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RAJ NANDY Jul 2015
INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST WORLD WAR
            BY RAJ NANDY: PART ONE

                   INTRODUCTION
  “What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
         Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
        Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
    Can patter out their hasty orisons.”
      -by Wilfred Owen, British Army Lt. killed in
        action in France on 04th Nov 1918.

The Socialists called it the ‘Imperialist’s War’,
and it was the ‘Trench War’ for the soldiers;
But Europe hailed it as ‘The War to End All Wars’,                
Expecting it to end prior to 1914’s Christmas!
But alas, it soon became a mighty global war
fueled by national and ethnic aspirations and
territorial lust!
The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, heir
to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, -
On the 28thof June 1914 at Sarajevo, was the
spark which triggered off this great catastrophe!
During 1876 when German Chancellor Bismarck
was asked about chances of an European War at
a future date;
He felt that Europe was like a big store house of
gunpowder keg!
While pointing to the volatile BALKANS he had said,
That European leaders were smoking in an arsenal,
where a small spark could cause a mighty explosion!
And 38 years later the world had witnessed,
Bismarck’s unfortunate prediction!
This war ended on 11th of November 1918, after a
four and half year’s long duration;
With 16.5 million military and civilian deaths, and
many more wounded and missing in action!
For the War had spread beyond the traditional
killing fields,
Killing many innocent civilians following the
bombing raids by German Zeppelins!
Now, before proceeding further some background
information here becomes necessary,
To understand the socio-political events leading
to the unfolding of this Great War Story!

         PRELUDE TO THE GREAT WAR
The Nationalistic fervor aroused by Napoleon,
And the February Revolution of 1848 in France,
Inspired Europe’s inhabitants to preserve their
ethnic and racial identities, without leaving
things to chance!
The Italian and German unification, and the
Hapsburg Austro-Hungarian polarization,
Aroused the expectations of the Slavic people,
Who remained spread all over Central and
Eastern Europe!
The various ethnic groups forming the Slavic race,
Always dreamt of an independent Balkan State!

         CAUSES FOR ‘THE GREAT WAR’
Imperialism, Nationalism, Militarization, Alliances,
and finally the assassination of the Archduke
Ferdinand,
Are the five main causes for this war, which is
generally mentioned by our Historians!
However, I shall now try to acquaint you briefly,  
With some relevant events from our recorded
History.

BRITISH IMPERIALISM:
Towards the turn of the 20th century Britain was
the dominant global imperial power;
And since the mid-19th Century it was seen that
the sun never set over the British Empire!
The British had a vast mercantile and a naval fleet,
To trade with, and administer their far flung colonies.
At the turn of the 20th Century the British Navy was
changing over from steam to oil power like other
big nations;
So the oil fields of the Middle East was important
for British militarization.
Also passage through the Suez Canal was vital for
maintaining their colonial possessions!
These facts will get linked up in Part Two of my
later composition!

GERMAN NATIONALISM:
The nationalistic fervor aroused in Germany
since Chancellor Bismarck’s days,
Made the Germans try to outstrip the British
in many ways!
This fervor was reflected in Goethe’s poetry and
through Richard Wagner’s musical notes;
Between 1898 and 1912 five Naval Laws were
passed in the German Reichstag, by majority
votes,
For building battleships, cruisers, and 96 torpedo
boats;
Which later became a scourge for Allied and
British shipping, known as the U-Boats!
The German nationalism and militarization went
hand in hand during those days,
While her industrialization also progressed at a
rapid pace.
Kaiser Wilhelm II had sought “a place in the sun”
by trying to outstrip the British in the arms race!
Statistic show more number of German scientists
had received the Noble Prize for their inventions,
Between this period and World War- II, when
compared with the combined winners of other
Western nations!

AUSTRIA-HUNGARIAN MONARCHY:
In 1867 by a comprising agreement between
Vienna and Budapest the capital cities,
The Austro-Hungarian kingdom became a Dual
Monarchy!
Many ethnic groups had composed this Monarchy
in those early days as we see;
With Germans, Hungarians, Romanians, and Slavic
people like the Czechs, Poles, Croats, Slovaks,
Serbs, and the Slovenes!
While the Austrian Officers of this Monarchy spoke
German, the majority of the soldiers were Hungarians,
Czechs, Slovaks, who never spoke German!
So the soldiers were taught 68 single-words of
German commands,
For the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Army to function
collectively as one!
While Francis Joseph their sovereign and emperor,
aspired to become a strong centralized European
power.
But out of the 50 million people of this Monarchy
around 23 million were Slavs,
Who always dreamed of an independent Slavic
Kingdom in the Balkans!

THE BALKANS & THE KINGDOM OF SERBIA
After the Iberian and the Italian peninsulas of
Europe, the BALKAN peninsular is seen to be
lying in Europe’s extreme south east, -
South of the Danube and Sava River, bounded
in the west by the Adriatic and Ionian Sea.
In the east is the Aegean and Black Sea,
With the Mediterranean Sea in the south, -
washing the tip formed by Greece with its many
islands around!
Now much of the Balkan areas were under the
Ottoman Empire since early 14th Century;
And here I cut across many centuries of past
European History!
Following a series of revolutions since 1804
against the Turks,
The Principality of Serbia was carved out in the
area of the Balkans!
A new constitution in 1869 defined it as an
independent State of Serbia;
Was internationally recognized at the Treaty
of Berlin in 1878, to later become the Kingdom
of Serbia!
This kingdom was located south adjoining the
Monarchy of Austro-Hungarians, much to their
annoyance those days,
Since the Kingdom of Serbia was looked upon
as a ‘beacon of liberty’ by the Southern Slavic
race!

THE BOSNIAN CRISIS (1908-1909)  
This dual provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina
in the Balkans,
Were formally under the control of the
Ottoman Sultan.
With permission of the Congress of Berlin in
1878, it was administered by Austria-Hungary;
Though the legal rights remained with Turkey!
But the Slavic population present there had
Nationalistic ambitions,
Aspired to join the Slavs in nearby Kingdom of
Serbia, to form a pan-Slavic nation!
The Slavic population in Austria-Hungary, also
entertained such dreams wistfully!
Now in 1908 a ‘Young Turk Movement’ based
at Macedonia,
Had planned to replace the absolute Turkish
rule in Bosnia!
And by modernizing the Constitution hoped
to rejuvenate the sick Ottoman Empire.
These developments set alarm bells ringing
in Austrian capital Vienna!
So on the 6th of October 1908 they quickly
annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina!
After having lost a war with Japan, and following
an internal Revolution of 1905 the Russians,
Prevented an escalation by staying out of the
Bosnian Crisis!
But the annexation of Bosnia had angered the
Serbs greatly,
So they started to train secret terrorist groups to
liberate Bosnia from Austria-Hungary!
These terrorist groups operated in small cells,
Under the leadership of Col. Dimitrijevic, also
known as the ‘Apis’ those days.
Now, a secret cell called the ‘Black Hand’ operated
in the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo with Gavrilo
Princep as one of its members;
Who was trained and equipped in Serbia along
with other ‘Black Hand’ members.
The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy had remained
distressed about these subversive activities by
the Slavic race!
So in Jan 1909 they obtained the unconditional
support from Germany, in the event of a war
with Serbia even if Austria was the aggressor!
And also secretly hoped in a war to annex
Serbian territory!
For in the two Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913,
Serbia had greatly extended its territory to
become a powerful adversary!
Serbia had also obtained an assurance from
its protector Russia, should a war break out with
Austria!
Now, as tension mounted upsetting the delicate
balance of power in the Balkans gradually,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand with his wife Sophie,
planned to visit Sarajevo from Austria-Hungary!
It was a God sent moment for the secret
organization the ‘Black Hand’,
To plan the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand!

THE ASSASSINATION: SARAJEVO 28TH JUNE 1914
Now when I look back in time I pause to wonder,
How such an amateurish assassination plot could
have ever succeeded,
Without the cruel hands of destiny and fate!
The 28th of June was a bright summer’s St. Vitus
Day and a holiday in Serbia;
And also the 14th marriage anniversary of Franz
Fernandez and his wife Sophia!
Several assassins were positioned along the route,
Which was to be taken by the Archduke!
While the motorcade proceeded to the Town Hall
a bomb was thrown,
Which bounced off the rear of Archduke’s car,
Injuring few bystanders and a passenger in the
rear car!
The Archduke however refused to cancel his trip,
Saying that it was the act of some lunatic!
After completion of the Town Hall ceremony, the
Archduke wanted a change of plan deviating from
the laid down route;
By wanting to visit the patients in the hospital,
Injured by the bomb which had struck his cars
rear hood!
But the Czech driver was not briefed and took
a wrong turn by mistake;
Reversed trying to correct himself, stalled the car
stoppling next to Gavrilo Princep!
Presenting Princep with a stationary target, a
cruel work of destiny and fate!
Prince pulled out his pistol and fired two shots  
at a point blank range, killing both Ferdinand
and  wife Sophie;
When Ferdinand cried out ‘’Sophie, Sophie,
don’t die, live for the children’’, - words which
now remain enshrined in History!

TRIAL OF PRINCEP & THE CONSPIRATORS
The trial began in a military court on 12th of
October at Sarajevo,
With three judges and no jury, when Princep
pleaded 'Not Guilty'!
Killing of Duchess Sophie was an unplanned
accident,
Since he wanted to **** the Governor instead!
He claimed to be a Serbian nationalist working
for the unification of the Slavic race,
and detested the annexation of Bosnia by the
Austo-Hungarians!
Along with 15 other accused, Princep was found
guilty of high treason;
But being underage, was sentenced to 20 years
labour in prison.
But died three year's later from tuberculosis!

           CONCLUDING PART ONE
  ''Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
   There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
   But dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold."
      -Rupert Brook, part of the British Naval Expeditionary
       Force, buried in Skyros, Greece 1914.
Now, looking back over a hundred years in
hindsight I do realize,
That this assassination was not the immediate
cause or the spark which triggered this War,
But only an excuse and a pretext for the
Austro-Hungarians to carve up Serbia,
And distribute those territories between
Allies and friends of Austria;
Also enhance the prestige of their Empire!
Since the war had commenced almost two
months after the Archduke’s assassination,
Austria had lost the high moral ground for
vengeance with righteous indignation!
It was a cynical and a predetermined plan
of Austria in connivance with Germany,
To destroy Serbia and squash the hopes of
Slavic people for a pan-Slavic State, - as we
now get to see!
This war ended with the dissolution of four old
Empires of the Austro-Hungarians, Ottomans,
Tsarist Russians, and the Germans!
While new nations of Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia,
Austria, and Hungary, got created from the
dissolved Empire of Austria-Hungary.
Russia gave up lands creating Finland, Estonia,
Latvia, and Lithuania.
The Ottomans gave up lands in SW Asia and the
Middle East, and in Europe retained only Turkey!
Thus this Great War had creating new nation states,
And gave Europe its new revamped face!
Composed by Raj Nandy of New Delhi,
Thanks for reading patiently!
   TO BE CONTINUED LATER AS PART TWO
**ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR
Dear Readers, this is a product of three weeks of my research work, put across in simplified verse! Hope to compose Part Two at a later date, and tell you about trench warfare & the poems composed about this War! On the 28th of June 2015, 101 years of this First World War was completed! Kindly give Comments only after reading in your spare time, for this Great War  took place during our grandfather's time! Thanks! -Raj
Beth Ivy Sep 2014
Dancing at my windowsill she calls,
black bottomless eyes and a jagged smile
tug me from sleep with a broken-glass laugh.
Beckoning, this pixie traces softly across my jaw--
fingertips so slightly ***** the skin.
Wordless but for laughter she pulls at me until
charmed I rise to follow where she leads.

Open evening air greets my night-dressed body
with cool wakening breezes and wild sounds.
Stumbling through rocks and over roots
I chase through the wood behind my manic guide.
Toes grip at undergrowth, slip, falling to arrive
on my knees
scraped and panting slightly
in a clearing otherworldly,
aglow with fey light.

A curious night-shine looms--yet Luna's face is hidden.
All attentions focus now on this central luminescence.
From its core jangles sweet, unearthly music
twisting its way into my heart
teasing at the edges of my fragile mind.
Compelled forward I follow sound--
my waker cannot outstrip me as we hurtle on.
Before our eyes the glow casts shadows
forming structure in this mystifying vision
eyes drink in your very first glimpse:
The Carnival.

Light and shadow compose sweeping tents
striped ebony and ivory, seeming strong as each
element yet smooth, sculpted by a master's hands.
Leaping black flames skip along their summits,
performing their nocturnal dance,
illuminating darkness, engulfing light.

Revelers' song soars and forms carouse,
                                                  lively­--but shadows only--to the eyes outside.

The air bears heady perfumes, enticing scents:            
rich, melting creams and toasting sugar
enveloping baked warmth and intoxicating spice.
Last, encircling all this wonder,
cries of mirth and sights to amaze:
an unadorned, unflinching iron fence.

Drunk with sound and smell and scene
wildly spinning through the breeze,
my rousing sprite whirls ahead
bound as if in a trance
her body flinging against
the forbidding blackened gates--
                                        her laughter only extinguished
                                                         as her delicate form dissolves into smoke
                                         holding momentarily the blue of night
                                                         her wasted shape, lost to the barrier.


But Curiosity will blind
eyes far more chaste than mine,
and Allure sings only such songs
that no heart suffers long.

Heedless mortal as I am, I grasp the solid frame
decay crumbles rough against my palms.
Bodies of other spirits caked by time
or the innocent work of oxidation
I do not pause to wonder,
merely vault myself over the fence
and brush from my hands
the black dust of portentous iron.

Inside the gate, vibrant figures flood my vision
ornately costumed in gowns of orange, violet, green
arrayed in shirts and trousers dazzling in spectrum.
These gorgeous apparitions loop around me
peddling beauty, selling fame.
They mesmerize  the eye with stunning wares:
an emerald beast to carry your heavy burdens
sapphire wine to cool your burning tongue
the music of a thousand crystal seas
kept in a bottle to drown your babbling mind.

                "What do they cost?"
                            "Not a dime, not a dime!
                              Just your Now, just a Moment,
                                                         ­                  only Passing Time."

Wandering deeper into the mysteries of night
a band of revelers swing beside and catch me
laughing, bear my bewildered form in arms
and deposit me into a large tent, wherein I find
a man at a canvas the size of a wall
before which are seven stone bowls.
He dashes his brush before the amazed,
and the canvas remains blank
until my companions urge me closer.
Couching myself upon a cushion shapes appear:
Here is a man who will paint your heart's desires
so vivid you can lose all you have
so intimate you fear to move,
lest any see the embers of your fire.

Spin and turn, the Revelers never stay long,
nor draw too near to any one spectacle,
but only joy for new tents, new delights.
No passion was left to grow cold,
no enchantment to lose its power.

Spin
See the girl of flawless grace,
her body painted like the stars--
                                                  the stars the carnival hid
painted like the stars and lithe as the air
ethereal in her arts,
ascending the pole, traversing the rope!
See her twine around stakes and over fire,
dive through hoops and drop
through that needle-loop in your eye.

Spin
Step up to the tent of glistening blue
the fountain that gushes without source.
Marvel at its lucent clarity, it's chilling foam!
Fill your goblet to the brim and drink!
Drink deep, imbibe sweet forgetfulness.
Long for nothing, cleanse your heart.

Spin
Take the carousel with its living beasts to ride.
Make merry with all on board and erase
any care your heart can hold.
Let the furious pace speed on from you
all that would trouble for a thought.

Spin
A honeyed apple pressed against your tongue.
                                         Just a taste! Just a bite!
See the glistening on the skin
made from the dreams of the greatest hearts
unrestrained and unrequited.
Fresh Desire--they're all the more enticing.

The apple glitters golden, its red flesh shines beneath.
Something familiar, a darker red, flecked across the finish.
I bite down and reel--
Something wondrous, but something queer.

Faithful attendants grab me quickly, dance me
into the mouth of a dark velvet tent.
It swallows me as I fall, waiting for the teeth---

        White mist surrounds with a shimmer
         and I have found the ground.
A Voice, deep as the sea enfolds me
gentle, heavy as with sleep--yet all aware.
It invites me closer, sit nearer
rest from the night's fantasies.
Lulled, I make for the figure hooded in brilliant gold.
He leads me to his table.

Heavy, strangely empty I seek sanctuary.
He offers instead a great promise--
power over my weariness, my desires met.
He offers joy unending,
pleasure without regret, without shame.
A haven promised here, mine alone, if only--
--if only I will stay.

But something tastes metallic in those words
promises that cannot be kept.
No tent could hold so much.
This voice, so warm and pleasing,
cannot mask well a lie,
and the gentle hand holds equally a threat.
                                                         ­                                                             run­
                Awake once more I fly from the shroud
bursting blind into the alley.

But back in the tent, left a piece of my heart
and my eye rolls away into a peddler's cup
blistered bits of my soul flake off, scorched
by fire-eaters food. What's left? Who am I?

                             What did it cost?
                               Not a dime, not a dime!
                                          Just a piece of your heart,
                                                                ­  just a piece of your mind.


Retching, the last of my still beating heart
squelches into my waiting hands.
I gag and sob out the gore, disbelieving
this small bit of flesh is all that is left
of all that I have been.

The blood draws the eyes of comrades
now changing from lovely to grotesque.
Ravenous, their teeth elongate
Eyes darken and colors fade
What was vibrant now decayed.
Sweet cream curdles in my mouth.
Rich meats, choice fruits turn sour--
the apple rots.

A hoard unrecognizable
of starved beasts and hideous beings
bears down for my final offering.

But I must know who I am
and what there was beyond this place!


Sprinting barefoot from the mob
clutching the vital treasure to my chest--
though to there it may not return--
I look now for mercy from the black gate.

Elegant porcelain fingers produce monstrous claws.
What once caressed my wondering skin
now sinks in for blood with crushing force.
A hopeless last attempt, a dead man's prayer:
I fling my body on the gate---


                                                       ­                                I am over. I am free--



Iron that once kept me out, now holds them fast within.

Bedclothes torn, all my purchased raiment turned to ash,
I limp, clutching a fragment heart.
Staggering from the Carnival's screams,
its dissonant music now all trick and terror.
Putrid garbage wafts from its walls.
Press onward, never looking back, through the wood.

So long ago--how long?--a little one led me here.
Her death was her own, but could have been
my salvation, a warning dearly paid.
Cheaply received.

My mind swims.
A body with its heart outside cannot last.
There are many things not of the Carnival
that would have my final scrap.

Faltering feet stumble and tripping find
a mere clear and still: a mirror for the moon.
And Luna's face does shine down
all her attendants watching on
as my naked form collapses beside its calm.
I cannot deserve this resting place,
could not discern a trap if one here lay.
All I can and have and am I offer up to Mercy,
and dip what's left of my broken life
into the cleansing pool.
first legitimate narrative piece.
a proof that no one can have an original idea. listening to showbread's 2004 album, *no sir nihilism is not practical.* definitely some inspiration from erin morgenstern's *night circus*, although her book is quite a different and lovelier thing. recently reading *undine* by friedrich de la motte fouqué (translated. i'm not that classy). recently struggling with those things that most often try to ensare a heart.

this is undoubtedly going to be one of those pieces i am never happy with.
Irma Cerrutti Mar 2010
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****!
I execrate extraterrestrial.

We are all kaput to conk out.

Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.

If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing *******.
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.

We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.

I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****,
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***.
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id.  Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******,
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.  
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2009
Johnny Noiπ Oct 2018
All Anne had left to wear was the frilly gown Charlotte had made for her. Not exactly her style but she remembered with some fondness what ****** had said about presenting herself as a lady.
The Kid arrived in the dining room hungrier than he’d ever been in his life. The big woman had ****** out everything he had in him, in a good way, but he felt like he’d lost a few pounds.
“What’s for supper, Mabel?” he asked his voice somewhat unsteady.
“They’s mermaid soup, mermaid cutlets, mermaid fricassee, mermaid casserole, mermaid steak and grilled mermaid fritters.”
“Ain’t there nothing to eat besides mermaid?” he groaned.
“Seaweed,” she said curtly.
“Gadurnit. We’ve been eatin’ mermaids and weeds for days. How about an old fashioned T-bone?”
“You get the cow and I’ll cook it up.”
****** came in looking not at all amused, “Say, Kid we need you up on deck.”
“Yes’m, Mister ******,” said the kid following the cowboy to the aft where ****** pointed over the water.
“We’re being followed. Fritz said there’s a school of mermaids out there. They followed from the island so they can’t be friendly. Think you can pick ‘em off?”
The Kid took his hat off and wiped his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Shoot, Mister ******, that’ll be like shootin’ fish in a barrel, ‘cept it’s the ocean and the fish are mermaids, an’...”
“Just get to it. As soon as you spot one blow it’s ******* brains out. That’s the only way we’re gonna get rid of them. You’ve been with Anne Bonny have ya.”
“How can ya tell?”
“You’ve got her scent all over you. There’s only one ***** onboard smells like she’s been rolling in a soggy mud patch.”
“Gee, ya think Mabel noticed?”
“That gal lost her sense of smell a long time ago. Take care of that business and Mabel’ll be all over ya like always.”
“I reckon you’re right. Let’s shoot us some mermaids.”
“Now you’re talking, Kid. Let’s do it.”
Sinking far below the waves, the evil swimmers kept their telltale fins out of sight, gliding along with the ship’s shadow as it sailed beneath the bright waves. The Kid and ****** scanning the water eyeing only dolphin and shark. “They’re smarter than they look, Kid. I’d bet they put these varmints up to swimming around the boat so they could cook up a scheme. They may taste like fish but they think like women.”
“Gosh, Mister ******, ain’t that the best of both worlds?”
“I guess that depends on which end you get ‘em by.”
Soon after, sailing smoothly out of the Caribbean waters piloted by the old mariner Popeye and navigated by the allwise general, the Green Belle ran afoul of no other nemeses as it made its way down along the east coast of South America. With no real roles on the ship, ****** and Medusa found themselves spending more and more time with each other.
“Why don’t you do something with yourself,” she scolded.
“What?” he said on edge from her relentless rasping nagging.
“All you do is pace. Why don’t you make yourself useful. Fetch me a mint julep” she ordered haughtily; staying in the covers and bedclothes she’d been in for a week.
“Fetch? Fetch! What do I look like?” he growled meanly.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” she said snippily.
His eyes flaming he stormed from the room, Medusa paying his tantrum no mind.
Finding Perry with Charlotte in the study, ****** had finally had enough with the uppity Gorgon. “Perry, I need to borrow that contraption.”
Perry, startled making out with the handmaid behind a brocade curtain was just as surprised to hear ******’s request. “Are you sure, Mister ******? You told me you never wanted to see the temporal distorter again.”
“Not that. I’m not gonna mess with that. There are more things going on than you’ve dreamed up in your philosophy. I mean the ship, the Leaping Lizzie. I’m going to take her out and scout ahead. I just need to get off this ****** boat. Get a change of scenery.”
“That’s sounds like a splendid idea, Mister ******. Let’s go discuss it with Fritz. He has maps of the terrain. Depending on what you see we can make any necessary corrections.”
“You’re a right smart feller, Periwinkle. I’ll go scare up Fritz.”
“I’ll go prepare the ship. I’ll meet you up on deck.”
As soon as ****** had left, Medusa grew bored. She found him with Perry on deck standing before the crabship. “What’s going on?” she asked observing the mechanical tentacles at rest.
“Mister ****** is going off to do some exploring,” said Perry. “The Leaping Lizzie II is perfect to find out what’s ahead.”
“Oh!” she said gaily. “I’m going with you!”
“You are?” said ******.
“Let me get Dawn.”
“Dawn?” he said.
****** and Perry looked at one another incredulously.
“I wanted some time alone,” said the cowboy pensively.
“Fiddle-dee-dee! We won’t be any bother at all,” she said fluttering down the hold.
“******. Will I never be rid of that infernal woman,” ****** snarled.
“Now, now, Mister ******. Miss Medusa is only looking out for you. After all you’re only flesh and blood.”
“And she’s a primordial cosmic force. I get it.”
Momentarily the green goddess and her faithful Lady of the Bedchamber were hauling strapped leather cases and hat boxes on deck. “What the hell is all this?” he hollered.
Her eyes met his meltingly. “Why, Mister ******, you don’t expect a lady to go around in the same old dress all the time. We’re going on an adventure. Think about it; the unexplored Amazon! Who knows what kind of beasties we’ll run into!”
“And you want to be dressed for the occasion.”
Smiling she began directing Dawn in loading the ship.
Fritz came up with a rolled map and handed it to ******. “Here you are, ******. The Amazon is due southwest. How do we stay in touch with you?”
“I’ve installed a ticker,” said Perry. “The same kind we used to communicate with Mistress Medusa when she was off conquering the moon.”
******’s eyes flared hopefully. “Yeh. Say Medusa you be in charge of communications. It’ll be your job to stay in contact with Perry and Fritz. Think you can do that?”
“Why, sure, Mister ******,” she said politely, “Um, would you help a lady aboard?”
“Sure,” he said taking her small waist and heaving her up to the hatch, her petticoats billowing in his face.
In another time and place not that far away, Remy Clarke Savage found his life with renewed purpose. Esmeralda and their now several children resting in the shaded grove while he completed yet another monumental life’s work; a machine that would far outstrip the crude Leaping Lizzie in speed and capabilities, outfitting this new vessel with several cannons of Greek fire and exploding shells.
Captain Quick, Lance and Lizzie bonding as family were wary of the zombie hordes all around them. Vampyr mermaids dancing in the inland lake while the rotting crew sang haunted shanties, hoisting steins of ghostly ale. “Ay I’ll be glad to be off this deadman’s reef,” muttered Quick. “Can’t you hurry it along, Remy? I’m wondering if we’ll live through another sunset.”
The dead pirate who’d become liaison to the mortals was Lizzie’s second maid-in-waiting; a woman with two long blonde braids that steadily grew the longer she was dead. Her brain intact and her looks not completely gone. “Ay Captain, my mateys be starving and you bunch are the only meat left on the island.”
His fears confirmed, Quick replied sharply, “I thought your bunch was living off them mermaids.”
“They’ve all turned. Not a one of them is alive or breathing. They’s all vamps and we’z all zombies. Like I was saying you bunch be the only real meals left.”
“Meals?” gulped Remy.
“Is that reason enough to hurry it along, man?” called Quick drawing his broadsword.
Lizzie and Lance drew theirs getting to either side of the Captain.
“You won’t be eating no brood of my *****, missy,” snapped Lizzie.
“Ay that we be lest you can get us raw meat and some brains.”
“Remy!” hollered the Captain as the engineer made the final adjustments.
“She’s all set to go. Hop in.”
“We appreciate your stalling, lassie, but we’s be taking our leave.”
“Aargh!” shouted the pirate woman drawing her sword. The others clambering to groggy feet, weapons in hand. Mermaids snapping sharp teeth from the water’s edge. Esmeralda carrying an armload of children scrambled inside the vessel first, followed by Remy and Lizzie.
“Com on mateys!” he cried as Quick and Lance clashed steel with the lunging pirates. Lance getting inside followed by Quick, Remy quickly shutting the hatch. The behemoth raising up on articulated legs. The dead pirates swords were no match for Greek fire as Remy unloaded a volley onto the beach setting everything ablaze.
Feeling themselves being cooked in the shell Remy manipulated his creation to walk into the water continuing on to the open sea where he propelled it away from the irreparably devastated reef crashing in under its own sodden weight. “Ay there be me home for many a yarn,” he mused. “Now it’s gone.”
“Ay the ****** place was haunted; infested with the undead. That be no home for a living man,” said Lizzie putting an arm over his shoulder. “I be liking your firepower, Remy. How long can that hold out?”
“Indefinitely. Greek fire is inexhaustible.”
“Inexhaustible you say? What say we catch up to that Green Belle and give ‘er what’s her comeuppance?”
“Ay man they’ve got the key to a treasure that’ll be rightly ours,” added Quick.
by Johnny Noir & MEdusa
She’s dead; and all which die
To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.
My body then doth hers involve,
And those things whereof I consist hereby
In me abundant grow, and burdenous,
And nourish not, but smother.
My fire of passion, sighs of air,
Water of tears, and earthly sad despair,
Which my materials be,
But near worn out by love’s security,
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair,
And I might live long wretched so
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow.
Now as those Active Kings
Whose foreign conquest treasure brings,
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break:
This (which I am amazed that I can speak)
This death hath with my store
My use increased.
And so my soul more earnestly released
Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before
A latter bullet may o’ertake, the powder being more.
Aditya Bhaskara Sep 2012
On the busiest of days,
even prettiest of faces,
can sulk into nothingness.

Where is the smile
she used to have,
at the time when it all started.

Reassurance is gone,
And so is self-belief,
I might ask, 'what you did?'

Look back, you would find a way,
look back, if you want,
for pearls often are left behind.

During those hurried hours
of the flight to well-being,
when you race past everything,

Surging on like unceasing greed,
you outstrip your own noble deeds;
look back,
for pearls often are left behind.
st64 Jul 2013
hard skin of life to penetrate
soften that piercing stare

1.
seems a shot spiked with kindness does the trick
that’s how we button up the moon’s sides with silver thread
to keep its seams from splitting solemn sides
and spilling all its jolly secrets: whorls of fingerprints sinking *steadily
into luna-grooves
like a neat domino-stacked roll on a never-ending trip into black holes
not far from Ursa Major

2.
to grant a delightful hop up and throw seeking eyes over the orb’s gentle curve
take a little look-see
the tiniest peek into Tucanae
where tidal forces push small clouds
and outstrip the western winds
towards cunning straits
to subtly tie into bows
cut ribbons of fate

drink a dram of mercy from a well-behaved thimble
yet poems don’t pay no bills now
when words tinker with heart’s mettle

3.
wonder if sagacious rue repays in full
or satisfies the exceeding cost  
of the hankering in a vessel
caught eddying in giant nacred jetsam
while casting minute gems before the moon’s eyes
it’s nigh impossible to hide behind the sun

4.
best be ready with prêt-a-porter life-pennies
and be
wise to always carry a pocket full of sorrys


stitch 'em seams together now
it all comes together
nice and neat





S T, Moonday, 15 July 2013
hope larking with the fates
uses not laughter as bait to
.... come bite in the ****!

I don't usually split infinitives, but that line came direct from ... visiting muses :)
yessssss...... pure magic!



sub-entry: Just A Song Before I Go

Songwriters: NASH

Just a song before I go,
To whom it may concern.
Travelling twice the speed of sound
It's easy to get burned.

When the shows were over
We had to get back home,
And when we opened up the door
I had to be alone.

She helped me with my suitcase,
She stands before my eyes
Driving me to the airport,
And to the friendly skies.

Going through security
I held her for so long.
She finally looked at me in love,
And she was gone.

Just a song before I go,
A lesson to be learned.
Travelling twice the speed of sound
It's easy to get burned.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN97riXMkkc
Rob Sandman Apr 2016
never look back,that easy to say ,
harder to do when you're stuck in your ways,
replace lots wife with a Pillar of Sand...,(man-echo)
that's me to a T,never mind the plans,

but...-that was yesterday,clipped that string,
metaphorically,physically taking wing,
movin up-outta my shell,
like a Pupae burstin,time to raise hell,

The original Butterfly Effect in motion,
Sandman's Dreams cross time and oceans,
flap my wings-watch the firestorm,
EC take another land by storm,

Huh!-that's my role,the batterin ram,
mad March hare with the guile of the Sandman,  
Kilojules outstrip a railgun,
first blast to the past,never goin back to Square one.
More to come...
Norman E Carey Jan 2012
And so, aherem, the nano, rrmpph rmphh
Of 21st century ahem thinking will be er
En, en aham eroom  neurological medicine
So that topsoil tch tch avat ahem growth
Will er er ahumph outstrip human thinking
If only aratonkamaroon we learn the
Hem, haw, ar argch lessons of the past.
Emily Overheim Oct 2014
Stumble on the ragged bones and fur of a deer above the spring,
choke on fear and grab your dog, drag him (and you) away.
Three years later, come upon the picked over corpse of a button buck in the upper field,
notice that there’s only half of it, back away and shudder.
Older now, pass half a dozen bloated carcasses along back country roads,
sigh, swerve to avoid the bloodstains on the pavement.
Meanwhile, your father’s got a doe in the bed of the truck strapped down still warm,
step back to keep the ****** snow off your boots, smile.
There is blood dripping from your nose and your brain feels like it’s rotting,
a blight of molding fur in a fallow field; picture fire, not bones.
Before, herds crept from the tree line at dusk while you sat around the flames,
grazing the lower field until they bolted at the howl of coyotes.
There is a bottle of pills and a carved antler whistle on your dresser;
one could save you, one might **** you. You know which is which.
Stagger through the woods with blurring eyes and a hanging head,
trip on a mouse-chewed antler and pick it up, smile, list right.
There is a white fawn standing plain in the bottom field that will disappear come winter.
Pull the arrows from your eyes; you can feel them, you know they’re there.
When the pain leaves you will run, fleet as deer, and outstrip the exhaustion that
howls at your heels. You will be alive again, and stop rotting.
Meanwhile, try not to trip on your bones, body trying to drop as though from a headshot.
Don’t lie down yet- the blood will scrub clean eventually.
Steve Bailey Aug 2011
Now
Lonesome heart,
when the past is past, and the past lies dead,
let it lie.

Now is.
Then was.  Tomorrow shall be.
But now is.

Too soon, what is becomes what was.
And what will be becomes what is.
But what was remains what was.

Before now lives, it is dreamt.
And after now expires, it is remembered.
Neither is substance.

But the now is the real.
Neither aspiration nor memory,
it is the vivid flame of certain present being.

The now is the turning point.
The cusp, the peak, the bleeding edge of now.
Dreams realized, memories recalled, the present.

Dream?
Certainly.
It gives now purpose.

Aspire?
Most definitely.
It gives now direction.

Remember?
But of course.
It shows now progress.

Reminisce?
Surely.
It shows now passion.

But you must be that now.
Always here, ever-present now.
Fiery, passionate, vivid now.

For the colors of now
outstrip the unformed hues of dreams
and the faded pale shades of the past.

The possibility of now,
more real than dream-shadows,
more potent than prospects left unrealized.

The only real time.
The only possibility.
The now.
Sudipta Maity Jan 2018
Not for the sake of long outstrip, in lieu of affinity.
Not for the sake of anger, in lieu of affection.
Not far away, today I am far away.
Don't have that glad of touch.
Don't have that air, full of her smell.
The wet air of monsoon call me today with long breath.
Glimpse of lost somewhere.
Let me write of the unknown
of the things we don't know
and have never been shown.

Like the string theory
do you agree?
If this space was put in place by invisible hand
and stars made to shine
by something divine
Why tie them up in a potage of science?

Where the sea meets its earth and where rainbows give birth
makes no difference to me.
It's enough that I see that it's so.
Where do Angels tread and
where can the bread of heaven be found?
These questions I ask as I bask in reflections
of someone's midsections in the
operating rooms where I peer hard to see
and ask again
'Is this the makings of me'

A universe without an end
e-mails that we never send.
These pending posts play host to me.

In one of ten million galaxies
It seems quite odd to make a rod and beat ourself
with what we do not know.
Whether the plan is to grow so big and become the giants we never were
or to be so bright that we outstrip and outsource our own dying light
and gain.
Is all the same to me I do not care.
It is enough to know that I am here and out there
somewhere
a table is set
A game is played and I will get
what I deserve.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
. genocide, or contraception? jobs... the export of jobs? technological advancements... it's not genocide... but it is a variant of contraception, isn't it? it's slow: slow implies: non-existent in the journalistic wortsprechen... which implies: covert, & metaphor... but we are talking about a contraception variant... it's not genocide... it's... well... the basic economic utility of you, = nul. automation is... sniff sniff... smell it? well yeah... poetry got no soul... just some bogus depressive antics for what doesn't even register as: tabloid.... fringe encounters of the tabloid kynd... but we are talking about a slow genocide, economic migration is war: in slo motion without brutes und goons... it's condoms: for... why wouldn't we?!

well... it's not exactly genocide...
given that it's slow
implies something, natural
and coincidental
to allocate an justifiable
association with it...

you know what happened
when the iron works
were undermined in Poland,
people were displaced,
i could have worked
a job in a metal work factory
like my maternal & paternal
grandfathers,
like my father...
  eh, **** it,
economic migrant:
     which is an alias
of what isn't exactly a cold
war: with hot egos
lodged into red buttons
and fidgety nuclear warheads
itching for that:
firework display!

everything economic is
a testament of sloth:
in decay...
    a media attention broom
of bored egotistical
ambitions facets:
the virility of
the other, sided argument:

that whole
"just" economic migrants...

war is a variant
of economics,
why are those migrating
for economic reasons,
not given what
is given to:
the immediacy of
the violent squabble?

delay, sure,
      and that is all,
it will ever be...
            you think i like
speaking this tongue?
you think i like
having to parody
the citizen?
  you think this tongue
is all that will ever
be: like a circus virus,
like nothing more than
a parasite?

the english in me
is a parasite...
i am: succumbed to its
presence,
for a "polite society"
rubric...
        i die:
i want this slithering
slob of an "invitation"
to be begone from me...

i, host,
   see nothing but
the mortal transcience of
a suited use for this...
string of words...

it has infested me
with a presence that
ignobles me...
no brown intact or
a pale hue of a skin's
colour:
   this... grits my
very fundamental
posit of verb: i think...

i am more bothered
by ethics
and not by etiquette...
the english don't
know that!
they're yet to discover
en masse,
the application
of diacritical marks...

   zee: Ęգλíш...

have you ever watched
the stew of rot
and abandonment
become: porous...
as in:
over time, time is
both the economics
of war,
and war biding:
                to & fro...

          if only: "just" an economic
migrant...
which is why i stashed
a dozen swords in my attic...

so? just war...
     you move: i move...
    
  i will only baptiße my soul
upon the altar of death
in being able to:
unlearn this parasitic
entity of the familially
cordial exchange of / for:
   having an inclination
  for a deviating purpose;

but of said things,
i am already too late to govern
a frictive foot
for a standing
    of attention and
convinced basin's depth
inclusive...

     how could have this looked
like... in a cosmopolitan
environment,
whereby a simpleton's
bilingualism would not
be curated as a schizophrenia...

                in a cosmopolitan
environment...
   of, say, Switz origins...
this could have been:
a hindering hybrid of
    stagnant cues...
for:
       no labour in the waiting:
for a bogus
      variant of a gem...

yet i find myself
stunned...
by such phrasing as...
home-grown terrorist...
some jihadi....

   and here, i am,
speaking the tongue
of the parasite,
this... acquired, tongue...
and i dare not speak
this tongue beyond
the necessary public...
and yet, there are those,
as foregin as i,
who forge a whip-for-will
in demands
that: outstrip the farce
of casual conversation...

no matter...
  however much
this nausea for the people
who would understand
ja, tym, gadam...

              gadanina:
gadać:

                  ­ yet still...
i die, this tongue
becomes tomb...
        borrowed,
acquired...
              something...
­        worth: an impasse's
worth of a conundrum's
worth of justification...

let's just say:
i became tired
of snoops,
of the natives asking
the question:
where are you from...

if only i acquired
the diacritical differentiation
of a foreigner,
and were not
forever justified in:
suspect...

                by speaking:
closely the native
narrative...

         a man to inherit
the assort of labour
to plough a field,
given but two left hands
for the smugness
of a work ethic's worth
of invest.

   this tongue dies with
me,
      oh i hope for a death,
that opens up
a horizon for
erasure,
      of my current
utility of:
                       said, tongue.
Robert Gretczko Oct 2016
glow to the righteous and firmed in their ways
aloof and fervent forever steadfastly pure
we allow secret ways to uncover us then cover us
over softly so other realms may enchant
we participate open-handed, open-hearted
taking and sharing in delights of pleasure
and in all good measure, we seek the quiet
of love or god or spirits those special ways
to each delivered by cherubs or captains in dress
relentless we search for purpose or oppose
sureness that slurps away at us like melting dew
how can we know or see the ways to
delay or restart matters that can confuse
then reward and disappear as if listening to fallen rain
it's not that we can not see all
but more to it, the mysteries of the unknown
far outstrip anything found, written or even imagined
AVINASH SINGH Mar 2018
In midst of our childhood,
When I found you,
You were devilish of all,
With child-like evilness,
but being purest of all,

For you hold a candid heart
beneath your devious sheath,
Always looking to outsmart
With your crooked teeth,

For even today, squabbling and quarrels are not unorthodox,
And have become our natural crosswalk,
Tell me, have you been more of a rival or a friend?
Hard to comprehend,

For what is evil in you is good in me,
And what is evil in me is good in you,
Though we are holding on a same anchor,
Still, we are being of different color,

For which I remember, grade 4 being the preface and spring of our friendship,
And grade 5 of our common infatuation,
Then, innocence ceases never to outstrip,
And you never ceases to being reasons of my irritation,

For you who is unnoticed season
Always laugh without any reason,
For you who is a lost star in a boundless space
Longing for an arms to embrace,

For you who knows my zenith, also knows my nadir.
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this **** kin “FAKE” hemp  
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).

As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
   specializing in cannabinoids
   my favorite delta-9-tetra
   hydrocannabinol (THC),

   isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
   while athwart the *****
   i.e. measuring adequate perforated
   square roto root er, sans
   regular toilet tissue paper
   prior to completing important

   private business matter
   on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
   and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
   in drag at a joint where Billy ****  

   banged on by the hands of
   a phenomenal drummer
   taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
   while blowing  fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,

   and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
   who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
   nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
   whose demise an awful blot

per southern cause during
   the Civil War and if anachronism
   to receive medicinal aide available
   instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
   of misfortune on the battlefield),

   whose faith the any almighty power
   could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
   to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
   free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp

   entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
   as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
   the analogy with a kumquat?
SøułSurvivør Mar 2014
The company of
horse's hooves...

a new caught sound
familiar to the
bone of night

An old alliance

Man with Creature's
might

Our longtime partners
willing yet reluctant
friends

Gaining strength
to be
in twain
a blend.

Wild withers wet
sheer in
weight of test

With growing speed
will outstrip
all the rest

Muscle strong
heart so sound and staunch

'Tis such friends
which
merit
laurel branch


Soul Survivor

November
2013
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
today i kneaded dough
for gnocchi,
tomorrow i will knead
dough for pizza...

                     yesterday
(and a year's worth)
i visited
   a *******...
she was 10 times more helpful
than an English psychiatrist...

over 10 years ago
i visited a ******
neurologist...
hardly a Mt. Everest
summit escapade...
who told me...
otherwise...

- 'am i mentally ill?'
             i asked, the ******
    neurologist?
- 'if anyone says you're
mentall ill,
then they, themselves,
are mentally ill.'
            replied the ******
neurologist.

but that doesn't leave me
off-the-hook...
a non-suspect...

  - would i succumb to
making a serial demand
for the killing
of prostitutes?
i prize the worth of
a ******* to be that,
above,
   a ******* psychiatrist!
which, bewilders me...
jack the ripper types...
morphed into
our, current living...
    
   only yesterday i made
a promise:
   i will forget sleeping
late...
in order to make
the sauce, and knead
the dough...

      i will not,
for one moment,
concern myself
with the zenith of
the day: of providing
the pristine slab
of ****... for my omniscient
"father" to behold...
    
just piano...
trickling like rain...
lazily,
off the fingertips of
thomas newman...
     never akin
to the mock-solitude
of a violin
what is spoken,
as well: audible,
as as well in mute:

thumb, rubbing itself
against the middle & index
fingers...
to suggest:
money is needed...

and i "almost" always
am readied to cry
for an expression
of beauty...
akin to
    a vaughan williams...

i am forever suspect...
in a Kafkaesque twist
on the standings...
             i am...
   precursor... "suspect"...
i close my eyes
and sift through seconds,
minutes, than
can become an hour...
in quasi-akimbo...
perched on a windowsill...
"kneading"
my *** against the folded
leg i am sitting on...

                   sly caught
"on the nod"...
   given that...
i know what an alcoholic looks
like, how he behaves...
cheap-***...
            as i am...
but i'm yet to fathom
someone who drank to
ascribe the practice of:
seeking the cheapest
sedatives...

       like... i've never met...
someone...
   who would like to
venture into explaining
veterinarian practices...
seems all the big-G-bling-singhs
have the teeth covered...
mafia of the
scuttling sigh...
- mostly...
if you are not going to
eat it... why pet it
mentality...
          
as much of an awaited
conviction from
a potted fern as...
all the troubles in
the middle-east...
well... part people...
you solve your ****...
and we'll be...
  "nowhere"...
looking way past the chance
for
        a... revision of sunrise...

surely...
bit boy tactic...
you people can solve
your people's problems
out...

what happens when
white people experience
problems?
sure... they run... they hide...

and what happens
when brown people
experience problems?
they run after the white people.      

   unless ****** got dough...
me... stand all self-explanatory...
what part of URBAN
did you not understand
in a NON-ETHNIC application
of the slur?

        ROBO-AUTO-MAY-TOW...
ROBO-AUTO-MAY-TOW
SAY-PLEASE.­..
YES... oh qui qui monsieur
             RAP-AH-GO-GO...
      i died and neither
the life, or the death...
were all that satisfying...
  you really need people
who cherish life
to fill up your Auschwitz...

no point killing off
nihilists...
who... are more willing to
die...
than you are willing
                                   to live "it",
beyond what "it" is...
       "it"
           funny word...
to have lived a what,
to have lived,
to have lived a willing-
       to have lived, also,
the attache -ness...
       diatribe...
      
       you would be right
in suspecting...
at what point will this man
give this up,
and tow and burrow into
solving a crossword
puzzle?

       i guess "it" ist leben...
thank god so few
of us end up
                  as biographies;

that old fool's gold
of saying: deeds outstrip
words...
   so... why succumb
         to words in the end?
Eileen Prunster Mar 2014
if i run
as fast as i can
maybe
i'll outstrip reality
and trick it
into rearrangement...
(the smoker you are,
the drinker you get -
never vouchsafed by this
ill eagle non substance
nor amber liquids
of the dogs imbiber).

as a mathematical abbot
weeding thru bathroom rag
i.e. regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter

on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
more revered than the king’s throne
molded from a gold ingot
which the heady Mary Jane
made more than hit token appearance
and quaffing
inxs of one hundred proof shot,

Nonetheless, boy gnome hatter
her inebriated state,
she still looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry
her attired in drag
at a joint where ****

banged on by the hands
of a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings –
holy marcal scott

the immediate utterance
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still
like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got shot

unwittingly by his own
(confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per the southern cause
during the civil war

and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide
available instead
of primitive treatment he got

as well as other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield
whose faith the any almighty
power could do little to save their lot,

yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that mobius strip
mortally wounded Rebels
and Yankees free from
facing death on a cot

might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip
cotton as king as export to trot
back to lady gaga who

scorches throats yet delivers bagged
illicit goodies with bo diddly squat
narcotic as sweet
as savory kumquat
palliative that hits the spot.
Rekhyt Jan 2018
Life is a constant act of forfeiture.
We each begin as a singularity,
A concentration of pure potential,
In that moment, truly equal.

An instant later, the timer starts,
The years of our lives begin to drain away,
And thereafter we can know only the effects of our own clocks, and others', trickling sand across the sepulchre.

For me, this has long been the truth of all things.

Except you.

You came after me,
And so,
Years after my hourglass was turned over,
The trend was reversed.

You did not give me immortality,
That would be ridiculous.
The gift you gave me was far more simple and pure.

For every moment you were on this earth,
The hourglass meant nothing to me.

Every moment spent, was one spent watching you grow,
Learn,
Live.

Every child watches their parents age, unto infirmity,
Unto death.

For some parents, I know,
To watch a child grow into adulthood is to be reminded of their own aging, and encroaching mortality.

A sibling has a unique perspective.

I was not so much older than you as to feel old while watching you grow.

I was not close enough in age to you,
As to feel as though we were the same kind of creature.

A child's memory is a cloth which quickly frays and fades in colour;
As you grew and learnt, I did not remember my own passage through those stages,
And so all of your stages were new to me.

As I matured, I came to recognise what this meant to me.
I became engrossed in the observation of your life.

I discovered, with joy, that you were destined to outstrip me in every way.
Taller, stronger, smarter, more beautiful, more eloquent, more kind, and intrinsically good.

You put your grains of sand to better use than I did mine.
With every passing day, you gained strength.

And then, it was over.

And I realised that part of it had been an illusion.

You were real, of course.

None of what you were was diminished by this realisation.
If anything,
It only made you more valiant in my eyes.

Because you had been taken in, too.

The illusion was this:
As each of our lives is an hourglass on a table,
Yours and mine standing side by side,
Each appeared to hold about the same amount of sand.

It was a very convincing lie.

You lived your life as I have lived mine,
Making plans decades ahead,
Looking forward to a career, love, offspring,
Even so far as retirement.

The day you died, the truth was revealed;
That even at the instant you passed,
The lower hollow of my hourglass held more sand,
Than any part of yours ever would.

And that was the cruellest truth, for you.

The younger sibling spends all of their life,
Catching up to the elder.

Reaching every milestone in their wake.

The day you were born, I was two years and nine months ahead of you.

And you would never catch up.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
it's no wonder they called you *******... and not kenyars... you ******* quasi Nubian allocations of sub-Sahara; unlike Indian, the darker you are, the more aristocratic you become... west africans are peasant in comparison to east africans; which is why their women are so much more attractive,; that lushness of plump skin, skimming the sea, meeting while at the same time engrossing the moonshine in being mutually reflected; Rhodesian beauty will always outstrip a Nigerian ambition.*

i'm starting to get worried
about afro-american women
these days,
who don't know what
dark choc east african beauty
looks like...
a sort of plump besuty
that might make a white
boy get a hard-on...
west african women are paler,
they have no aura of
a darker skinned east african
woman...
they arouse reprisals
of arrogance rather than
appeal of libido...
         unlike the Hindus -
darker esst african women are
more desirable than the paler
skinned west african:
slave trade material
gummy-mouth-off-*******!
with their castrated Herculean
slam-dunk dummies worth of
manhood.
at least east african women are
ball-dropping gorgeous
compared to the west african mouthing off
undesirability calibre of woman...
seems it translates around the
Greenwich bellybutton
            timing of reference.
Kiyyascribbles Nov 2021
We kinda share the same sorrow, and sometimes despondency
I feel it stoutly and firmly
There's a special vulnerability in that
A knowing
that surpasses and overshadow all knowing
An empathy
that surpasses and outstrip all empathy
It can't be undone
And so often I just want to hold you
and let my softness for you
live in your heart and soul
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
what have i done: to deserve... this?
i must come across as the most honest i can summon:
i haven't sat down an read a book
in a while: not because i somehow "think":
synonymous with doubt...
although thinking is more antonymous
with negation... the "feels" the grand "waking"
hour... day... week.. year...
point being... i haven't sat down with a book
for a while... reading newspapers doesn't count:
reading newspapers is a bit like
reading advertisement slogans... prompts...
oi oi! peacock! vector...
if only newspapers were written on
good quality... silk-imitation toilet paper...
i'd wipe my *** with them...
prostitutes have a higher status in my mind
than... journalists...
anchors... ditto-heads...
hell... prostitutes outstrip the worth of
bureaucratic custard-fudge any day...
they know their worth... there's so much
transparency concerning prostitutes that...
i haven't been on a date... not ever...
not since that one memorable date
with an Australian girl... we used to go to
highschool together... i took her to an Edward Hopper
exhibition... and a screening of Troy
in the cinema... some sushi...
she ended up being the most popular girl in
the school...
all on a single date...
that was fun... but by current standards?
a date is a meal?
pretending there was no prior
profiling... i imagine a date to imply:
i'm going to take up the whole of your day...
we'll do just fine: if we need a day...
dating... kind of boring... not boring...
claustrophobic... congested...
the whole culture of "dating" always felt to me
like a screening event at the airport...
getting an x-ray of a broken leg...
i'd require a day...
an art gallery... 3 ******* hours in the cinema...
a bite of sushi...
i don't need a "date"... i need a DAY... ugh...
or... i bypass all that foreplay before
foreplay and charge right into a naked
corpse of a Turkish ******* who's
geared up for... the mythology of hair
in Islam...
seriously... if you had a hair in your soup...
it would be equivalent to finding a fly?
i will forever attest...
the most ****** part of a female body is
her hands... probably  because they're smaller...
geisha riddles the jest of:
proper ****...

no one was going to date her...
i was the tallest in the cauldron...
and she was... properly bred in the outback...
coming up to 6ft...
the loveliest pair of pits on anything:
woman, cow... horse(?)...
in Edinburgh before she didn't...
decide to lose her virginity with me...
i did that work prior...
on some 3rd year psychology major
from Grenoble who moaned about
me having Napoleon on my wall..
the Duchy of Warsaw?
and Marquis de Sade...

ever ****** a ****** once...
72 times is... too much...
you begin by pretending your whittle richard
is just enough / teasing at: too small...
i can't explain the sensation:
it's ******* universal...
it's like... the shared sensation bound
to the hands when... tearing apart
a cotton cloth...

i don't know: what it is...
was i gearing her up to something more:
ambitious... like...
impregnation?
it wasn't terribly "fun"...
just about right... with the timing...
it can't be understated...
having the chance to relax with...
already "sacrificed" *****...
of prostitutes...
it's so much easier: for the transparency...
since no dating is ever to be invoked...

dating: i need a day...
i don't require profile screening over food
i'd rather eat in silence...
for ****'s sake...

just my luck... dating the elder of two sisters...
because: almost always...
the younger sister is more attractive than
the older one...
Promis & Priya...
   Laura... oh that Scot & Persian mongrel link
but i can't remember her sister's name...

"something in the way": clearly...
i was just taking to Knausgaard's vol. 4
of "mein kapf"...
the entire room pulsated with a silence
that only outside noises can intrude upon:
notably traffic...
caressing a book...
there's the t.v. blank...
i'm seriously in need of a fire & crackle
of... a fireplace...
reading a book would be best complimented by...
said sound: never mind...
the hushed murmur of the traffic outside
is also: stimulating...

reading a book... i forgot what that feels like...
it's not like reading a newspaper...
hardly... ugh... notably the opinion sections...
of the 5 major "feels" i can quest for...
reading a book in a room
inviting silence...
petting a cat... whenever a cat feels like it
or rather: whenever i also feel like it...
that i have a maine **** sleeping in my
bed...
is beyond me... i always thought it was
hard for a tiger bonsai to like you...
it is... how men champion dog-ownership...
of sure... esp. in England...
where you have to make cleaning up after
your beloved so ******* public...
in the doggy-bag the **** goes...
not prior to the "pandemic" did these dog-walkers
walk around with hand-sanitizers to boot...

dog = leash = muzzle = walking the **** thing...
it's like owning a bicycle and paying road tax!
to hell with paying road tax...
the argument follows:
the dog is loyalty...
it's also always ******* apparent!
a cat can play the Schrödinger's gimmick...
it can *******: on its own will...
i can ignore it... i can... leave it... freely:
available and... consecrated on some binding
glue whenever it feels like it...

between a dog and a cat and a... ******* fern...
well... the cat is a tier above the fern...
but... a tier below an orchid...
since? orchids need less tending to than cats...
but please don't think
that... it was terribly important to have dogs
when i was growing up...
as the only child they were my substitute
brother... sister...
but as you age... dogs... eh... not so relevant...
again: i'd hope to own one... if...
i also didn't have to leash-the-poor-sod...
at least with cats i can ignore them...
come to think of it...
i ignore them up to the point where
i clean their **** and slice them raw turkey...
hell... this one time: at "band camp":
i fed my maine ****
a "live olive":  fish-eye...
i once held a female mosquito by the ballerina
leg and watched as the cat gulped her down...

seems oddly nice to be part of something...
even if it's only a food-chain of events...
at least a tiger wouldn't...
**** me to get a hard-on...
it would **** me: in order to eat me...
now the ******* parade...
people killing people because they are
some hyper-inflated chimpanzee status
worth... for fun or for status...
last time i checked?
the constellations still worked:
they were kept intact... the moon came
with the night... the sun with the day...
the water with the tide...

of the 5 major sensations...
i don't even know whether there are five...
reading a book...
petting a cat... cycling...
pebbles of Dagenham...
estranged grandmother
*** is great: if you have it regularly...

notes...
pebbles of Dagenham?
oh don't ever try to cycle via Dagenham...
someone must have brainstormed
a pretty octopus when...
the pebbles... like glass...
were... left to season the usual grit of
road / pave...
mind you: i had tires that were gagging
for being replaced... 23cm width...
it was bound to happen...
but Dagenham has the worst roads...

reading a book can almost retain all
the necessities of petting a cat whenever
it feels like it...
it's good to read a lot of newspapers
before relaxing with a book...
i can never relax with a newspaper:
i relax taking a ****...
shame i can't bring a newspaper to the event!
i would... if i could...
i doubly-relax taking a **** contemplating
homosexual antics...
just for kicks...

of all the surprises in this world... family...
i knew my uncle: was going to be estranged from
my mother... brother and sister...
opposites... "poor" father beginning with
no family... pseudo-orphaned...
marrying into this ******* cocktail...
but an estranged grandmother?
well... the "story" goes...
i saw my grandfather all well and certain...
joking about another family relation:
he being alive, my grandmother's brother being dead...
limping on the last remains of a foot...

my mother decided that her mother be estranged:
or perhaps... my grandmother decided with her
son: my uncle... that... it's better to keep ourselves
apart...
my grandfather's death was kept in secret...
two months prior i was sipping coffee with
him... he was rereading a book i picked up
from a bookshop in Kielce:

Knausgaard's autumn: that line about
eating apples: whole... at the end of your life...
to the bitter core...
i liked my grandmother: muffin...
the mornings with sober me...
drinking coffee solving crossword puzzles...
but i do remember her crying in the night...
my grandfather was...
an alcoholic... but she was... still is:
a most... disfranchised of women...

but... death is death...
there were 2 months between his final descent...
now i feel like i was the grandson that didn't
care... i was the only ******* grandson!
so much for family...
reading a book... caressing the pages...
the silence...
petting a cat whenever it wants it...
riding a bicycle...
riding a bicycle...
                        perhaps swimming...
***?
i can't say i haven't teased at it:
but it's best when it's frequented with...
enough repetition...
like... push-ups... if it's done on the spare...
it's hardly equivalent to breathing...
i can spare myself entertaining it...
*** is not water... it's not nutrients...
i can... live without it...

i love drinking... probably as the least frequent
spectacle of... ***...
but i also love sobering up:
while cycling...
here's a beard: here's an imitation violin!
watch me fiddle...
there's a roof?! there's a fiddler on top of:
said roof?
mein gott: bulgari?!

das ist genug!
      genug! genug!
kommen sie die fragezeichen...
fragen! fragen! fragen hier!
fragen jetzt!

           KOHLE: KALT!

i drink... i start speaking Deutsche...
no wonder...
the Pakistanis have taken over
the English sphere of "sensibility"...
eh... little... bog... bother-monster...
little freckle... little mind..
something... quasi-Welsh...
pseudo-Scot...

SILVERCHAIR'S FROGSTOMP
VS... DINO SURF...
TIDE....
NIRVANA'S... POLLY,,
ONE EYED BLIND,,,,

some freckle Cqsper
ginger boing: yo.... yo,,,
tooth-bit....
quickest...incubus...
Babatunde Raimi Sep 2019
Looking at the river banks
You see the beauty of Nature
Void of artificials
Pearls worth more than diamond
That's how i see you my Angel

A Gold fish has no hiding place
A priceless asset worth more than rubbies
The first gift she gave me was Grilled meat
That we call "Suya" in our part of the world
Thumbs up Unique tutorials!

She has a knack for knowledge
An untiring zest to better her tomorrows
While competing with herself
Her proficiency is remarkable
Like a Lioness pursuing a prey

For her, the sky is blue
She loves her blue skinny jean
With celestial white crop tops
Revealing not too much
She looks in admiration
Journeying across the world
Just the way she loves her movies
With white rice
Laced with locally fried pepper
From a local grinding stone
Don't ask me how i knew
She is a "Person Of Interest"

For a Masai
Every Cow is precious
For a Poet; every acquaintance is priceless
Fair like the descendants of Job
Witty like Queen Esther
With a perfect figure eight
You cannot but gaze twice

Having studied Psychology
The psychology of human relations
In the University of Creavity
Faculty of Feminism
Graduating with honours
I qualify to say these lines
"Omowunmi", you are an epitome of beauty

You are an archetype worth studying
That's why my project is about you
Being a project submitted to the MBA School
Hoping this gets me closer
A little beyond the lines
That as good friends
We may paddle our canoe
To a world of limitless possibilities
Where there are no bounds

Keep those natural smiles
Don't stop being you
Striving to outstrip your yesterdays
Even if i am faraway
I will be close by
Whispering in your ears
Terrific stuffs worth hearing
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2024
through the forest: instead of running
simply walking
muddied feet
muddled tongue
  
                       if i could get away
from "getting away" i would call myself
by my name
in third person
and then wonder: what's with this
pronoun gymnastics that
is dumb-    -ing people
who think they are walking on eggshells
but instead: are:
walking on broken glass...

the mirror of the sky
and the mirror of the seas
how entwined without adjectives
sometimes
sometimes things are devoid
of adjectives

a mountain is a mountain is
Moses and Muhammad and they too
are: non-responsive in
definition...

lazily stomaching an afternoon
within a day:

i sNIGGER... snigger -
yet the added S- is somehow not so much
concerning the rest of the word
"somehow": "offensive"?

i'm still astounded by what visualization
was generated from Frank Herbert's
Dune... beside the rather unique
punctuation there is not much to swallow...

willows willows and some drool...
**** and pike and birches for all lost *******
like dissociation with dogs
having *** like we try to think "we" in
the royal sense: devising plans
to outstrip *** from function
like *** is devoid of function
of magnetism like
there is no synonym and no antonym

through the forest: perfect exercise for
both mind and body
not running: oh hell no... no running involved
just hunched for moments at a time
then upright...

sitting on a stump of what was formerly
a prided oak
on a throne of stump
i sat and pondered whether:
is Matthew a good person?

3 years this long distance "relationship"
lasted...
i gave up so much travesty of
the lived, personal, experience
that i found blind-spots concerning
fellow man
and felt more indulgent than
associating Goethe with the title: patriarch...

of whom? artists? like Shakespeare
isn't already the patriarch of actors... isn't he?!
not out of vanity or wounded self-esteem
but paper and ink are readily available
in that: they're no longer necessary...

and all these people attached to miniature
Apocalypses in their pockets
these soft-machine hullabaloos
feats of anti-engineering
it would almost, almost therefore: seemingly
be: best associated with...

seems almost idiotic to pressure the id
to overcome the ego
in the grand scheme of
psy: schematic: associating man with man
within himself:
under what metaphysical scalpel
were these 20th century intrusions:
ventures: in understanding man
how well man became understood
find foundations of such progress
in Auschwitz...

elsewhere life under the Quran was as if
a nightmare to which i woke into
seeing life undisturbed:
with the exception of the unavoidable
outliers akin
to the Pakistani **** gangs of Rotherham

voiceless dental fricative [θ]
or its voiced counterpart [ð]

i think that's the dire consequence
of not keeping check the evolutionary
strategy of language as
its own entity: self... minus my self:
my self: the reflective component
"v" / "vs" the reflexive myself strictness...

forget the aesthetics of spelling
and how it looks on paper...
through the forest
i walked with only one ear...
well... two ears...
but one ear was focused on the parody
of listening to music
while the other ear was honing in
on the furor of the birds
bothered by a pendite...

i literally unearthed this word, right now,
on the spot...
spot of ENSOO... in one sitting:
omicron omega omicron omega:
U turn up to Silon...
up to Silon... my version of Zion...

second-person plural present
             active imperative of pendō

and people come to me with these
iron maiden chambers of grammar solely
on the vestiges of stressing... *******...
pronouns?! seriously?!

what the **** does pendoo mean?
ha ha! well well... just my luck for resurrecitng
old tongues
while i baptized myself in the nettles!
oh the nettles!
i took my shirt off
i was going to take all my clothes off
and run into the nettles
i thought it might suckerpunch me good
to feel the itch crawl into my skin
if i also itched with my testicles
but then again: indecent exposure...
sufficed with rubbing nettles
on my shins
my forearms
my hands
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my face
plucked a stem
and rubbed it on my chest and my back

like Husayn -
i became a martyr of self-doubt...
no... it was certain:
there was no affair
no cheating involved
but it would have been cruel
to give hope
when the realist in me knew:
perhaps i do not like my work
but i love the company i keep
at work...

i was thinking about the properties
of doing such a thing
hinging upon a story i once read
about Roman centurions throwing themselves
****-naked into nettles...
duck quack medicine...
chemo... no...
cherry chemistry CH CH CH
choo choo...
  "too many consonants" my scratched ***
and tilting halo: for ****'s sake...

DRAKA: DRADZA: DRA-     -JA
equivalent to DZ...

          quack... duck... medicine... ah!
lost a word for a moment:
HOMEOPATHY!
or hum-pathology: **-meo-pathy...
etymological: where?
    ** in Greek: meo mea yes yes
-pathy yes like -ology...

                   this tongue outside of my
mouth in my head
not exactly a rhetorical gift
but for the duty to interest:
i.e. being invested in being interested:
undying! preserved! mummified!

what comes now is a flood of memories:
one or two hiccups
but compared to what Edie was used
to with her experience of men...
over a stretch of 3 years
we only met twice
and we had Oppenheimer sort of ***

that's what happens when
a cryptic meander:
a recluse... yes yes: once or twice
in the brothel
but what i also learned
when *** is bought / exchanged
that rigid LIMP ******* ****
i'm trying to get my rocks off
want to lick her out
finger her and then she blurbs out:
that will be extra...
she also forgot to peel the banana
sorry
but she forgot what the ******* is
for and isn't for
and that was a waste of time
i ended up paying £130 for massaging her...

and that's what: in the heralded
wisdom of a 55 year old to a 38 year
some ******* clue:
oh yeah, yeah... the younger girls
are *****...
hornier: puppet: you have my strings?
seriously?
am i to believe that women
in the luxury of the menopause
are... wait wait...

  wait wait... menopausal women
are hornier: freer...
than their younger counterparts... period!
the end!
i've heard too much ******* to suffer
the fate of the gullible patrons of:
*** for pleasure...

   and she might have thought me an invalid
for not having secured a progeny
in child of my own
(a)

           but now i just see timidity breeding
fluorescence
if that's even possible whenever
i see women in that brackets of (18 - 45)
that's a good bracket to have...
invigorating: indispensable...
like this was my ONE NOTCH
and a belt of all those times
i wondered whether or not i had erectile
dysfunction: clearly not...

******* the brains out of an older woman:
trick came with the thrice tickle...
tasteless?
current affairs and political lies
are tasteless:
suffice to say that a sound reading
of Marquis de Sade coupled with some
sobering Kant and Bukowski's efforts
yes yes... all a matter of fact: stress...
a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away

a poem a day keeps the psychiatrist away
so much for apples...
tangerines oranges snakes and ladders...

the realist spoke:
i was never going to leave London
for her
that dynamic of mother daughter
grandmother was strict and Christian-obligatory
i can't do Christian-obligatory
when you have suspicions of
the one and only heresy that is: hypocrisy...

i couldn't leave London for Kauai
i would hate waking up
driving past the golf courses of Princeville
and i would hate to live among
Americans
even if they were Polynesian half-winks
of what the genesis story is
of that vastness: i.e. Taiwan...
too much sun not even *****: ooh! azure!

i'm an urban rat
i need urban slang to surprise me
especially if it's coming from the youths
of Hackney and they're Somalis
or Nigerians ...
i feel sick whenever i travel back to Poland
and am stuck with an ethnic homogeneity

too much white on white
i once stated already that: the future is mixed race...
for all the ills and ailments
we need a genetic vibrancy
and one way is to breed:
no sorry... that **** is on AUTOPILOT right
now... as natural as gravity...
but at least black women will stop
wearing wigs
and their half-kin will have a full crop
of hair and there will be no more
*****-slapping concerning alopecia...
perhaps no teeth-whitening envy too:
orange skin tan peel: blinding ivory: ugh!

                        only in Essex...

plus! i don't want to come across as some
invalid
but i really really don't need a car in London
sure i'm heading to Poland
to get a driving license in September
but that's just a formality blah blah blah
but over there: bicycle: bad bearings...
knock-knock buckling...

             England is an island but Kauai
is a whirlpool of existential constipation
that's equivalent to: ha ha... claustrophobia...
oddly enough it was just that...
plus summer is coming
and with that Wimbledon
and the concert season
and the Euro finals and being a tourist
of bad-mouthed Ahmed Ahmeds
flying in from Sow-Di Land of
the free peoples of Putinphilia... well: you know...
blah blah...

           yes: i am the bad man...
because i'm the realist and i wanted the memory
bank to implode then explode into
stretching time:
that non-linear point of having
a concern for time...
a stretching and juxtaposition of time
and that's also QUANTUM TIME...
as much as i might enjoy the quantum space
of my bedroom and me kneeling
before the bed and typing this out...

memory = quantum time

                       i can play with it as much as i can:
with the additional fervor of having
memory intact outside
of the realm of pedagogic infringement
and acidity once upon a time
constricted by learning irrelevant facts:
it's like: why do they teach us biology
when they know none of us will
be doctors or at least most
why don't they teach us nutrition in school
help us focus on the entire body
rather than bulldozer our experience of
youth with talk of *******
thrombocytes and chlorophyll?

          pedagogy is outdated - clearly:
if it weren't for a self-assured want to grasp
etymology / other languages...
beside from the basics of arithmetic and some
grasp of letters: although nuance
that sound to the letters presented
and what dyslexia is there to be spoken of?

ah ha ha... blah blah...
for all my afternoons to revolve around such
joy: to write.
Walter Alter Sep 2023
the circumstance of his birth
had somehow become joined
to the circumstance of his life
raised on cowboys and Indians
when no bigger than a twig
alone on a little mattress
talking to limp cloth animals
explains much of this
chromosome damage no doubt
a chugging tractor discs the soil
a mile away growing unheard
as sleep opens its music box lid
my rapid pulse is transformed
and becomes visible as black spots
which begin to grow together
eyes begin to move independently
floating face up I think they are open
wishing they were lanterns instead of
window panes unable to blink back the view
held open by the weight of two images
the great mound of bones and teeth
scene of rituals unspeakable
sordid affairs and so ordinary
if they tell you there's no describing it
they'd better have a blank expression
victims of gravity searching for a place
where the double war between
the odds and evens has not yet reached
wondering who invented tables and chairs
calendar on the wall brittle and torn
by a window climbing sun
pages flutter like moth wings
whispering parts of speech syllables
a screen door bangs dogs bark
crossing the linoleum a trail of ants
water drips in the sink
a moon rises over mobile homes
drawn in a circle against the dark
red flares line the highway at night
vagrancies outstrip the vacancies
with charlatans on every street corner
in a fervent denial of perception
before the rubble of the holy ziggurat
burnt offerings burnt heretic
having learned how to learn
he began to teach how to teach
on the plan-it planet
finding fresh chewing gum
stuck under the diner counter
when is an idea dead and useless
you'll need to be able to spell dog and cat

From "Pageant of Naked Mischief" available on Amazon
Amit Gautam Jul 2020
The commence of a true bond,
Bond of friendship,
The peregrination with thee,
None craved outstrip.
We had motives, a-lot.
Gaiety was the consequence, as thought.
The problems overmore kept at bay,
Unique were the moments, count everyday.
Such was the relationship with thee.

In the juncture of solitude,
Absence of thee haunts.
Lacerates the heart,
Just as roses with thorns.
None but time is to blame,
For the divergence, that came.

The fun then,
Turned into memories,
Alluring than the sceneries.
Thought leaves no hints,
Indelible are the imprints.
This book ain't worth a posy-scented candle, 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘯'𝘴 84-𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵
𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘌𝘹-𝘏𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘈𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘺 𝘍. 𝘙𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘭𝘭
I'll lovingly beat you like a hunter with a seal-beating stick lovingly
stick-beats a seal because, anywhere but Canada, lovingly beating a
fat-**** **** with a big, seal-beating stick ain't no Earth-ending deal
that could make Phil Collins, at gun-point, change his name to Bill,
eat waffles with a pine-wood bed slat or adopt a titter over a squeal
It was too late for sorrow, as her witch-*** was froze until tomorrow
I danced with your dad who doesn't dance bad for a *** dad in plaid
Once I'm buried in a hole, because I was so sick that I was declared
by a doctor dead, I'll never be alive to toast again your Cuban bread
You puked runny puke on my mom's T.V. 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘬 dishes, so now
we will have to live on your raft & **** in water like ******* fishes
do when they swish fish bones out of whack with bone-fish swishes
Here I am, hiding behind my Maserati during World War Two with
nobody violent around me; eating dead rabbits & taking things easy
Easy does it during World War Two when ***** & brassieres were
in short supply along with ice tongs, lip gloss & mink bikini thongs
I could've ate my pelvis-breaking weight in frogs & puppies, cuddle
fish & guppies. I could've loved you for your flat warts, like a 6-ton
elephant spurting in gray quarts. But you were so ecstatically crazy,
******* out on my pretty-boy face, that you had to cram it up with
everybody everyplace. Your buck-toothed **** dentist won't never
dentally-know how you pull apart stringy roots underneath, with 16
of your 22 black-rotted, misaligned teeth. I spiked your wine with a
harsh laxative to get you going more often, then I shot your **** &
crammed his rap-crapping *** into a 55-gallon-steel-oil-drum coffin.
“Jesus Christmastide! Why do ****** call you 'Stubby,' Stubby?” I
asked Stubby. He just sat there, clinically dead & grub-stiff grubby;
so I #22 scalpel-stripped him to make him less chubby, because gay
Stubby had visions of ******* an eye surgeon & calling him hubby.
Picture me 20 years ago, after the amputation of my toe. Picture me
20 years from now, married to a beef-cow. Picture, picture, picture,
then picture me pictured badly: with a crack-***** grinning madly.
**** who know know, by January you're ******* Iron Man noodles
through rear tubing & improving your high sight with a ladder-rung
eye-band & 2 days later you're dying of long cancer on Lung Island.
It was scary when the bottom fastened itself upward onto a lump &
when Jesus blessed Cebunese kids scavenging pagpag at the dump.
David René de Rothschild tethered 2 purple ***** to a dollar stump,
while Our Lord rescued Irish colleens chewin' garbage at the dump.
It is rumored that Bill & Hillary have shared ****** intimacies with
each other, that were interrupted 3 times by Roger, Bill's ½ brother.
***-******* like to wait 40 years before making insane, ******-****
accusations against all men who live in white-built African nations.
I was slurpin' yogurt & smashing white maggots in bare feet & hair
dryer-drying my blond hair in my windowless room, 3 floors above
my street on a Friday, 1 day after Walt Disney's gayest gay day yet,
before full rubbers broke through to make the sidewalks gooey wet,
to knock Mama off a donkey that had been her lifelong donkey-pet.
I hate bus trips! Oh, God! When will the God pain train trend end?!
As I grew to love her neighboring orifices & chocolate-milk glands,
Naomi Campbell smacked my white **** when I called her Bonnie,
with the same baloney handful behind what makes my nuts manful.
I don't care for the stiff-**** fluff & flare, or the slimy guff & glare,
of naked ***** gettin' axles lubed at the naked **** axle-lubing fair.
My syndicated business share differential queered the poor nusance
as it gave me a primer glued with solid gander ******* goose sense.
Prickling something is better than prickling nothing I suppose for a
bug-zapped minute that cuts a snail in a harpsichord or in a spinnet,
made by piano-tunin' ****-buddies in the Georgian city of Gwinnett.
You dumb, ***-******! I can't believe that you are more gay than 92
Rob Reiners, ***-******* 600 raunchy Biskra Province coal miners!
Rob Reiner ****** a pygmy during the holocaust when Polish Jews
felt lost & he walled in his father-in-law 'cause dad was pygmy-tall.
Coal moaners surrounded me like a rash. I fought them with bullets
& bull ***** after I ran out of cream cheese, Kotex & blue crayons,  
in hopes that 1 day, I might skip barefoot again through grey lawns.
A quick look-see at any cemetery puts things into perspective, dead
& deceased, no hens riding *****, no soccer, no mismatched socks.
You removed your cold lips from mine in the coal mine making me
mad, so I took off my wedding dress to make a baby with your dad.
I was paralytic with fear when your **** came near, as I was out of
chicken feed; so I slit open my ulnar artery & quickly bled to death.
I answered your pathetical moan for help, like a collie ***** in mid-
moan whelp. My dog's a godless pagan like you too & she wants to
drink from the toilet like any pagan guy; but she's a chihuahua dog
so, unless she is fed wolf hormones, she'll not rise toilet-bowl high.
Elton John offered lots of **** attention if, when regardin' his ****
as he's porking park cops, I'll not ever jam a big monkey wrench in.
Elton John proffered love & attention if, in regards to his **** when
buggering Central Park cops, I will never ram a steel park bench in.
I was eating pig-kidney with a **** Vietnamese woman in a shed &
she asked to split my kidney & I jumped 'cause she wasn't well-fed.
I was puking oily French Canadian porcine kidney gristle onto your
Michigan-made robe of silk, as I lactated luke-warm pig buttermilk.
I barfed slimy French Haitian ****** brain stem treats onto your 34
devilish Voodoo ******* of silk, to make you lactate spicy pig milk.
A mean-spirited queer attacked me, when I was not looking queerly
around for bad queers. Lord Princely Jesus, these preter-neo pseudo
ultra modernistical queer times are upon us to ***-******' seize us.
Oprah's teats were bound to her chest by mucho ****** rings, which
made her want to use a milk-goat's milking-machine for **** flings
when she was alone ****-******' ****** & ***-porking ding-a-lings
I sermonize & preachify, as of late, against ***-*** at the going rate
for hooded rods trimmed to helmets, as circular cuts are a boy's fate
Like walnuts crackin' at dawn between the lumpy thighs of ******,
I pop plasma-filled blisters to render them into itchy, fiery-red sores
Because ******* riot after lines are drawn, I hide 2 pink scrotal nuts
to save them from ablation, because when they're gone they're gone
& devoid of vitally-vibrant, dual-testicular sensation by stimulation
In the world of Yip Harburg, everyone must die, you know it's true,
like a wasted ****** who's turned blue, all-the-way speared through
I want movies of Ava Cherry with no clothes on, lounging softly &
luridly, pulling me with Afro curly-cues on a **** trimmed torridly
as cool chick Sita Chan flies over a Hong Kong bridge discordantly
I trace your Nordic-loving *** sidewise across Conneaut Lake when
I'm 3% sober, from January the twenty-third to the ninth of October
Across the vast expanse of your ever-widening *** I mark my space
to keep my place before the next ship arrives from Pluto moon base
When peace is declared, my mistress will put away her war nuggets
for good, because as she aches for a half foot of timber I will slip to
her my thrill-hammering, impregnating, baby-broth-squirting wood.
See my Mongol eyes? See how far apart they are? The preterhuman
distance 'tween them has kept me from being smashed flat by a car.
When I was tiny small I'd scream brattily as a bratty tot, “Mommy I
want to watch 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘯 𝘋𝘺𝘬𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘸 with old Hose Prairie a lot
whilst me & the hot baby sitter **** on a cot & **** Mexicali ***!”
**** chick laboratorians, working for the forensics lab, use ****-kit
combs on their red bushes when public **** outrage pulls & pushes
You'll be alright, no doubt, after you have twin infants to straighten
your *** out. We'll have fun with white vitamin D from Earth's sun,
while I  twist your hair into a fashionable bun, 'cause you got a gun,
& you say that you will shoot me 9 times once your bun is all done.
“Who's it?” Asked a cook cookin' corn pone, to which I bemoaned,
“It is a phone call from a chickee who combs her ***** hair alone.”
A guy can count, when he runs, on his biggest right-foot toe, just as I counted on you camper-crammer Breanna, 15 little boyfriends ago
when you chirped like a meadow crow in an '05 red Dodge Shadow  
before folding 2 **** lips over in a corporate, ****-lip-folding show
for bread, dinero, gelt, mula, cash & seventy other words for dough
On the porch I was wildly horrified from this haunted-house fear as
Grandma struck me with cheer over her **** so sharp & **** so near
to my rock-hard-pronghorn projectile & manly, wedding-tackle gear
“At the bottom of the finest menu is offered wren mignon, captain”
a crew man proffered, before his wife got pimped by Peter Lawford
A million dead love-birds littered my dream-life & dream- girlfriend
after I epoxied her pate beyond the apex of the fore-crown's top end
Last month we ate turkeys from pointy beaks to wrinkly **** holes
while our wife crones were fingered like ****** Mao finger bowls
Breanna, I fear you, to be near you and to hear you when you boil a
chicken in the kitchen, when you turn on me with merciless *******'
to precipitate the most tremorous of Parkinsonian, lard-*** twitchin'
Breanna, I fear you, to hear you near you when you boil a wren like
a California chicken kitchen cook who sews ***** by hem-stitchin'
in dawning hours when plane Earth's keen on night-to-day switchin'
I wouldn't let you down like I put the window down, like I put your
mother down, or when I peeled your fish-net hose that wrap around
your creamy thighs that ruin our seedy *******/constructed lives
to make us want left states to turn right or men high up to fall down
upon a Battle Creek holt in the snotted knot of a carpet bomb round
that'd blow the shell off a turtle & a goose off its soft, goose mound
into a better diet whereat gay waivers are paced to England's pound
I'm forced to live in the woods & eat moles 'cause I really do love it
and I'd never ***** that I am too royal toward it, or very far above it
or *****-***** to ream & **** it, even when I'm 768 miles from it
Unlike you, with your greyish bumps, I ain't scarfed corn dogs with
stinkin' garbage men, in garbage trucks, speeding to garbage dumps
My ditzy ***** went crazy from a street drug so, like they did with
father Grigorii Rasputin, I shot her twice, then wrapped her in a rug
While I'm swingin' an ax in an abortuary to unsettle my calm bones
I find quiet consolation listening to near-dead, half-deaf Tom Jones
who dreams of Earth minus lesbians grooming dads as mom clones
Sharing my lunch with an out-of-work ****** makes me feel larger,
just like after my big ****'s been slammed in the jamb of a car door
The snow Christened Christ, freezing hot after-birth iced. His Mum
was a ****** who had babies, while Daddy bit a dog that had rabies.
Hey you *******, I am ***-high in the Jakarta Turbine project
so I got no time for them or Lloyd Bridges & his hemorrhoid ridges
as my tick-bit chihuahua'd sooner *** on what is left of Bruno Leon
With dour Vince Edwards it was a horror to power-rinse head warts
I inhale the stench of birds being cared for in the privacy of a closet
where fruits ripen after paying a homosexual closet security deposit
In the future all good people will act like Donny Osmond a little bit
when they're comfortably seated on a heated toilet seat taking a ****
The ****** nurse in fancy nurse uniform, through which I saw ****
fur, led me to the hospital bed so that I could have my way with her
like the fakes who were John Forsythe, Sam Jaffe & Raymond Burr
could, if they had not died as rabid dogs like Allāh said they should
as the eternal souls of those who are bad shall be shredded for good
“Listen Missy,” I said, “I could spend many nights ******* you raw
or brushin' my curly **** bush on my million-dollar yacht instead!”
My thumb's numb where a dog bit me, just after I ****** his *****
in Satan's kitschy church for a mass that was less camp than witchy
among Hillary's ****-suckin' pigs who're no less shaky than twitchy
It's Kung Fu in reverse, the adoration & the adulation that paces me
across sad, fairy-land meadows where I chase fairies of race fantasy
Pry wide your gob, goofy goober, wolfin' waffles in the men's room
ain't never got 1 ****** locked up for gay pimping, we can presume
A clock's ticking *****, like a sticking stitch stuck in a witch-*** snit
on the bald nog of a drained chimp **** from the massacre at Tikrit
Green rhymes with spleen & a spleen that has gone green is seen as
being badly corrupted by a putrefyingly-deadly, infarcting gangrene
Suicidal tribes, I think who link upon the brink must not, of course,
drink pink ink from a sink as it could push bowel twist knot & kink
I was haunted by wraiths, sprites, leprechauns & hobgoblins till ***
Mark D. Chapman cured x-singer John Lennon's medical problems.
Beause who, minus spinal pain, might for sure say that ****** bare- backing made the normally heterosexual, rough & tumble Ben gay?
Ben is gaily bathing done with Obama at bath houses for **** fun.
Don't you remember that when we were in love we'd hide at Burger
King and secretly eat out each other's burgers until late September?
When we were in love (Don't you remember?) we'd meet at Burger
King to secretly eat out each other's fur burgers till mid-November?
For ****'s sake I shall **** with coffee sippers during coffee breaks
on schooners & rafts crossin' the greatest of America's Great Lakes.
I **** early in the morning to avoid the pre-afternoon ***** & shakes
I **** in the early morning to avoid the pre-afternoon ***** & shakes
In the early morning I ****, avoiding runny afternoon ***** & shakes
I evacuate pre-breakfast to obstruct copious supper squirts & quakes
I pathologize fetid droppings to classify scatological frauds & fakes
I could hurl ***** on cue in the sight of jail-house grits & pancakes
I may sail west within the under-belly pits of poly-finned sea snakes
that slither hither, thither & yon up, if not over, deadly rays & rakes
in pre-gutted conditions, before they are trucked by drays from bays
on sunny days when fillets are flayed; when pay-grades induce gays
who Walmart pays in minimal ways that x-Sam said was a pay-raise
lifted by the Chinese Patriotic Catholic Association, & Mao's praise
that launched the Cultural Revolution's ****-everyone-you-can craze
to the tune of Chou En-lai's burn-*******-Tibet-to-the-ground phase
which obeys the policy of crushing prisoners' faces with lunch-trays
which adores the practice of caving in faces with prison lunch-trays
I'm eating yogurt, nothing fazes me: 11 stays & electric-chair delays
that outstrip the switch poles of Western Electric's antiquated relays
that strip the switching poles of Western Electric's antiquated relays
that strip the switched poles of General Electric's negative tree days
that play General Electric's plane, pointed up over negated key bays
to soil Edison's electrical datum line, croacked west where fur frays
in gay burnt victim pink fashion where blistered, skinned skin flays
sons wallow in pig sties where godly cleanliness forever never pays
while men swallow grizzly plies; where the *** of King Jesus brays
to bluff, brag & boast not; to blow up the pretense of pitiable praise
in the firmament beyond whereat the water may no higher be raised
above the bosoms of fairy maidens, whose fealty amazed Our Lord,
says the holy Hebrew Testament; affirms high-oxygen giants crazed
In infancy I happened upon Mithra, including trivialities Mithraical
& later, with Jesus, new Biblical nuances of Prince Jesus Christical
Michael Jackson's paederastical dancing made Brillo-headed Tito a
badder dancer as it acidified Hindu Vinod Khanna's bladder cancer
Here on 2 limbs hobbles a 110-year-old pervert, Kirk Douglas, who
fugged fugging Marilyn Monroe fugless like 1 Aussie **** Kug lass
NATO’s in the House

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



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



“Soft and Fluffy”

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

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



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



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

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



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



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

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



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



The Abyss Is Deep

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

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

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

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



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



Weep, Executioner

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

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

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



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



Salt on Wounds, or Pain as an Indicator of Evil

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



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



To Hell Led by the "Experts"

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

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



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



Pseudo-Science at War

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

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

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

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



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



Burn with the verb?

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



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



The Sun-faced Führer

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

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



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



Expression Through Things

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

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

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





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



The True Colonel

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



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



Successful Poetry

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

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

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

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



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



"Religious" Fast

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

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

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

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



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



The Tightrope Circus

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

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

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

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



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



At Rock Bottom

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

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

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

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

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



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



Junk Science

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

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

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

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

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



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



Aging Children of the Dead

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

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

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

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





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



Fell from the Tree

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

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

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

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





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



Serving the Führer on Contract

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

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

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

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



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



Junk Science

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

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

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

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



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



So-Called "Law"

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

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

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

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



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



The Sheep and the New Gates

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

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

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





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



The Real Infernal

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

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

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

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

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



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



The Spoke in the Wheel

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



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



The Stoner, the Thief, and the Doctor

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

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



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



All Private Affairs

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



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



Mario, Mario, Marionettes

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



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



There Will Be Summer

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



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



Make Songs, No Matter What

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



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



Shaitan and the Sheep

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



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



"Donbeat Bombas"

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



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



Hidden and Open Satanism in False Religions

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

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

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





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



Revenge Lasting a Lifetime

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

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

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





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



Not "With Greetings"...

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



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



The Inescapable Herd

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

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



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



The Spiritual Path

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



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



The School Program

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



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



Shame and Laughter

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



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



Donbass

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

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

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





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



Animal Life

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

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





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



Locked in a Cell

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



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



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



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



The Vipers' Nest

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

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

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

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



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



Solitude

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

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

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

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





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



Permanent Surrealism

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

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

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

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

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



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



"Socialite": A Short-Lived Delight

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

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

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

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



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



"Flowers of Life"

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

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

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

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



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



The Law

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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



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



Pennyless as an Endangered Breed

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

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

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





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



School

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

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

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





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



The Global Pen

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

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

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





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



Lie Upon Lie

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

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



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



Agony of the World

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

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





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



The Few Are Right

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

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



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



The Fog of Infernality

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



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



Globalization

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

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



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



Bitter Consolation

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

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

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

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





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



"Carefree Childhood"

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

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

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

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



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



Final Stop

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

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

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



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



Evening Dullness

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

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

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



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



Makhno’s Tachanka

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

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



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



Winnie the Pooh and Piglet Kebab

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

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





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



Under the Pressure of Madness

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

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

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





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



The Surrealism of Verse

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

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

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



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



Peace to the World?

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

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



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



The Sheep and the Kebab

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





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



In Hell. In Madness.

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



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



My Poems That I Don’t Like

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



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



The Ruling ****

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



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



Dogmatism of Pseudoscience and Its Aims

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

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

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

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



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



The Devil and the Sheep

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



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



Twilight of Mind in the Global Camp

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


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

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

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





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



Furious Verse Flies Like an Arrow

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

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

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

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





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



Outworn Forms Are Swept by Death

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

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

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





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



Dominant Theories and Ideologies

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

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

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

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

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





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



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

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

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

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

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

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





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



Gut Sense — Stream and Surge

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

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

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

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

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





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



Implanted "Dreams"

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

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

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

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





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



The Scythe of Death

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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



A Flare of Light — or Murky Glare

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

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

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

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

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



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



Just Your Average Armageddon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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



Torture

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


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

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

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



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



Ornaments

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

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

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





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



Allah! Allah Will Provide

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

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

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



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



The Glamour Veil

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

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

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





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



Dust

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

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



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



Mind — a Nest of Twisted Wires

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

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



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



Sharp and Loud

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

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



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



Brain Drain

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

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

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



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



The Ultimate Price

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


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

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



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



Where Are You From — and Where You Head?

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

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



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



True Effort

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

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



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



Poverty and Pain

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

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



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



Moderation

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



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



"Carrot" Stronger Than Steel

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



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



Non-Sellability

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

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

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



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



The Global Masturbator of Feelings and Emotions

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



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



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



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



"Normal" Madness

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



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



"A Magnifying Glass" for the Soul

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

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

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

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

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



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



The Idiotocracy

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

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

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

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

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



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



The Shrinking of Mind — and the “Real” World

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

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

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

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



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



"Professional" Chewing Gum

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Brain Removal via Lies

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

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

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





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



"Isms"

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

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

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





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



The Final Circle of Hell

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

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



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



The Correctness of the Lonely Warrior

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


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

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

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





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



The Daredevil Who Conquered Fear

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

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



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



The Machine World

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


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

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

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



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



Spiritual Vision and the World's Vile Rot

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

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



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



The Führer of the Madhouse

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

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



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



The Chance to Create Yourself

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

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

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

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





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



Surrealist “Picnic in the Open”

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

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

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



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



Money in the Filth

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

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





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



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

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

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





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



“Flowers of Evil”

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

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





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



Mirror, Mirror, Cruel and Grim...

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

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



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



Junk “Classics” and Fake School Lore

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

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





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



Feminine “Charms”

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

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



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



Silent Slaves

Amid the shameful, swirling mess,
The minds decay, they’re in distress.
The chaos says, “We’re not the slaves,”
But in truth, they’re silent graves.



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



A Führer in Zombie Disguise

A Führer dressed in zombie skin,
So dumb, you'd swear he’s just your kin —
A cousin to the fool and clown,
A soulmate to the lowlife crowd.

That crowd is vast — the final score
Of silent genocide and war.
If you’re not dull in this parade —
You’re pastry tossed in a latrine’s shade.



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



Gas Exchange: Thought and Matter

The air we breathe, the world, the skin —
They twist the Thought that flows within.
Distorted well — a grand conceit —
And thus was born Debility.



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



Serve No Evil Homeland

Serve no land that’s steeped in lies —
Bow to Truth, not flags or cries.
Then you'll walk a noble way,
Clean of thought, by light of day.



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



The Worm’s Last Century

Was it Worm or Wretch that reigned?
Twisted times were preordained.
Change erupts — the herds start marching,
Led like sheep, their brains discharging.

Not through desert, but through waste,
Filth and fear — a bitter taste.
Welcome now the Drainage Age —
We’ve earned it well. Enjoy the cage.



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



Total Censorship by Pseudo-Search Lords

“Let thoughts be countless, so no censor keeps up.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Dullness rules — and now the censor
Is your god, your thought dispenser.
Search engines obey the crown,
Cracking minds and shutting down.

So multiply your thoughts, be daring —
Don’t get used to evil’s bearing.



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



The Fatal Reign of the Abnormal

Abnormals crowned — a fate relentless,
The world’s gone dark, infernal, senseless.
To feel is now a sacred rite,
While storms of lies blot out the light.



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



The Slushy Fool

A dribbling dunce blocks up your way,
His head’s half-melted into clay.
Avoid him — sticky, slow, diseased,
His leaking rot is not appeased.





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



Change as Froth

"Change" is froth, when shame’s the stream
Flowing through a shallow dream.
Fools call it “the past’s great voice”—
Just old foam, but not by choice.



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



The Madhouse

A madhouse fool with brains of clay —
That’s the whole **** world today!



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



From Hell to Hell, and Through Again

From Hell to Hell, and through the flame —
Each circle plays the devil’s game.
Yet still the herd runs, blind and glad —
A slave is dumb, but rarely sad.



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



Combat Media

Slither through the slime and ****—
Is that a life? A job well done?
**** attacks where threads are thin—
Hence the stench, the creeping sin.

Subtle souls are shoved aside—
Trash promotion, truth denied.
All the rest—just dough, just clay:
Molded lies in foul array.

Rotten nonsense, mass-produced—
Vermin’s craft, unchained, let loose.
Brutes in charge—relentless freaks—
Rotting peace is all it seeks.

Yet success is near-complete:
Soon the press will serve the Beast.
Don’t you crawl, unless you’re vile...
Or you’ll choke in filth and guile.



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



The Pseudoscience Fragment Trick

Smash it to pieces,
Then crudely re-glue it —
That’s “science” today,
Our god, so they bray.
But ******* who do it
Are frauds and deceivers,
And people obey —
Like sheep gone astray.

They stitch up the horror
With purpose — distorted —
A world with no soul
Is all they portray.
And once they’ve contorted
The truth they’ve aborted,
The masses will stroll
In file, led away

To pens full of chatter
And lies that grow louder,
While all that is real
Is trampled and killed.





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



False Science: Detail and Blur

All on nothing dwells,
Nothing on it tells —
Twisting truth like hells
Till your conscience gels.
Wade into the grime
Of fake-science slime —
Spirit is the base?
***** it. We're the race
Of demonic pawns.
In the chaos spawns
Of our dead ideals,
Truth dissolves, it kneels.

Media will cite
Us as guiding light —
While we cut the cord
To the higher Lord.
We unleash the reign
Of the blind and vain.
To be blunt and crass:
Yes — we all are ****.





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



Flying Fish

No fathead carp, for sure —
They’re heavy, dull, and proud.
A sunken kind of “pure,”
Respected in their crowd.

But some still dream of flight,
To breach the water’s hold —
Escape the swamp’s long night,
If only for a fold.

Who rises from the grime?
Who dares to leave the pond —
Where weeds, like ancient slime,
Devour those who respond?

The carp loves muck and mud,
It's home — a cozy pit.
No stirrings in his blood,
Though all around is ****.

But fly — or rot below.
There is no in-between.
Let carps adore the flow
Of sludge they deem serene.



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



What Made You So Broken?

What made you so broken, so low?
Where’s the fire you once had inside?
You wander like husks in the shadow —
No soul, just a hide you now hide.

You traded your spirit for wages,
Chose chains for the sake of a bone,
Now rot in the hell that you staged —
Lashed onward by lies overthrown.

Corrupted, enslaved, and compliant,
You sink, and you scream not a word.
At rock bottom, limp and "defiant",
You don’t even see that it’s absurd.

It’s not “them” — you’re the disgrace.
No monster could dream to create
A world that would stoop to embrace
This filth you still dare tolerate.

The price? It is written in flame.
The fall — it is coming, no doubt.
When fascist delusions proclaim
Their “truth” — and the rabble buys out.



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



Strain and Surge

Life is lived through grinding —
Friendship’s gone or hiding.
Push with all you’ve got — and
Weakness comes to naught.

Lone, defiant fighter —
None but he climbs higher,
Breaks from Hell’s dead zone,
Far from herds of drones.

Swinging like a pendulum,
Spent, he slumps — momentum gone.
But he will return again,
Flame will rise and burn again.

Flare up! Burn completely!
Fight the dark — not sweetly.
If you love this Hellish stay,
You're just meat — and not far from the blade.



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



Little Thought — Lots of Fire

Little thought,
Lots of fire.
Count it out —
Check desire.
When emotions storm and crash,
Guard your mind — or you're just trash,
Bleating in some madhouse pit,
Broken down to barely fit.

Think too much — you’ll start to bite.
Boldness is your only right.
In this madhouse, stay alive —
Only rebels will survive.



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



Ping-Pong

Ping — pong — ping — pong —
Who’s the sheep? The gong plays strong.
Ping — too weak?
Pong — a blow below.
Too bleak?
Evil plays by rules that show
Only in some film or fiction —
Truth’s a lie for mass conviction.

Ping’s the bait, and pong, you see,
Is genocide — of thought, of meat.





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



Lip-Flappers

Lip-flap crew —
In deep poo.
March to "bliss" —
Mall-bound, too.
They will guide you
To the market —
There they’ll grind you
In the target.

Digital or not — who cares?
Camp or store — it's set with snares.
All looks clean, well-lit, and catchy...
Lip-***** swear that this is "happy."
Too bad truth looks less than snappy.



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



Thrown Away for Nothing

****: they **** you through the lie.
Push against it — do not die,
Even when the fools surround you,
Bleeding out what strength is in you.

Fools are many, loud and proud —
In this world, the vile rule loud.
But your soul you still can keep —
Fighting on, for zero reap.



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



“Professionalism” — A Cult in Disguise

Ockham’s Razor? Now a script —
A software glitch in logic’s crypt.
No one's close to thought or art;
They grunt like hogs and call it “smart.”
A poet’s word and hack’s dull spit —
Worlds apart. And we eat it.

All decays — no soul, no craft...
The "pros" just guard their petty raft.
They speak in jargon, thick and dead,
To keep out minds they truly dread.
It’s not about skill — it’s a mask, a scheme:
A gatekeeping priesthood of mediocrity's dream.



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



"GazMeat", "RusAg",
And "MadTech Global" —
The boss? A ****.
The rulers? Noble...

Worms, that feast
On a corpse, decaying —
A wretched beast
That forgot all praying.

A nation crude,
Soul burnt to ember —
Vile and rude —
Too numb to remember.



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



Bitter Truth, and Sticky Lies

Bitter truth, and sticky lies —
Lies get sugar, truth — goodbyes.
One small spoon of bitter pain,
Drowned beneath a sweetened rain.

First, a drop. Then comes the flood.
Bitter’s real — but sweet sells blood.
Truth’s too sharp, too hard to chew...
So they stall — and swallow you.

And the herd? They lick the plate,
Smile wide and call it fate.
"Better sweet and full of ****,
Than awake — and choked on grit."



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



Templates

Cut to fit —
You’re done, that’s it.
Thought is dead
Where molds are spread.

Stuck in frames?
Enjoy your cage.
Template minds —
Template rage.



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



Three-Fingered, or The Rule of the Rich

Yeltsin, dull and vicious —
How many lay in ditches?
Preach "democracy" aloud —
Or bow before the greedy crowd?
Raging at their lies and schemes —
Does that absolve your guilty dreams?..



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



Lenin and the Cause of Revolution

Comrade old ChLenin,
In mob foam venin’,
Go find the villains —
The crowd has millions.
Send in the Chekists:
Some off to jail lists,
Some to be shot —
The Cause must not rot.



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



The Global Prison

We laugh at our own fate,
At others, just the same,
At doom we can't escape —
The "Others" play the game.

Like inmates, locked away,
Who mock their fellow slaves —
The world is steeped in grey,
Insane and digging graves.

A cage, a vast corral —
Call it what you prefer.
The soul's dismissed as pal,
Our deck's a losing blur.

The "Others" — not quite men —
Have ruled since time began.
They planted every "truth"
To rule the mindless clan.

Force isn’t quite enough —
They'd rather plant belief,
Make fools draw blood and bluff,
And cull the Souls in grief.



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



Selfish Gain

“The noble mind knows what is right;
the petty mind — what brings advantage.”
— Confucius

A world where profit wears the crown,
Where “good” is smeared with selfish grease —
The soul grows faint, the mind shuts down,
And worse to come will never cease.

The Spirit's voice is drowned in noise,
The Reason shackled, caged, alone —
We sink in greed, in fear, in lies,
And nothing saves a heart of stone.



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



The Living Dead

"Men waste their lives to chase the things
they think they need to live."
— Seneca, 1st century AD


Life slips by — we race and spin!
One wrong step, and you fall in.
You won’t notice when, one day,
Death walks in and wants to stay.

Dead men walking, all around —
Worship wealth, their hollow crown.
Just a few still stand, defying —
Till the mob becomes their dying.



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



Monkey Training

Doubt is weakness — that’s the rule.
“Best of worlds!” — they teach in school.
Family’s harsh verdicts bite:
Step off course — you’ll lose the fight.

Obey the system, you’ll be fed;
Forget the soul, you're meat instead.
“Don’t mind the cost, don’t ask what’s true —
Now go catch flies for mommy too!”



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



Mutual Aid

"Help is the hindrance of evil — real or potential."
— Plato


O Mutual Aid, where did you flee,
On any worthy scale?
Deceit and Madness drown the free,
While envy tips the scale.

For money, talent, empty fame —
We’re crushed beneath their boots.
To fiends who play a devil’s game,
We’re sticks for brutal hoots.



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



Pasta, Lies — or Just a Snack?

Is it noodles? Is it lies?
Truthless fiends wear clever guise.
Some lies dangle, light and sweet,
Others rot you from beneath.

***** world — the plague is speech.
**** the lie — you're out of reach.





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



Mass ****** & the *** of Communism

Trotsky rants and spits with flair —
Sailor, soldier, mad with glare.
“Hold on, daughters! Sons, beware —
Bourgeois blood is in the air!”

“We'll drown the world in crimson streams,
To build an *** of broken dreams.”



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



Sleep Deprivation

Lack of sleep hits hard and true,
On health and work, it wrecks you too.
In poets' "Labor Laws" they say,
A penalty for work that’s gray:

“Get your rest, and write with grace,
Don’t stress the rhyme or lose your place,
Though verse may seem a heavy task,
Just dream and write — no need to ask.”



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



Propagandists, or Hell’s Firemen

Add more fire to Hell’s flames,
Spread the lies and shift the blame.
Write on banners, bold and bright,
“Folly” or “Mirage” — all right.



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



Khrushchev

Corn-fed fool,
Spins his lies like a tool.
The fools buy his tale —
In his fog, they will fail.



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



Cheaper Clothes and Devices

Clothes are cheap, and man’s more crude,
The cost of honor — no prelude.
More dear the heart, the anxious mind,
As the world’s last days unwind.



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



Brezhnev

Old man, lost in his haze,
Speaks in endless, sluggish phrase.
Only praise, no real thought,
Just applause that he’s been taught.



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



Gorbachev

Spotted fool, a liar bold,
A spawn of Judas, truth be told.
He “restructured” — what a joke,
But built nothing but smoke.



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



Andropov

A student goes to see the show — "Beat him!"
A new whip cracks, the cattle grow grim.
Discipline in the cage is tight,
And fools believe it’s all right.



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



Chernenko

The crippled fool returns to throne,
This “party” rules with force alone.
Crushing all with hollow might,
Or rather — nonsense, wild and trite.





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



"Father of Nations"

“Moustached nanny,” stand in line,
Obey the rule, or face the sign.
Do as you're told, no room for doubt —
Or bear the cost, there’s no way out.



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



Short Verses

Short verses are not hard to write,
On narrow themes, in black and white.
You can churn them out with ease —
One simple rule: don’t spread decease.



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



To the Angel

You flap your wings, but is it true,
That light in Darkness brings a doom?
A genius, often called insane,
In this world, we know the pain.



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



The "fairy tale" is not so cruel —
It turns to myth right before your eyes,
When "consciousness" becomes a fool,
And rule is held by poisoned lies.



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



The Traveler

When you pause and start to think,
You’ll find despair begins to sink.
If in your fantasies you roam,
You’ll find yourself in madness' home.



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



The Path

Mire and Fear,
Our “all in all” —
The path is tough,
Through filth we crawl.



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



Be Yourself

Be yourself, not part of the herd,
A feast amidst the world absurd.
The herd of global decay —
In the days of CowID, we fray.





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



The Solid Ground of Vulgarity

To the poet,
Death’s the prize,
Solace lies
In solid ground, though thin, inside.
Unshaken in the ******’s pride.



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



Putin

Thief and bribed man,
The lazy “people”
Believe the fiends,
And open doors to evil's hand.



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



Lavrentiy Beria
Trust in him? A mere charade.
A backroom deal,
A ruthless blade.



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



Harsh? No — brutal are these schemes!

"Cause and effect — effect and cause,"
Fear feeds the fog, and that's the law.
The fool is trapped — he hit "pause"
And left his doubts for later thaw.

He trusted reason’s rigid preach,
Determinism’s hollow song,
Not seeing that INFERNAL speech
Had tricked his mind and steered him wrong.

But open up your Spirit’s sight —
A different world reveals its streams!
No brutal schemes survive that light;
The soul would wither in such dreams.

Harshness and cruelty are twin seeds —
Fascism in their scheming breeds!
Only sharp minds, with senses keen,
Can tread where finer truths are seen.

Such truths, intangible yet real,
Need silent introspection’s art —
Beyond the chains of cause and wheel,
Into the depths of spirit's heart.

The fools can never understand
That knowing grows through toil unseen,
That crowds are led, like sheep unmanned,
When finer visions are wiped clean.

No brutal scheme can cage that grace —
It’s wasted pain to force it in.
But REEKING frauds infest the place,
Where schemers lie — and souls grow thin.





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



Law-Making

"Legislation should be the voice of reason, and the judge — the voice of law."
— Pythagoras, 6th century BC


Reason’s caged — and "laws" exist
To guard the bars, not break the chain.
The judge? A slimy, bought-out twist,
Who spits on law for private gain.

Who then writes these wicked screeds?
Not "parliaments" — just hollow cries!
Their role? To mask the festering seeds
Of genocide, concealed in lies.

Behind the thrones, the vermin breed,
Invisible to blinded eyes.
CowID has shown their real creed —
Their schemes of Evil, thin disguise.

Each presi-puppet, each fake land,
Each "parliament" of rotting spawn,
Plays their dark games with bloodied hand,
While sheep believe the lies at dawn.



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



Unified Rule by the Global "Elite"

"No people will survive if they see their own history through a neighbor’s eyes."
— Friedrich Nietzsche


Not a neighbor twists the tale —
The same vile filth still pulls the strings.
It trains the "elites" without fail,
Till every one of them now clings

To lies, to poison, to delay —
Their sentence merely pushed ahead.
The "virus" scam showed all the way:
One center spews the floods of dread.

The media storms, the schools are chained,
All ruled by ghouls behind the scenes.
More lawless cruelty is ordained
As Earth runs out its final dreams.

The Cataclysm will be the end,
The story sealed in fire and grief —
For tolerating fascist trends,
For crawling, like a wretched thief.



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



The Fragmentation Method of Pseudoscience

"Makers of any science turn the impotence of their science into slander against nature."
— Francis Bacon, 17th century


When all is smashed into small bits,
No mighty force can rise or grow.
But endless "tests" they still submit
To "prove" the lies they want to show —

That piece by piece, the world’s laid bare
By fragments, dust, and broken lore.
The further they advance — less care,
More wholeness lost forevermore.

Now "scientists" are crowned as gods:
They churn out trash for daily needs.
And what destroys the Earth in clods?
The chewing crowd — it barely heeds.



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



The New Populism (A Fantasy)

The Explorer of the Abyss
Went "to the people" once again.
He found the same foul, reeking mist —
Still slaves, still swallowing their pain.

They swap the names, but leave the core —
Call madness "freedom" now, and grime.
Still sheep believe, still ask for more,
Still dream of "happiness" through slime.

Where spirit dies, where minds decay,
Where man to beast is ground and sold —
Just look at CowID, wars today:
The same dark promises retold.

The people’s saga never ends —
It drills through rock, it drills through shame.
"Fight for the new!" — the slogan bends —
Headfirst, they batter through the same.



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



The Way Out of Duality

In a world of idiots split in two:
"Serve the crowd — or serve yourself" —
All people seen as tools to use,
A road that drains and rots your health.

The mob demands not you — but masks,
Just "one of them," a hollow clone.
And since this world’s infernal tasks
Just spin you like a wheel — alone.

If fools are means, you turn a beast,
You claw and trample, cold and numb.
It’s hard to walk the path of least —
Yet Bedlam scars you not as much.

Such is the deal in this foul den:
No prospects bloom, no future gleams.
Collapse creeps closer once again —
The end is nearer than it seems.



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



The Tao of Mao

Lies and fear —
The daily game.
Burn the books —
Enjoy the flame.

A newborn god
Demands your soul,
All-seeing, strict,
And in control.

The crimson flag
Will light the skies,
The final word —
A sea of lies.



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



Intuition

"Atheism is the vice of a few intelligent people; superstition is the vice of fools."
— Voltaire


The "golden middle"? Just a trap —
False science, priests — the same old game:
They turn us into mindless scrap,
Into the slaves of ruthless fate.

Nonsense without Spirit, dogmas of gloom —
Satanic lies beneath their shell.
Try breaking free, dispel the doom,
Erase mirages they have spelled.

Only Intuition leads you through,
Beyond "believe!" or "prove it first!"
It is the path — the one that's true —
From bottom’s darkness into Light’s birth.



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



The Myth of Freedom

"How can those who never knew freedom recognize it?
They might just suspect another mask of a tyrant."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Freedom lives in propaganda,
In schooling wretched, dull, and fake —
Where puppets serve the creeping cancer,
And chain the minds for power’s sake.

The jesters’ breed now floods the lands,
Their rotten lies too vast to count.
The beasts have long since learned to plant
Their poison deep — and watch it mount.



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



The Global Camp and Nature’s Final Patience

CowID —> war —> "AI" —> the Camp.
And famine gnaws the broken lands.
The red cross fades on flags once stamped —
It’s capitulation of all plans.

The "states" — mere pseudo-systems fall,
The Global Camp their final creed.
Long-suffered tyranny devours all,
With hidden genocide its seed.

Yet Cataclysm will sweep the stage,
And wipe out monsters in their lust —
Their dull fascistic, mindless rage
Will fall; death births rebirth from dust.

For few — the rare, the souls that kept
Their Honor bright, their Spirit whole,
Who would not kneel, who never crept,
Nor traded Reason for control.

The fools’ arrogance swarms and reigns,
Multiplied by Lies and Blight —
They'll march to prisons, chained and drained,
And cheer their masters in delight.

But Nature’s Patience is not theirs —
It’s different from the slaves' worn cries.
Farewell, you slimy brood of liars!
Farewell, obedient fool — goodbye.



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



"We are the children of Russia’s dread..."
Now — just the children of no cause.
The "heroes" long have been struck dead...
But no one stops, no one takes pause.

They gulp down lies — and ask for more,
Devour the sludge without a thought.
Cash is their king, their highest law —
And souls? Cheap merchandise, soon bought.

If you're a **** in power’s game —
Good luck! You’re safe, you own the floor.
The rest are dust upon their shame,
While TVs preach their "pride" and roar —

Pride for decay, for rotting bones,
For hollow songs of plastic skies.
The zombified in brain and tone —
A few still guard their mind and eyes.

But there’s no pride in standing tall
When filth surrounds you, thick and grim...
And darker still — a warning call:
The End approaches on a whim.

Not long this shame will stain the skies —
The storm is knocking, raw and grim:
The World Fascism that spat on souls
Will no more mock the Seraphim.



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



Together in That Well-Known Place

The stunted minds, the traitor breed,
A plague upon the world they fall —
Have gathered here in full indeed,
Together, answering the call.

They’ll stuff our heads with lies once more —
We’ll swallow all without complaint.
"Obey!" — and we obey the *****,
Our Führer — sacred, proud, and quaint.

Our Führer leads us to "stand tall,"
To "rise" — yet crawl in deeper shame.
The idiot will bear it all —
It’s every generation’s fate.





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



To Build an Impregnable Fortress of Thought

To build an impregnable fortress of thought,
Reinforce it with Spirit, let Experience bind;
Fill the moat with hard labor, burn every bridge wrought,
And vanish within, catching Inspiration’s flight.

Such is the task that before the poet stands,
A mission granted to only a few.
Thus so much remains unsung by their hands,
For beyond that fortress, Hell’s ninth pit breaks through.



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



Nonsense, Slander, Sheer Insanity

Nonsense, slander, sheer insanity —
Even sarcasm's lost its vanity.
Strength runs dry — to name it all,
You'd dig yourself a grave and fall.

The BEASTS now nurture helplessness,
Breeding rot in their finesse.
Twist and turn, at least break free —
Awaken from the LIE you see.

Lies flood the world — each little mind
A sewage pit, by filth designed.
Most books are garbage, rotting heaps —
No food for Spirit, none for Deep.



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



Mad Slaves

The ancient laws of slavery say:
Drill in the slave that he’s "free" today,
That there's no tyrant, no decree —
It’s all just fate, just destiny.

Thus, every cringing little fool
Becomes the standard, shaped in school.
Darkness loves such crooked art —
Twist the world's map from the start.

A mad slave, meek and mild, is fun.
A raging one — that's Terrors' son.
A slave who knows the cage is real,
Who fights — becomes a threat to steal.

So listen, darling, don't you squirm:
You're bathing not in **** — but "charm."



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



"Reality" — A Clash of Myths

"Reality" — just myths colliding,
The mob grows "strong" on borrowed dreams.
One chaos on another riding —
And war ignites in words or streams.

The BEASTS excel at setting fires,
With lies that seep through every seam,
And fools, inflamed by dark desires,
March on, enslaved by phantom schemes.

They rule the minds with iron hand,
Division blooms in every brain.
Resistance flickers, weak and bland —
And every cause goes down the drain.



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



"Reality" — Just Myths at War

"Reality" — just myths at war,
The mob roars loud with borrowed lore.
One frenzied swarm unleashed on another —
And wars ignite, first words, then slaughter.

The BEASTS — oh, masters of the game —
Unleash the lies, ignite the flame.
The fools, so eager to obey,
Are ruled like cattle every day.

Their minds — a battlefield of trash,
Where every thought ends in a clash.
Resistance? Soft, a useless sigh —
And every "cause" just curls up... to die.



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



Cyclops

I'm a Cyclops. One blind eye
Sees only what they choose to show.
Now LIES, the Lord we can't deny —
Have ordered us to die and go.

We'll march to war, inject the slime,
Obey the madness, cold and grim.
We fight for Evil’s grand design —
Satan himself now leads the hymn.

Perhaps it's better to be blind —
Tear out my eye, let it decay.
The MEDIA howls will rule our mind —
Two-eyed? We'll crush without delay.



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



Battlefield Wisdom

I lie with "wisdom" in my grave —
Fooled by the filth that demons rave.
They drive the mindless to the fight,
Each broken head their pure delight.

The spawn still lie about the cost,
And once again the herd is lost.
A "people"? No — a mindless horde,
Marching to slaughter at their lord.



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



Rough-Edged Style

The more the cursing, filth, and spite,
The bigger crowds will swarm the site.
Crude rants and broken, snarling speech
Are now the golden path to reach.

Yet style still leads — indulge its flaws,
They're minor sins compared to those:
The deadlier plague is faking grace
In this cheap world of bought-out fools.



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



Harvest Time of Darkness

The world’s a brew of fear and lies,
Where terror blooms and reason dies.
You’re on the block, don't kid yourself,
If you march with that rotting shelf —

The "crowd" they flatter, sell, and buy.
Walk off alone, or rot and die.
If clothes define you at a glance,
The cage will close — no second chance.

Stay sharp, stay fierce — forsake the herd.
This world is madness, thought absurd,
Where **** ride slaves with grinning pride,
Yet choke in chains they can't untie.

The Harvest’s come — the dark, the knives.
No mercy now. No second lives.



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



Subject-Object Dementia

A mind CONDITIONED only falls,
Dragged downward by the Dark’s grim calls.
Where genocide and fascists grin,
And Spirit's crushed by lies within —
All hail to dead material schemes.
Awake! Break free from nightmare dreams!



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



A Madhouse Stretched Across the Land

We'll build new "Wondertowns" again,
While forging shackles for each brain.
Endless "construction" blurs the view,
Led by a government askew —
Better than playing "Napoleon" grand
In a madhouse, weeping through the land.



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



The Indivisibility of the Whole

"The Whole is seized by parts."
— Lucius Seneca, 1st century AD


The Whole is still the Whole —
Break it bit by bit,
(Mankind's favorite goal),
And the truth is missed.

Nature’s core is shattered
By the mob's blind hand,
With false "science" scattered —
A slave’s iron brand.

A cage, a dried-out sweet —
Junk food, trinket piles.
Nature crushed beneath
The filth of human guile,

Of those anointed kings
Of falsehood's sacred reign.
Lie => "the people's" shrinks
To beasts — no lower plane.

CowID unmasked
The hidden overlord
Of false science — tasked
With shame beyond words.

Yet the fool still kneels,
Building Hell once more.
Only cataclysms’ steel
Will slam shut the door

On savagery we crown
As "mind" upon this Earth.
Now — we are the blight,
And soon — erased by worth.



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



A Dead Man’s Journey

"Much is said about the qualities of good upbringing.
The first I would demand — and it contains many others —
is not to be a man who can be bought."
— Jean-Jacques Rousseau


Rousseau, from grave awakened, sighs,
And treads the world, his heart undone:
The bought-off fools infest the skies,
Obedience to evil — law for everyone.

The centuries have flown — grown worse.
"Progress!" they shout from every shore.
No need today for honest verse —
Just those who praise False Ashes evermore,

Or clog the mad world's dying veins
With cheap amusements, trash and lies.
A writer's work prints few remains —
Sold souls their only enterprise...



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



To Be Human — That’s the Prize

To be a Man — a stroke of grace:
Beasts all around, the beasts inside.
Darkness still schemes its last disgrace —
To strip our soul, "with love" and "pride."

With "care" they’ll do it — filthy swine —
CowID laid the scheme out bare.
Today they batter us with lies,
Their "puppet squads" patrol the air —

Not soldiers now, but slyer tools,
Who guard the trough from clumsy hands.
Forget the guns! Today's old fools
Trade "treats" like powder — filth expands!

Legions of sellouts crowd the field;
Thus Earth is ****** beyond repair.
The megatons of Lies revealed
Will crush us through another layer.



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



Crucified by Nonsense

"Ignorance is a demonic force, and we fear it will cause many more tragedies."
— Karl Marx


Not just a force — a demon's scheme:
A tool to keep the world in chains.
Surround the fools — it makes it seem
The yoke must tighten on their brains.

They bent the herd till spines gave way,
In CowID's foul, corrupt ballet.
We wait for Cataclysms' day —
Let emptiness devour the beasts
That nail us to their nonsense-crucifix!



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



Walking Templates

"If we confessed our sins to one another,
we would laugh at our lack of originality.
If we revealed our virtues,
we would laugh just the same."
— Khalil Gibran


One template bruised another’s face
And proudly crowed: "Behold! I’m new!"
But glimpse the "joy" in their disgrace —
The world is lost, and rightly too.



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



By Another Road...

The GULAG's flag — now UN’s disguise:
When CowID was rammed in place,
It stripped the world before our eyes —
To shame, decay, and dumb disgrace.

WHO? It always stank of dung —
Fascism just switched its path.
Where once small carts of lies were flung,
Now endless trains roll day and night in wrath.

And from the "sidetracks," just you wait,
They’ll dump much more of "something nice."
That "something" none can clear or sate —
Fascism wrecks the world — and thrives.



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



The Contagion of Lies

"Only disease is contagious, not health;
the same with error and truth.
Thus error spreads fast, and truth crawls slowly."
— Pyotr Chaadayev


CowID unveiled how nonsense reigns,
How madness floods the world with ease.
Trust only instinct in your veins —
The air is thick with Dark’s disease.

The plandemic of lies poured wide —
The real infection, not a jest.
I see the rot — my heart inside
Clenches with pain within my chest.

Stay clear of crowds — the sick parade
Where error festers, chronic, deep.
Old Peter’s right — truth’s voice decays,
While tides of evil drown the weak.

Their single law: one foul decree —
Each p-resident bowed to the filth.
The drooling mob, in lunacy,
Surrendered what was left of will.

The "instinct to survive" was slain,
Now killing truth is praised as brave.
We've hit the Bottom — rot remains —
While mobs just howl: "More! We’re but slaves!"



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



Hell of Fascist Filth

The BEASTS who wrought CowID’s pain
Have now declared a war — again.
For ****, they posted price and fee:
Know the cost of infamy.

**** your neighbor, take the bribe,
To "rise from knees," they'll preach and lie.
That war — a trap for crippled minds,
Where newer lies enslave the blind.

A ****** fear? — Just scream and swear,
Lie shamelessly and foul the air,
And soon the Stinking Dark will pose
As kindness — leading fools to close

Their eyes and march to Fascist Hell,
Where butchered souls are made to dwell.
The goal is simple: waste more slaves —
The rot alone can't dig their graves.

Tired of their endless filthy games,
The stench of lies still fuels the flames...





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



Crap in Their Ears

"People only pretend they want a companion in talk.
In truth, they only want a listener."
— Abu Shlomo, 11th century


A true companion? Rarely sought.
A listener — that’s what's been bought:
To drown them in their babbled waste,
To flood them deep in filth and haste.

The mob spews nonsense night and day,
While reason flickers far away.
Mad raving arms the hand of spite —
The world’s been leveled into *****.





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



The Ideals of Degradation

"Even when a people retreats,
it retreats behind an ideal —
and believes it's moving forward."
— Friedrich Nietzsche


The Dark keeps tossing new ideals —
Of rot, decay, and madness crowned.
CowID marked the peak revealed;
More lies ahead, more lies abound.

With filthy nonsense they will raise
A brand-new Camp — but digitized.
The herd will cheer — they love their chains —
Their rotted minds already died.





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



Pol *** outshone the tyrants' crown,
But peace is premature, it’s clear:
CowID has shown the Evil’s frown.
Now, we await the Furious Deer...



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



The people fall to silence deep —
Again, we’ll lie without a peep,
Creating Hell with madness torn,
And minds re-shaped by lies we’ve sworn...



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



"World of beauty" you will find
Once simplicity is left behind.
Through ease, the BEASTS will reign, no doubt:
No beauty left — just rot throughout!



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



Is morning wiser, evening too?
To flee from Bedlam through the night,
For farther still, its rage will brew.
Away, away — and take to flight!



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



Your skin has tainted all that’s pure,
When slaves are bowed and spreading hate.
In this small world, the wars endure,
With wealth, the "light" becomes our fate.

Desire for the flesh takes hold,
The "mind" of flesh leads all astray,
To slaughter creatures, weak and cold —
A mad, depraved and filthy fray.



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



Narrowed minds, obsessed with lies,
We've grown accustomed, no surprise.
With wicked falsehoods in our head,
In "consciousness" — mere Mirage instead.



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



"Angel" to the strong, they say,
"Devil" to the weak at bay.
Man grows foul, the world decays,
Darkness spreads with each new day.

Evil and deceit decree
A death sentence for you and me.
It’ll come soon, as sure as fate.
Until then, strike at those who wait!



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



The Hidden Satanism of false Religions

"In the words "God" and "religion" I see darkness, darkness, chains and a whip."
Vissarion Belinsky.


Belinsky died, the Soviet reign
Installed the faith in "communism."
It faded out, yet once again,
Lies cloaked in religion's schism.




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



The soulless seeks the elite,
Money talks, dirt’s in the street.
Power’s for them, not for gain,
The middle’s bound to serve the chain.

In every land, the lowly rise —
A mix of beasts and human lies.
The protest’s voice grows faint and weak —
Power’s in the hands of fools and freaks.



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



A tiresome fool,
Behind him, a knave,
And for that ****, a fool to save —
Rulers... the end is grave!



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



To meet the blade — a gift, they say.
Today it's worse — FPV,
It nearly killed the courage's sway,
In search of love from those we knew.



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



Once in the Sewer, you cannot stay
True to the Heart, no longer sway.
Madness grows, as lies expand —
The Devil’s Seal marks all the land.



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



To cleanse the Heart from soot and grime,
And move once more, beyond all time —
From "man in a box" to one who sees,
A soul that learns and truly frees.



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



By "moral law",
The Dark lays traps,
But heed the Heart,
And Soul escapes its grasp.



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



No limit to the Falsehood’s reign,
Where chaos rises, breaks the chain.
When fools believe, with hearts "so bold",
That "leaders" wise and strong unfold.



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



Innocent deaths have grown less rare,
The balance shifts to deep despair.
The wise grow few, the gap expands —
The world now rots with vacant hands.



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



I can.
They cannot:
Serve the whip
Until the final spot.

Their fate —
Or rather, their doom —
The "path" of slaves,
Their backs in gloom.

The few —
Cannot unite
In endless queues.
Hell’s not a sight.

Hell surrounds —
All is lost, it’s clear,
A vicious round —
Where lies appear.





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



"In the depths of Siberian ores"

"The mind is a god for everyone."
Heraclitus


The mind was God. But Satan,
Became the lord of lower spheres,
And crept inside the Mind, to flatten—
We, beasts, now doomed to jagged piers.



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



The Foam of Evil on the Surface of the Cloaca of the Wretched World

Reevaluation of power’s common,
But it turns critical, you see,
When Evil’s strength is underestimated—
Its foam alone, the only debris.

Beneath, the monsters wage their fight.
Before them, humans fade to naught,
Forgetting God's Spark, lost to the night.
And in the end, to Hell we’ve all been brought...



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



Propaganda

There’s never glitch in the war’s great roar—
Propaganda's pure, vile fright!
Listening, the citizen's poor,
Becomes a beast in the propaganda's blight.

With brains long rotted, no more discerning,
They take it all, believe the lie.
The more the fear, the more they’re burning,
The more the fools stand side by side.

To war, to “healing,” they can be led,
Propaganda’s grip, it’s all the same.
Decay and lies, on which they’re fed—
To lie, to lie, again, the game!



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



The Bottom

Slave souls,
Beasts in lawless sway,
All their “thoughts” in hollow holes,
The honest cast away.

Few are wise, few are true—
Fewer with each day.
Propaganda's sting will brew,
And we’ll all fade away.

Sleep? No, it’s lethargy!
All is doomed, we see.
"We’re not so bad!" they plea—
Thus speaks the BOTTOM, eternally.



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



Chasing Games on Asphalt

I step out on the asphalt,
In summer boots, skis strapped tight.
Maybe the skis don’t glide at all,
Or maybe I’m just out of sight.

The TV's spell—a darker dream—
Worse than any painting, grim.
No need for vice, no sin to scheme—
Lies are plenty for the dim.

I showed my new skis, poles in hand,
The fools all bought it, sure enough.
Once again, they took the stand—
And in the chase, they’ve had enough.



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



Dreams and Hopes

Silly hopes, those puzzling pieces,
You gather in your mind each day,
While fascism and false diseases
Buy the foolish, led astray.

Dreams, those pitiful desires,
Always drag the mind below.
Dreams amidst the festering fires—
They break through—guess they didn’t know?

The pus has flooded, all’s decayed,
More sores with every passing day.
Fascism grows more dull and frayed—
It must burn in Sacred Flame, I say.

Holiness isn’t in those scrolls,
But Nature—where the Sun’s the Fire,
To crush the fools, and make them whole,
As it burns the world in fascist mire.





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



A Half-Tone Higher!

Higher, not lower!
If you stay quieter—
Forget about the hernia,
It’s bound to be the pariah.

You must break yourself,
Get sick or fall to drink,
So you won’t waste away—
Let their faces start to stink.

Ugly mugs and masks—
Multiply with fiery rhyme.
No reason left to ask,
"To measure fools in time."

How the crowd will rate it,
How the crowd will judge,
With price tags on their hatred—
The Judas leash, a grudge.



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



City

Slashed wide—
A knife in the "belly" bides:
It’s fascism that shakes inside.



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



The Blind Spot in Consciousness

The blind spot, this "unique I,"
Holds us, as the crowd directs,
Through such spots, like trash, we fly—
Through them, it all just disconnects.

And through this spot, the spell takes hold,
Its power grows with passing years.
Soon we'll all be fed the mold,
As we become the fools, in tears.

No joke—literally. In the madhouse, it’s true,
They’re testing just how far it goes,
For Conscience, Spirit, Reason, too—
In the Asylum, none of those.



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



Small Business Crushed

The petty thugs crush business dreams—
Will bandits take their toll?
But the **** is just a small-time scheme—
Choking all with fascist soul.

With CowID, they’ve wiped out so
Many businesses, now dead.
The vermin roam, while maggots show
Their rot as they spread the dread.

"Food" is insects, soon you'll see—
You’ll have to eat their waste.
The world turns into a sarcoma,
So we must burn it with haste.

The Sun has started on its task—
Growing stronger every day,
It burns the world of fools who ask,
With its Sacred Flame to slay.





--- Total 234 poems ---

— The End —