press hard the gas —
Turn minds to beasts, let reason pass.
Herd the fools, crush those who stand —
This is how they rule the land.



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



Lies

Amidst the lies, it’s hard to find
The grains you need — so rare, so blind.
Without some luck, you dig and dig
Through empty rocks, a barren rig.

Divine intent must guide your way,
Or in the falsehood’s flood you’ll sway.
Half-truths, illusions, veils that bind —
At Judgment’s Day, you’re caught, confined.

Caught by lies — the nets are spread:
Propaganda’s poison thread,
“Science” sold by Judas’ hand,
“Education” built on sand.

Countless lies and wicked breeds,
All entwined in wicked deeds.



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




Lies catch you in a deadly snare,
Truth’s grain is buried deep somewhere.
Without the light to guide your stride,
You’re just the bait the lies provide.



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



Pinocchio as Beast

Time to turn Pinocchio
Into a bio-robot, cruel and low.
Just scare the logs till dumb they fall —
Once half-wits, now idiots all.

The dumbest logs must meet their fate,
While chips go in, to program state.
Pinocchio gave in, trapped and tight,
New Papa Carlo drugs the night.

You’ll become a perfect tool,
Spirit crushed, beneath the rule.
The new fascism’s strong and near —
They’ll march you to the “brave new sphere,”

A camp rebuilt, a hell on earth,
Where beasts command, and break all worth.
Satan’s era soon will reign —
The age of horrors and of pain.

No limit to this idiot’s breed —
“New man” will be the filth, indeed.
So trash them all, the **** and slime —
Remove this blight from Earth in time.

It’s coming — cataclysms sweep,
To purge the filth that lies too deep.
Let these fiends shriek lies in vain —
Darkness falls, no dirt remains.



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




Pinocchio’s lost, a beast in chains,
The new fascism’s fiery reign.
Spirit crushed, the earth will purge —
Lies fall, the darkness will submerge.



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



Kremlin Fascism

Fascism plus fools — a force so vast.
But when **** loots the dumb and last,
Putler’s no ****** — strength’s not there
To bring the world its fatal snare.

That Kremlin clone, all rotten minds —
A stench that flows through darkened times.
Come down, you ****, off Kremlin’s throne,
Your masters fall — left to bemoan.

Genocide may run its course,
But fools are trash without the source.
Fascism needs a steady plan,
Or all their schemes will fall, and

Attacks without a clever brain
Will stall and fail, just cause more pain.
Down with the dull and senseless crew!
We’ll crown new fascists, old and new —

And horror screams like days gone past,
When Chekists ruled with iron grasp.



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




Fools plus fascists, rotten core —
Putler’s weak, can’t wage full war.
Without a plan, the attack will fail —
New fascists rise, the nightmare’s tale.



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



February’s Scoundrel

“February. Ink to weep and cry,
Write of February’s breaking sky,
While slush and roar in cold dismay,
Burn black as spring fades far away.”
— Boris Pasternak, 1912


Our scoundrel: turn on TV, weep —
Our Führer’s fierce, his grip runs deep.
A mastermind who drives the orcs
To charge with brutal, ruthless force.

“Three days — then Kiev,” slyly spun,
He stretched the months — the dog undone.
“******,” that cursed, fierce beast,
The noose he tightened, never ceased.

The noose slips down, the people crushed,
Russia’s folk squeezed, hope turned to dust.
****** stunned — kings and false saints fall,
His double left no throne at all.

A titan in this tragic play,
Bearing “values,” striking the West’s sway.
If you don’t bow, you’re doomed, erased —
A threat to bonds he’s sworn to brace.



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




Turn on the screen — the scoundrel’s there,
Leading orcs with ruthless flair.
The noose tightens, hope’s grown thin —
February’s dark lies begin.



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



Meowing Cats, Talking Sheep, and Komodo Propagandists

The Dao of “Meow” from sheepish herds,
Stinks and fumes in countless words.
Varans many, loud and crude —
Komodo lizards spread the feud.

Poisoned spit sprays on the sheep,
Hybrid wars run dark and deep.
Once poisoned, sheep march to the ****,
Wounded by their masters’ will.

Be a cat — meow loud and free,
Live apart, your own decree.
For sheep, such fate is grim and stark —
No war, no poison, no false mark.



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




Cats just meow, while sheep obey —
Komodo lies lead them astray.
Stay a cat, live free, apart —
Avoid the poison, guard your heart.



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



Hotbed of Evil

Like “Hippocratic Oath” they claim,
And everywhere “democrats” the same.
Hard to write without a curse —
Lies, fascism, degenerates worse.

**** and wars, the mess we’ve earned,
Though no peace, but boils that burned.
Like a python, **** lie still,
Crushing all by ruthless will.

Only the strong hold the reign,
Schemes arise, a twisted game.
Left sector, right — all sell their soul,
No one here plays a decent role.

No barriers for fascist schemes,
Idiocy rules, shattering dreams.
Less tragedy, more fools’ parade —
Masks of grief are just a charade.

What we face is no tragic play —
It’s muzzles tight, night’s foul display.
Hotbed of Evil in full bloom,
If you endure — you share the gloom.



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




Lies and hate breed everywhere —
Evil’s garden, foul despair.
Muzzle up or speak your mind —
Endure the dark, or break the bind.



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



Sinking Rot

A colossus stands on clay-made feet —
This world beneath the moon’s defeat.
Dark fascism thick and deep,
And creeping dumbness crushes steep.

Two-thirds are fools, the blame is theirs —
These logs approve all evil snares.
The lice devour all, farewell, Earth’s grace,
As **** corrupts this sacred place.

Lice are beasts, no humans here —
Satan wears masks, even “communism’s” sneer.
Lies have swallowed all we knew —
No world remains, just rotten stew.

No poison worse than lies so vast.
Multiply them quick and fast,
And madness grows beyond control,
Any command fulfilled in whole.

For fools abound in greatest throng,
No whining helps, no right from wrong.
Repentance fails — the truth’s undone —
The world drowns in this web of ****.



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




A world of clay, on rotten feet,
Where lies and fools and **** all meet.
No hope remains, the rot runs deep —
The Earth drowns fast, too blind to keep.



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



May’s October Child

I walk through May’s own days,
Though it’s October’s haze —
Shedding lies and fear
In this cursed lair.

This world’s become a den,
And rightly so, my friend,
For bowed beneath the dread
Of that pestilent spread.

But June will never come —
The doom’s not far from home:
All filth will fade away,
If Spirit’s gone astray.



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




Walking May in October’s chill,
Lies and fear I fight with will.
The world’s a den, the end’s in sight —
Spirit fades, succumbs to night.



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



So-Called "Mobilization"

Prepping the “meat”:
Office plankton fleet,
Straight “past the cash desk,”
To war — no retreat!

Meat turns into mince,
The “cash desk” will burn.
Marching straight to Hell —
If reason won’t turn.



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




Meat for war, they herd and send,
Reason lost, the march won’t end.



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



Orcs Hiding in Their Holes

Orcs were made to beat and break,
Born of lies, for pain’s own sake.
Step outside your filthy den —
Get a beating once again!

Doubt the Gnome who rules that place,
You’ll get crushed without a trace.
That foul beast holds cruel reign,
Slaves the orcs in endless pain.

Lies justify his cruel hand —
“Love,” he claims, to rule the land.
Orcs all hide inside their holes,
Feeding on deceitful goals.

Yet the beatings never cease —
Gnome and Satan share their lease.
This harsh torment has no end —
Orcs will fall by fiend’s command.



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




Orcs in holes, whipped and bound,
Gnome’s lies keep them down.
Beatings endless, shadows grow —
Power corrupts, the fiends will sow.



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



Monkey Logic

Monkey logic, built on "yes" or "no,"
Simply "fight" or "flee" when dangers grow.
In minds so pitiful, these chains are tight —
No need for prisons, courts, or whip’s bite.

Reality flows as a single stream —
Don’t tear it apart, don’t break the dream.
Else you’ll become just beastly prey,
Led to slaughter, thrown away.

When “fight or flight” is all they know,
You scare the herd — to pens they go!
This world is ruled by fascist grime,
By inhuman beasts who cheat through time.

Spiritual Essence in the One Flow lies,
Where time’s illusion fades and Light will rise.
True humans, semi-gods at core,
Division breeds the artificial war.

Look all around — who do you see?
Eyes dimmed, minds dulled, spirits flee.
Hate that foul fascist spawn,
Curse the fiends who do us wrong.

But that’s not enough — go deep within,
There answers lie — ignite, begin!
The mad world’s song is nearly done —
A dawn of Reason has begun.

This Hell will burn — the Spirit’s way,
The only path to a new day.
Cast off the wretched “necessity,”
Pure Spirit alone is your key.



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




Monkey logic chains the mind,
Fight or flee, no truth to find.
But Spirit flows in Light’s embrace —
Break the chains, reclaim your place.



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



Dumb Lies Crawl

Dumb lies crawl like lava flows
From volcanic fiery throes.
You keep feeding lies unbound —
They’ll reach the ocean’s deepest ground.

Consciousness — an ocean vast.
When its bottom’s reached at last,
Peoples of all fake-made lands
Turn to filth by wicked hands.

The “Sheep-virus” showed the power
Of lies that in the darkest hour
Will conquer minds — then you’re done:
Faster bullets, shells will run.

A war declared on all of us —
By fiends insane, delirious,
In schizophrenia’s grip,
No end to their dark leadership.

For fools, no light will shine, no more —
Trash will dump them to the floor.
But soon the tyrants’ reign will cease,
Their falsehoods shattered, no more peace.

That volcano will explode,
Its wreckage covers all the road.
Slaves from all dumb nations fall,
With masters doomed to their own pall.

For those with reason, through the death
A passage leads to worlds refreshed.
The Sun will burst — the earth will shake —
The living step into the wake of Light awake...

— The End —