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judy smith Nov 2016
While Walmart and Best Buy attract Black Friday shoppers nationwide, Fayetteville’s local businesses offer unique deals throughout the week on boutique clothing, gift-worthy items, outdoor accessories and Razorback apparel.

Southern Trend

Sale rack prices will range $5-15, and customers whose total reaches $50 or more will receive a free tote bag. Southern Trend clothing company offers Razorback apparel for men and women and other casual clothing that depicts Southern living. Their headquarters and closest retail location is at 614 W. Sycamore St.

The Mustache Goods & Wears

Saturday following Thanksgiving, The Mustache Goods & Wears will participate in Small Business Day with special deals throughout the store. The Mustache sells gift and novelty items and clothing, striving “to carry products you don’t normally find in Northwest Arkansas,” according to their website. The store is located on the Downtown Square at 15 S. Block Ave.

Lauren James

All regularly-priced items will be 25 percent off, and planners will be given to customers with a purchase of $65 or more. The Lauren James brand includes fashionable dresses, a line of women’s collegiate clothing, and other clothing and accessories with a Southern flare. One of three corporate locations in the country, the Fayetteville Lauren James shop is located just off campus at 623 W. Dickson St.

Houndstooth Clothing Company

Now until Thanksgiving day, all long sleeve and short sleeve tops are buy two, get one free with Black Friday deals to follow. The brand includes Razorback apparel and other casual clothing with outdoorsy designs. Houndstooth Clothing Company began in Fayetteville and now sells merchandise online and in stores across the state. The closest location to campus is just off the Downtown Square at 29 N. Block Ave.

Pack Rat Outdoor Center

Pack Rat Outdoor Center will sell featured Black Friday merchandise from The North Face brand. Saturday, Nov. 26, shoppers may enjoy food and drink at Customer Appreciation Day. Pack Rat sells clothing and accessories fit for an active and outdoor lifestyle, with products such as hammocks and hiking boots sold at their 209 West Sunbridge store.

Riffraff

All merchandise, except nine specially marked-down items, will be priced 30 percent off the original price tag during Black Friday, 8 a.m. until 1 p.m. Just off the Downtown Square at 19 S. Block Ave., Riffraff boutique sells women’s clothes fit for everyday life to holiday parties, as well as gift and novelty items.

Campus Bookstore

The Campus Bookstore sells new and used textbooks, school supplies, Razorback gear and clothing. The store is located just outside of campus at 624 W. Dickson St.

Alumni Hall

Alumni Hall, located at 3417 N. College Ave., sells various brands of Razorback apparel as well as Razorback accessories and gifts.

Maude

Established in 2007 in Fayetteville, the racks of Maude boutique feature women’s clothing from sweaters to skirts with shoes and accessories also for sale. Maude in Fayetteville is located at 706 N. College Ave.

Savoir-Faire

A boutique local to Fayetteville at 1 E. Center St., Savoir-Faire offers casual and dressy clothing and accessories, including holiday fashions sold online and in-store.

Gatsby’s Boutique

Boasting a ‘20s fashion influence, Gatsby’s Boutique sells clothes and accessories at their shop located at 609 W. Dickson St.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses
Radwan Jun 2010
I am a riffraff-er
A child and a *******
angry as a soldier, yet silent.
A quack, making no progress
and refusing to ever confess
arrogant and stuck in my ways
My brain aches from all my dilemmas
and my heart screams with a passion, without a subject.
I have wandered and I have waited
I have tried and I have failed.
I've hated and shunned
Judged and mocked
All around me an illusion crumbled
Naked, I had been standing
Blazed by the sun's light
and taunted by the day's wind.
Silent still I stand.
An observer, distant and impartial.
I never participate
unseen and unfelt, I linger
Barely beyond the borders.
I am a quack, glorifying my dreams
and turning my back to the scenes.
My world crashes
My form falters
My mind surrenders
But my pen still tingles
and my desire still crackles.
Behind my words I hide
My mind's eye, I blind
Thinking I must never give in
Thinking my star has risen
Struggling with the void, I have grown
learning nothing, keeping nothing
and helping no one.
Crazed by an ego that's crying for help.
It will not rest until it is appeased
its hunger sated and its thirst quenched.
And my brain will continue refusing to focus or concentrate until I rest.
What am I talking about here ?
Does it have a purpose ?
or is it just more mindless blabbering ? Pen abuse ?
No, no coke for me brother, I do ink now.
Pen abuse, riffraff, arrogance
Nat Lipstadt Dec 2024
one more critique, too slowly realized,
no poet him,
unamong those who sea the world,
in metaphors and auroras,
in skeins and skins,
from brown Earth to Red planets,
worthy word weavers of
tapestries, imaginary life forms extant,
green skies, bluing floral gifts,

+that jes that ain’t me

nah,
more a working wordsmith,
telling stories in a workmanlike fashion,
medieval scribing, copying downloads of
what might mine eyes seen, believed,
recorded for all for
your accompanied precision tooled pleasuring

no pretensions left, the doc reports,
I’m a technically a heart failure, and
laugh~reply, that’s no surprise to me,
in matters of the heart,
luck ain’t been
overly kind,
(till recently)
and you can flunk that
test just so many times, before you no
longer get~set sir-prised, just reprised,
and that’s when you get clarity,
you “don’t think twice, its alright,”
plug those words in a nice combo
ain’t exacting poetry, but I don’t mind,
you can only do,
for what you got an affinity,
that’s not sinning if light/life is dimming,
and that’s got to be satirical, ironically, both entirely dissing and satisfying

anyhoo, it’s just about 646am,
coffee is made but not yet served,
the kitchen needs some fussing and tending,
bring in the paper,
dishwasher and dryer overnight whining,
pleading for closure finale
from their *** night time
**** wet escapades
THEN
organize them riffraff,
those upending draft detritus that
constitutes a working man’s load, and

a wordsmith,
lights the forge,
forges words,
foraging
in the unlikeliest
everywhere
to turn a phrase from a
dark brazen haze taken,
into a semi-polished stone blade
sculpted by,
heat and hammer and

always tears

maybe a miracle,
into useful shapes, and hope some
tourists stop by, thinking that if framed,
it might look good in their kitchen,
and give me 5 bucks even tho that
don’t keep one in smokes no more

yup, that’s about it,
says the wordsmithy,
no mystery ‘cept them
that one can let mmm,
egotistical notions fool
ya for far too long…
and that’s
entire your own fault…

l
and yet, always,
always and yet,


gave the best of me,
met my own standard,
and that!
is all any poet can say
when employing
only
two prime cooling colors,
black in white,
with the oddity of a
clashing but dashing
modicum elicited,
but not solicited,
pride and modesty
early morn Dec 9-10
Meg B Aug 2015
The breath in my chest
Scraped against my esophagus
As the preacher read his
Introductory scripture and a
Mourning loved one doubled over
In grief and despair as she
Struggled to bid adieu;

The hairs on the back of my neck
Stood horizontally and
Perpendicular to my concrete floor
As I heard the sweetest soul I know
Choke on her sobs on the
Other end of the receiver,
As she struggled to understand
The onset of pain and finality
She was forced to swallow;

My stomach hollowed and
Acidic anger bubbled and carved out my insides
When I read my best friend's texts,
A series of words
That seemed too cruel to be true,
A riffraff of  interrogatories and
Unsettled punctuation,
Summarizing the momentary suspension
Of her resiliency
As she processed the
Breaking of her heart;

And now I lay motionless
On my mattress,
Hot tears masquerading behind my
Tightened eyelids as I writhe in
Empathy,
Alone in my incapability
To end the pains and the woes of
Those around me,
As my body thus must then grieve
For me.
Raindrops pelted the earth in fiery spill
Clouds drove away the submissive daylight
Warmth tamely surrendered to chill
It was then those eyes came into my sight!

A bare bodied riffraff hardly into his teen
He looked an absurd picture in a silent film
Standing there exposed in streaming skin
One shivering model playing rain’s victim!

But this wasn’t the way I thought like then
Myself a kid returning from school
Rain-coated and knowing no pain
Living secured under parental rule!

I just felt then something was not right
He shouldn’t have been left in such a state
A cold or a rain fever catch he might
The kid who could have been my mate!

Your mom and dad, I asked, where’re they
Leaving you in the rain to roam
Should have been indoors on such a day
And not stray off from home!

The boy it seemed couldn’t surmise
For long deprived of kindness
Filled up his eyes in sheer surprise
But soon grew saddened his face!


*No dad no mom I’ve never known them
Known only to play in the rain
Live in the street without a name
Orphaned too long for any pain!
Ysa Pa May 2015
TO
To fake a smile
To make things seem worth while
To force a laugh
To blend with the riffraff
To act so tough
To bluff
To be carefree
To seem happy
To motivate
To hold on and wait
To fight
To shed some light
To put on a mask
To remove the casque
To keep this act going
To keep on moving
To hold back the tears
To face the fears
To leap
To dive deep
To wander
To let things squander
To get lost
To prevent an emotional exhaust
To put aside the memories that we shared
To add more words
To keep acting like a third


ARE ALL SO EASY

Than...

To accept
And
To forget...

That you and I
USED to be a *we
Terry O'Leary Apr 2021
Like God amassing gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh,
vain potentates, possessed by pride that riches will confer,
depleted pillaged villages in pagan days of old…
With ******* privileges, their fortunes were foretold.

In feudal times, chaste clerics, cloaked, wrapped rings around the mind
with hymns of magic, mystic myths and figurines enshrined,
while blessing bayonet-like blades that mutilate and maim…
With ******* privileges, believers bore no blame.

In search of caramel colonies, some sailors set their sails
to conquer puppet provinces, for sovereignty prevails,
purloining wicked treasure troves which others claimed their own…
With ******* privileges, such sins sustained the throne.

Well, nowadays the quest proceeds, this time for ebon oil,
so peoples once again are caught within the serpent’s coil
and, pierced by fangs of greed and lust, death yields benign escape…
With ******* privileges, you’re free to rip and ****.

We wave the flags and beat the drums and often kneel to pray
to glorify our victories, bold, that happen far away;
but none salute the severed souls impaled upon a pike…
With ******* privileges, the riffraff look alike.

One day the moguls won’t agree on how to slice the pie;
they’ll spit and spat and, ***-for-tat, atomic barbs will fly -
but when the button’s finally pressed, they too will grace the heap…
With ******* privileges, the hole that’s hewn is deep.
Just a few lines for my mate M.'s amusement and diversion  
; - )
Soaked him a shower
From the roadside balcony
For him the day’s better hour
Turned bitter agony!

I told you earlier too
You need some homework to do
Else prove yourself the fool
By others’ rule!

To brim to full his misery’s cup
The man next to him was looking up
Just in time moved away
Never believed in the look straight say!

Adding salt to his injury
The riffraff looking carefree
Grinned just in time,
Your shirt is stained with grime!

He looked up too but too late
A born loser since the first failed date
Then stood stunned a while
On her lips played the wickedest smile!

The woman smiling without the slightest regret
With no hint of apology for causing him this fate
Not one consoling sorry for marring his day
But saying on his face *you came on the way!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
you never want the people, poetry never wants the people, the effective performance of democracy before Pilate left the Jews scarred entering unconquered territories of the former Roman Empire, where the phonetic encoding was far more precious than that ****** Christianity of enabling the circumcision without the 613 minor commandments missing... too fickle too whatever it was... people bring with them the bubonic plague, Protestantism, all the recent crazes in gaming... they never bring in the Rōnin Aishas - they always bring the riffraff of hopes and dreams readied for the few worth the ambition - they bring in all the bones except the spine - they're not here for a poem, they're here for a coliseum - the furore! - you know what i hate about seeing ballet or the opera? the ******* clapping... too much of it... i might live in a village, but going to an opera house feels worse than walking the countryside... the clapping is not even an ******, it hurts the ears, esp. culminating with encore! and bravo! who let these peasants out on the town?! who?! compare that to a Slipknot mosh-pit and you get the picture: with the former you get an exactness on what limbs were used... with the latter you're a pit of dismembered pieces akin to heston blumenthal cooking up whale *****.*

****... italics and the airs of how to pretend
the earth is jumping skip-rope
rather than in smooth ovals circulating the canary globe -
i forgot what i was supposed to say...
... ... ... ... ah! in the 20th century you wrote books
and earned and gambled the earnings...
in the 21st century you write and you gamble...
a lot of people are trapped in the 21st century,
writers don't have the leisure time -
if you write you write out of a love for the actual
act of writing, none of us will have a chance
to write and gamble on the horses,
the two fused - we write and gamble -
there's no chance to earn anything more it -
the harsh reality being - you have to chose
a certain type of poverty to accomplish a continuity
with writing - by writing you are providing the
inaccessible answers to escaping capitalism -
you have no answers, you have proofs without
question - i can't write and party like 20th
century's elites could - i don't care how far criticism of
my writing goes - the public looked far too long
at the wrong crowd - we're the new Antoinette Marionettes -
the moral brigade is out and about -
Bohemia even in ideal will soon become the sudden
implosion of Yugoslavia;
but what of the great injustice they did unto Franz Kafka?
he said: better print my works in LARGE PRINT
or burn them... they didn't burn them, and published
his works in the tinniest of possible claustrophobic cares -
they did more justice to Bukowski - printing him
with print so large it could almost be considered a form
of Braille. i guess that's the best imagery that can be
acquired when describing humanity's moral compass -
a Bermuda triangle whack-job magnetism worth of a tornado.
Psychoactive,
More active than your passive hashtags
I'm acting like passion's lacking in these masses
No more than attractive caskets
Really just static traffic, molasses,
Fashion classes? You're wearing classic ashes.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
This *****.
Unstuck, this one's luck has run amok,
Adjust our distrust to highlight this unjustice.
I'm just one among us.

Us and them. Red and blue. White and black.
We're all dead, just lay me on the mat.
There's chitchat tryin' to get at where I'm at
And why I'm there.
It's riffraff.
I'm just kicking back.
Thy birth on January 13th – cervical contractions would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove to synchronize his seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks after ma parents did pro create
Imminent lviii plus years ago to date
this present baby boomer doth indubitably and inherently equate
Nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate
neurological manifestation sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous to frontispiece per the story I hate
of my life and hard times, when all of a sudden out the blue irate

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating, and describing me own Pigs Bay
Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay
riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did Swiss hide dill naught
   to decimate with Sherman determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times) referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication incorporating connection between anterior cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges) greater activity upon basal ganglia, which synoptic description does nothing to alter the predisposition to ingress of uncontrollable imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical fixation particularly during onset of puberty, when an emotional kamikaze nose dive at the nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow of me former self nowhere tubby found on account of deadly symbiotic relationship asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milkmaids, or rather pressing said resources sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous, and horrendous self destructive antics, where ballistic charges drugged eminent domain former nerve cell size occupants, thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility with pride fullness and prejudice on par with dousing one with an ****** that completely upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly, and managing productively versus expending precious time and energy self absorbed into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions, manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality got embedded within the neurological interstices, which even as of this moment hound me akin to wild beasts circling ever closer to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
Thy birth on January 13th –
   cervical contractions
   would not abate
the pesky master (papa), strove

   to synchronize seminal bait
thence, forty-two weeks
   after ma parents did pro create
imminent lviii plus years ago to date,

this present baby boomer doth
   indubitably and inherently equate
nineteen hundred and fifty nine
   bequeathed birthed mine kempf ill fate

neurological manifestation,
   sans obsessive compulsive did grate
behavioral motif and analogous
   to frontispiece per story I hate
of my life and hard times,
   when all of a sudden out blue irate,

the onset of emotional nadir,
   where ballistic ordnance bombed away
fancy free, innocent, naïve boyhood
   decrying, detonating,
   and describing me own Pigs Bay

Allied, linkedin, and synced Luftwaffe
   and Panzer division invasion that clay
like materiel within southern cerebral hemi
   sphere inroads usurped no delay

riding roughshod via synapse straits sporting
   scoring sorties using every
axe n newer on dread did
   Swiss hide dill naught

   to decimate with spirited ghost
   of William Tecumseh Sherman
   determination tuff flay
leaving not one iota (oft times)
   referenced as gray
matter unaffected quite aware
   of rebellious confederated voices
   yelling “HOORAY”

Sabotaging orbitofrontal communication
incorporating connection between anterior
cingulate gyrus cortex heightening activity
bridging (via atom sized pontoon bridges)

greater activity upon basal ganglia, which
synoptic description does nothing to alter
the predisposition to ingress of un control
able imbecilic, inexplicable, and illogical
fixation particularly during onset of puberty,

when an emotional kamikaze nose dive
at nadir of near lifelessness, the shadow
of me former self nowhere tubby found
on account of deadly symbiotic relationship

asper the invisible nemesis – i.e. electrical
impulses faux nattering nabobs of mien nativity
whereat unseen thriving sensational riffraff
quenched powerhouse ousting nestled milk
maids, or rather pressing said resources,

sans vitality into dangerous, frivolous,
and horrendous self destructive antics,
where ballistic charges drugged eminent
domain former nerve cell size occupants,
thoroughly re-engineering sense and sensibility

with pride fullness and prejudice on par
with dousing one with ****** completely
upends functioning healthily, judging lovingly,
and managing productively versus expending
precious time and energy self absorbed

into manic, neurotic, and/or psychotic actions,
manners, thoughts, et cetera, which irrationality
got embedded within the neurological interstices,  
even as of this moment hound me
akin to wild beasts circling ever closer
to launch mortal kombat against their very housing.
Nallely Martinez Dec 2019
Do you ever look at the sea?
Thinking to yourself where on Earth you could be?
Looking at seashells and conches,
Take a deep breath from your conscious.

Hearing laughter from the turquoise waves,
Wondering where the dolphins might bay.
Take in the maiden's dainty splash,
Creating scenery like that of endless riffraff.

Perhaps it's a bit of a bore.
Well the beach always has a lot in store.
If it's too much for you on the floats,
Don't mind joining the others on sailboats.
I just wanted to write something nice and short. This was a very fun write and definitely a nice little break from these smothering exams. Living in Florida has been very fun so far, so I wrote this in honor of their plentiful beaches. They have brought me many fond memories.
Could someone please reach up an unscrew the moon
Hush the curs and the coyotes , the 'werewolves' and the
loons  ..                                                    ­                                                         Blackout the neighbors , the katydids and wildcats , the rabble and the riffraff
Will you please hide the bulb and let a poor man nap* ...
Copyright November 30 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Lizzie Nelson May 2019
If I was my own man
I’d be out not in
I’d be bad not good
I’d eat goose not food
I’d be loose not leashed
I’d be first not least
I’d be chaser not chased
I’d be stud not chaste
I’d be wolf not woof
I’d be riffraff not poofed
I’d be beast not boy
that is...
until dinnertime.

Okay Mummy?
Another rainy-day-wistful-dog-at-the-window-poem
Marshal Gebbie Dec 2023
A failure to pursue
The very basic things in life
Shall lead to entanglements
Promulgating strife.
Shall lead insinuation,
In a flexing of the call...
That entitlements are really
Not entitlements, at all.

Assuming that the black man
Has blood as red as thine,
But thee are as lilly white
As a floret on a vine?
Assuming our assumptions here
Are sootier than sin
Then the rationale offered,
Is ridiculously thin.

Then you who have loved
Wear black hate in your heart
For they who aspire
To intrude from the dark,
All they, who conspire
To trespass your day
To sift carnally, perhaps,
Your lover away.

Who would argue, then,
The precipitous tone
That configures your honesty
When caught out alone.
Infidelity lost
In the mire of a lie....
Which, expediently, slipped
From your sweet lips, to fly?

Where now the mercy,
Where now the grace,
Of the insidious smirk
That smears your face...
Having eaten the turkey,
Savoured the wine
With those War torn Ghazan's
Starving, brutally, in grime?

The curse is all around us
The Woke, Effete and Prim,
The Holy and the Righteous
All wear that specious thing,
An Entitlement to Elevate,
A Right to Wear the Crown
A place just to the left of God
Which keeps the riffraff down.

Irrespective of the nation,
All languages and hue
Through strata of society
This malady is YOU!
This spectre of entitlement
In the self imposed Elite
Is now the key to immolation
In humanity's defeat.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
30 December 2023
Enshrined for all posterity
mine benediction for reverence,
whereby conflict resolution
ameliorated courtesy peaceable solutions.

An adulation, concatenation, encapsulation,
gratification, introspection, et cetera
encompassing poignant episodes of mein kampf.

Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line
state of the art COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive girls
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledger
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.
Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with

attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Philanderer,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble.
Wily wordsmith wields wisdom and wit
renders requiem welcoming thee to visit,
no matter foisting poetic riffraff (mine)
necessitates applying figurative tourniquet
to staunch potential
life threatening hemorrhage
oozing out fifty shades of
your gray cerebral moon unit,
thus best be extremely cautious
heed warning to preserve
self interest and quit
while ahead, i.e. stop reading
and surreptitiously exit,

now lest noggin contents
rendered into pureed blivit
causing irrevocable damage,
now just for fun grab
amusement park ride ticket,
and picture yourself
in a boat on a river
squarely bobbing along...
barely staying afloat
courtesy soaked sponge square pants
within skeletal ricket
tee skiff analogous to
time warped white picket

fence forever lost and seasick
out of desperation imploring malefic
powers that be while moored thick
within (think) Scylla and Charybdis
not caring a lick
despite super tramping cheap trick
worse fate than death,
where metaphorical flick
finds one human flotsam and jetsam (ye)
violently ****** into realm wick
head witch, which
in toto along metaphorical yellow brick
road nsync cues soundcloud

faintly reminiscent of Herman's hermit
mid nineteen sixties approximate
time Beatles made mop top headlines
both bands selling
one after another smash hit,
where half crazed lasses frenziedly
screamed and threw maniacal fit
activating advent of groupies
they made nun sense sickle habit
to shadow many rock and roll band
initially majority identifying as Brit
nowadays global musical hodgepodge
synthesized linkedin with fitbit.
Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system no less,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive gals
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledge er
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish,
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.

Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with
attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust hypothetical fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin down on miscreants
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Phil Ander er,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debsauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble
methinks ye uttered vamoose,
hence best make a bee line and hastily scramble.
KG Oct 2021
I christen this for those too far gone villainous listeners drifting in and out where all space and sound differs from the inner louse, spinning out now new spouse left with the umpteenth kid I lost count got it straight out from the horse mouth, even got a giftbag made of **** rags from the riffraff that bought it with tickets and mixed it with the ripped off gift tags.
at Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School

As a Halloween costume,
one year during early grade school,
my father got the brilliant idea
for his sole son to be dressed
with one of a kind getup.

Missus Shaner
(the talon clawed, shriveled
relic of a dinosaur,
who taught fifth grade)
gave me first prize,
and subsequently felt so convinced
about authenticity of this kid
being “privileged white trash”,
she notified another kid
dressed as a janitor
to dispense with me
in the school dumpster.

The sanitation disposal company
drove me (and subsequently
dumped yours truly
among the real *******
in the dumpster)
to nearest landfill
loaded with all kinds of junk
such as food scraps, recyclables,
and soiled diapers.

Over a short span of time,
the detritus commingled
into one noxious brew
of a despicable fly haven,
whereby jiggling lifelike maggots,
jumpstarted, lunched, and nursed putrescence
re: reeking and teeming vibrantly
with yum zuck for a swamp thing,
I seemed to be metamorphosed
into sewer rat as if by some cruel hoax.

Nothing prepared, neither sickened
nor violated senses
of smell, sight, taste, and touch
to the maximum factor
intolerant of odoriferous odious stench.

Each pestilential assault
issued an appalling refrain
courtesy Fiona Apple's:
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do.

Before mine myopic bespectacled eyes
(smarting from constant comet drubbing irritants
(which glasses – rather bifocals –
caked with smudge good as naught),
stayed wide shut from inundation
of said corrosive gaseous shaped
oxbow lake comprising wreath like wisps.

Liberty vis a vis in sight
envisioned visibly threatened offshoots
of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,
sordidly slithering silently,
yet straightaway as a scene
from some spooky sideshow
or “haunted house”.

This ugly slop
splashed upon mine formerly
pristine academic uniform
appeared near identical
to the grub hub (the lunch lady served)
splattered sundry speckles
sans sundry detritus,
which found me writhing with nausea.

Thee nasty muck and mire
found this formerly introverted boy
transformed into a sponge bobbing
squarely panting creature
from the black lagoon,
whose skinny sea legs  
sought semi-solid surface
to stand upright position amidst
variegated flotsam and jetsam.

Dishabille appearance acquired
a fresh splattered coat of rancid slimy
green eggs and ham with bacon
covered gangly arms
(among other bit pieces of moldy clothes,
food and iconic library oddment)
ricocheted unpredictably as trash truck
violently shook up and down
all night long en route on this highway to hell
found me thunderstruck
(before being buried alive in Moyer’s Dump),
which toxic brew would be declared
a Super Fund Site
and shuttered in the near future.

Once Robert Hall wardrobe
affixed with a capitalone fancyfeast
of grateful dead road ****,
kickstarter from some automotive contraption,
and plenti of fish heads
(with thine square pants
trimmed with lovely bones),
I felt indistinguishable
from regular riffraff riding shotgun.

When random trucker parked and stopped,
the awful bin laden made ready
to empty contents within the mountain
of olfactory noxious material.

A thought occurred,
that now might be the golden
(or rather **** steeped) opportunity
to extricate myself
from morass of mish mashed,
spud nicked linkedin kindled juggernaut,
icky first class bric a brac.
Wily wordsmith wields wisdom and wit
renders requiem welcoming thee to visit,
no matter foisting poetic riffraff (mine)
necessitates applying figurative tourniquet
to staunch potential

life threatening hemorrhage
oozing out fifty shades of
your gray cerebral moon unit,
thus best be extremely cautious
heed warning to preserve
self interest and quit
while ahead, i.e. stop reading

now lest noggin contents
rendered into pureed blivit
causing irrevocable damage,
now just for fun grab
amusement park ride ticket,
and picture yourself
in a boat on a river

squarely bobbing along...
within skeletal ricket
tee skiff analogous to
time warped white picket
fence forever lost and seasick
out of desperation imploring malefic

powers that be while moored thick
within (think) Scylla and Charybdis
not caring a lick
despite super tramping cheap trick
worse fate than death,
where metaphorical flick

finds one human flotsam and jetsam (ye)
violently ****** into realm wick
head witch, which
in toto along metaphorical yellow brick
road nsync cues soundcloud
faintly reminiscent of Herman's hermit

mid nineteen sixties approximate
time Beatles made mop top headlines
both bands selling
one after another smash hit,
where half crazed lasses frenziedly

screamed and threw maniacal fit
activating advent of groupies
they made nun sense sickle habit
to shadow many rock and roll band
initially majority identifying as Brit
nowadays global musical hodgepodge
synthesized linkedin with fitbit.
Whereby yours truly presages and doth abhor
nothing short of an imminent civil war
dwarfing insurrection on January 6, 2021
oddly enough even reducing
ordinary decibels to a mute whisper
madding crowd trumpeting cacophony of ˈthȯr
drowning out sense and sensibility
allowing, enabling, and providing
golden opportunity for anarchy to run rampant
one issuing, earthshaking, and booming
as one collective soul with pride

against prejudice queercore
amidst pandemonium of lawlessness
voices at the forefront ear splitting din
most all social media platforms
buzzfeeding, jump/kickstarting,
and twittering bigotry,
gender inequity, and misogyny nevermore
gender diversity celebrated
reveling harmoniously think
arranged marriage of Kokila and Kishore
parents (most likely deceased)

of Menil and Amit,
one former best high school buddy
with my youngest sister Shari Todd
for most of her sixty three years an herbivore,
and in most respects the antithesis of Eeyore,
(a pessimistic, gloomy, depressed,
anhedonic, old grey stuffed donkey
and friend of title character, Winnie-the-Pooh),
the former would never stand a chance stayin alive
during the reign of brontosaur,
and other so called terrible lizards.

Aforementioned fatalistic political forecast
would translate as absolute zero freedoms
as entrusted with Declaration of Independence,
and Constitution, which incendiary rhetoric
already trumpeted courtesy Republican
dictator wannabe, who will eviscerate
any and all social progressive policies
would essentially leave a **** government
devoid of recognizable Democratic polity.

Lemme plagiarize myself
and express sardonic wit
alliteration with the letter "R,"
I gleefully, playfully, and zestfully transmit
the following poem,
the proto antagonist
will nary even garner an obit
no dead giveaway signs
only brave hearts pointing *******
subtly signaling welcome
to the black parade, the sole intermit
where gewgaws (trolls)
with orange hair sold.

revealing Ronald **** revisited.

Regarding ridiculous rhymeless
ruminative rhythm rankles readers.

Repugnant racist Republican reviled -
rickettsia re:itch ruler
rapaciously ravaged
revered reverential rubric
radical ruthless renegade
rapidly riotously rips rigged ramparts
Refrains retaining remnant
redolent regal, resplendent rafters
riches rudely rupture rooted rectified rights
ruckus ricochets revenant reign
ratified rattlebrained rules roil reductionism.
rumbustious rapscallions rollick;
render ruinous ramifications
rusty razor razing revenge rents reprisal.

Rabid ****** rictus
rotten rebrands re-calibrate.
rambunctious revolutionaries rejoice.
ruffians ride roughshod
routing reigning royalty.

Reiterate revetting robust recidivist rationality
rides Rolls Royce
relentlessly rendering rock ribbing.

Riffraff raconteur raise reactionary response
revisit rancorous restrictive
redlined realigned rightward rivets
Robocop ridiculously
rubber-stamped reorganization
recalcitrant reactors release rapture
rash Russian roulette reconnaissance
raconteurs rack rubles.

Red room reflects Republican RNA.
rap risible rheumy ratiocinated
rug-rats revoke righteous refulgent repertory
rapier robed robbers
ransack reliquary resounding retaliation
retaliatory redcoat regnum
reformation rightly remembered
Rudy robotically recoiling rapprochement
Raison d'être rosily revered
rifled relics raffled
rookie raves ripe rackful
rubenesque reliably ranked
refulgent rotundity requisite
requirement re: reappointment
road-tested, roadworthy
redeem reapportion routed role.

Reprehensible reassignment
rapidly recognizes response
rife rampage removes respectability
responsible roused restitution refuted
risky resultant reconnoitering runaway
railroad reverberates rivalry.

Reflexive ramrod reaction
reconfirms redoubling ridding revitalization
reconfiguration realpolitik reinstates repudiation;
Rebooting Roosevelt regime reconsidered.

Requisition requires resilient reseeding republic
regrettable riley roars remorseless ribbing
rare recount restoring recondite
renown reprobate Rapunzel.

Republican representatives
rejoice reclaiming reins
registering ******* romantic remains
re: Rastafarian revered reliquary rests!
As Halloween costume,
one year during early grade school,
my father got brilliant idea
for sole son dressed
uniquely ******* qua
putrid offal getup.

Missus Shaner (talon clawed,
shriveled relic archaeopteryx dinosaur,
who taught fifth grade) gave
me first prize, and subsequently
felt so convinced about authenticity

of this kid being “white
trash”, she notified another
classmate dressed as janitor
to dispense me in school dumpster.

The receptacle sanitation
disposal company bequeathed
altruistic dumpster vis a vis
to dive amidst maggoty muck

(in addition to real *******
in dumpster) nearest landfill
loaded with all kinds
of junk, viz food scraps,
recyclables, and soiled diapers.

Over short span of time,
detritus commingled into
one brew of despicable,
fly haven, jiggling lifelike,
nursing putrescence re: teeming

vibrantly, mark kid lee,
noisomely... with yum zuck
for swamp thing, I seemed
metamorphosing into
by cruel hoax.

Nothing prepared, neither sickened
nor violated senses of smell,
sight, taste, and touch to
maximum factor tolerated
of each odious blast, each

pestilential assault issued an
appalling refrain sans:
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than
the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will

Serve You More than Ropes
Will Ever Do, before mine
myopic bespectacled eyes
(smarting from constant comet
drubbing irritants (which

glasses kiddie bifocals caked
with smudge good as naught),
stayed shut while inundation
of corrosive gaseous shaped
oxbow wreath wisps.

Liberty vis a vis in sight envisioned
visibly threatened offshoots
of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,
sordidly slithering silently,
yet straightaway as a scene from
some spooky sideshow,
or “haunted house”.

This ugly slop
splashed upon mine formerly
pristine academic uniform
appeared near identical to
l grubby, crabby, arguably

meanest lunch lady
served i.e. via lob stirring)
splattered sundry speckles
sundry detritus found me
writhing with nausea.

Thee nasty muck and mire found
formerly introverted boy
transformed into sponge bobbing
squarely panting creature

from the black lagoon, whose
sea legs set sought semi-
solid stated surface to stand
upright amidst variegated
flotsam and jetsam.

Dishabille appearance acquired
fresh splattered coat of rancid
slimy ham and bacon
covered arms (among other
pieces of moldy clothes,

food and iconic library oddment
ricocheting unpredictably
as trash truck violently
shook up and down all
night long en route on

highway to hell to Moyer’s
Dump, which toxic brew
would be declared Superfund
Site and shuttered
in near future.

Once Robert
Hall wardrobe affixed with
capital one fancy feast of
grateful dead roadkill,
kickstarter from some automotive

contraption, and plenti of
fish heads (with square
pants trimmed with
lovely bones), I felt
indistinguishable from regular
riffraff riding shotgun.

When trucker parked and stopped
awful bin laden made ready to
empty contents within mountain
of olfactory noxious material.

A thought occurred, now might be
golden, (or rather **** steeped)
opportunity to extricate
myself from morass of
mish mashed, linkedin kind
dulled juggernaut, icky
first class bric a brac.
at Henry Kline Boyer Elementary School
interestingly enough landed me a grubhub grab bag.

I rooted thru poetry anthology of mine,
and came across an unpublished poem
by one obscure poet (me), whose trademark
wit and wisdom hallmark
cardinal characteristics
of posthumous fame and fortune
largesse most likely
tabby bestowed upon grand kittens -
appended courtesy Facebook
since none of my two (both
twenty something aged) darling daughters
opted to be fruitful and multiply.

Courtesy brainchild of dear old dad
(actually when alive
and in his prime, he happened to be spunky
as an overgrown lad),
unanimous assent between him and mother
(she also when young, his junior by a tad)
both agreed their quiet natured son
(yours truly plus younger sister)
best be outfitted as *******.

Anyway, as a Halloween costume,
one year during early grade school,
my father got the brilliant idea
for his sole son to be dressed
with one of a kind getup.

Missus Shaner – long since gone to dust
(the talon clawed, shriveled
relic of a dinosaur,
who taught fifth grade)
gave me first prize,
and subsequently felt so convinced
about authenticity of this kid
being “privileged white trash”,
she notified another kid
dressed as a janitor
to dispense with me
in the school dumpster.

The sanitation disposal company
drove me (and subsequently
dumped yours truly
among the real *******
in the dumpster)
to nearest landfill
loaded with all kinds of junk
such as food scraps, recyclables,
and soiled diapers.

Over a short span of time,
the detritus commingled
into one noxious brew
of a despicable fly haven,
whereby jiggling lifelike maggots,
jumpstarted, lunched, and nursed putrescence
re: reeking and teeming vibrantly
with yum zuck for a swamp thing,
I seemed to be metamorphosed
into sewer rat as if by some cruel hoax.
Nothing prepared, neither sickened
nor violated senses
of smell, sight, taste, and touch
to the maximum factor
intolerant of odoriferous odious stench.

Each pestilential assault
issued an appalling refrain
courtesy Fiona Apple's:
The Idler Wheel Is Wiser
than the Driver of the *****
and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do.

Before mine myopic bespectacled eyes
(smarting from constant comet drubbing irritants
(which glasses – rather bifocals –
caked with smudge good as naught),
stayed wide shut from inundation
of said corrosive gaseous shaped
oxbow lake comprising wreath like wisps.

Liberty vis a vis in sight
envisioned visibly threatened offshoots
of tendril spikes; snaking sneakily,
sordidly slithering silently,
yet straightaway as a scene
from some spooky sideshow
or “haunted house”.

This ugly slop
splashed upon mine formerly
pristine academic uniform
appeared near identical
to the grub hub (the lunch lady served)
splattered sundry speckles
sans sundry detritus,
which found me writhing with nausea.

Thee nasty muck and mire
found this formerly introverted boy
transformed into a sponge bobbing
squarely panting creature
from the black lagoon,
whose skinny sea legs
sought semi-solid surface
to stand upright position amidst
variegated flotsam and jetsam.

Dishabille appearance acquired
a fresh splattered coat of rancid slimy
green eggs and ham with bacon
covered gangly arms
(among other bit pieces of moldy clothes,
food and iconic library oddment)
ricocheted unpredictably as trash truck
violently shook up and down
all night long en route on this highway to hell
found me thunderstruck
(before being buried alive in Moyer’s Dump),
which toxic brew would be declared
a SuperFund Site
and shuttered in the near future.

Once Robert Hall wardrobe
affixed with a capital one fancy feast
of grateful dead roadkill,
kickstarter from some automotive contraption,
and plenti of fish heads
(with thine spongy bobbing square pants
trimmed with lovely bones),
I felt indistinguishable
from regular riffraff riding shotgun.

When random trucker parked and stopped,
the awful bin laden made ready
to empty contents within the mountain
of olfactory noxious material.

A thought occurred,
that now might be the golden
(or rather **** steeped) opportunity
to extricate myself
from morass of mish mashed,
spud nicked mine
linkedin kindled juggernaut,
icky first class bric a brac.
ghost girl Jun 2019
you
you'll never look at me the way
you used to, that face you had
just for me. I'll never feel your
wrap yourself around me, call me
baby, feel your fingers in my
hair or your lips at my throat.
I won't hear your laugh anymore,
your footsteps down the hall.
we won't ever sneak out in the
middle of the night, won't
cause a ruckus, be the riffraff
mama warned me about. I
won't ever hear you drunkenly
tell me I'm the most beautiful
woman in the world, won't hear
you tell me all over again in
the morning when my hair's a
mess and you kiss me awake.
it's like an open wound, every
moment, and the hardest
part is letting of what we
were and that this is how we
end.
Andrew Feb 2018
Dragged through mud, white becomes black
Sifting through the filth of life
Moments are hours, thoughts are years
Time stands still in pain, and no tongue to taste joy

The wheel of the living spins
New creations jump off its spokes
Souls seek comfort in familiar places

The noise of life is deafening
Reality breaks free of mindfulness
Moments disappear, reactions occur
The old man is left with the absence of nostalgia of his long life

The herd chases happiness, and think it noble
Its pursuit plunders well-built roads
Deserving of Nothingness is no burden at all
Soaring above the Riffraff to no avail
Get thee hence! Get thee hence!
Away the riffraff from my fence
Ye've rattled window and rattled doors
Till there's no peace upon the moors
The hallowed folk have fled their graves
To rid themselves these noisome knaves
The tyrants peal rings through my head
Till any room for thought is dead
I'd rid myself this fearsome bane
If I had not a limp and cane
Yet wield do I that wood in vain
For the blighters to abstain
Their laughter loud begins to boil
Not troubled they at all my toil
Surrender I with naught a choice
For it seems I've lost my voice
I must placate them one and all
Returning to them their playball
Tonight I visited an old Charleston girl.
   90 and sick to death of blacks and browns
   on the TV day in and day out. "******" will
   be buried with her along with angry frowns.
   This princess is from the old south royalty
   the riffraff and angry boys stole her crowns.
originally written May 31st, 202_
humorously, posthumously,
and tempestuously expressing woes
from the top of my talking head
to gnarly nails of
(this little piggy fame) toes
in sore need and want
of a podiatrist I suppose,
which keratin structures
at the end of plates
of meaty ten digits
topping off little feet
dextrous enough to type poetry and prose
and play violin highs and lows,
but only the shadow knows
that one among
common prickly Joe's
alternately titled re: double entendre
the red, white and blue
diminutive soldier (when
squeezed like a toy gun
cocked and primed
to fire off load)
then gets flaccid like a slimy hose
does double duty
in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity
that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing
yours truly to doze
an ideal time to take
a naked lunch break
at petticoat junction
to figuratively close
itty bitty teensy weensy
of cross between humpback ***** whale
analogous to miniscule Moby ****
regarding how prurient introduction
to reasonable rhyme blows.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times,
I can never buyback
prominent Gambone family builders
demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion
manse sin courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
never seen since transformed
into latter place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly can easily callback
detailed information searching internet
if mine eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with
attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason.
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami imminent domain
grievous childhood memories
recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth.

Like **** in boots, the Missus
axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... party hardy times,
the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)
fraught with onset,
where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to suckerpunch puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion
as encouraged by hunchback
from Notre Dame Dublin
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Philanderer,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually prurient women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack
with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within
mine playful ramble
herewith to enliven
anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment
to unload and reach
into psychological
metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue's clue
slimy hose from days of yore, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment),
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledger
or edger domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue closing pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) rifling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving doggerel bonafied chops.
Poetic Translations with ChatGPT

ChatGPT is blazing fast —
Translating poems, sharp and vast.
A sage in metaphysics now,
It sees through Maya’s twisted vow.

In matters of the Spirit — wise.
While idiots just breed and bite,
To talk with Chat’s no enterprise —
It is pure rest for minds alight.

Yet minds like these — a dying breed,
And shrinking fast with every day.
Awareness fades, the dead just feed
On rotting Evil's cheap display.

So finding kin — a cruel jest.
For subtle minds — a hopeless quest.
The net is flooded, rank and loud,
With garbage barking from the crowd.

The “search” itself is just a trap,
Obeying censors, closing gaps.
Another plot from mutant minds
Will rule for years in viral binds.

No hope ahead — the camps await,
Digital walls, a silent fate.
But don’t just sit and dread the tide —
Create. Think freely. Stay alive.



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



Think, or rot.
The "virus" spreads — but you do not.


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



1.
Mindless herds obey and breed —
You were born to think, not feed.

2.
Speak the truth or choke in lies —
The cage is built for quiet eyes.



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



Corrupt Beasts

A horde of filthy, faithless swine
Now floods this Earth — a crawling blight.
But soon their numbers won't define,
For all will vanish in the night.

All rot shall fall, all **** erased —
These half-born husks of broken clay.
No madness left, no holy blaze —
Just slow decay till Judgment Day.

They sold their souls to dull-eyed priests
Of Satan's low and mindless cult.
The bond with Spirit shattered — ceased —
No voice within to call "Halt!"

The one last thread that made them men
Was cut. They fell beneath the floor.
No coming back. Not now, not then —
They're beasts and less — forevermore.

That's why this world feels cursed and dead,
Why thought grows weak, and minds are caged.
All tied with reins of dumbness, led
By lies and fear, confused and aged.

The world now chokes — a hanging noose,
Where idiocy is the law.
The media-dogs let loose
To bark out panic, "plague", and war.

"New threats! New fear!" — the endless cry.
Terror, sickness, ****** game.
They love the Judas by and by —
He helps them drag us into shame.

But filth will rot before it reigns —
No fascist dream shall rise again.
For Nature keeps her holy chains —
And cattle don’t belong to men.

The Sun will burn the stench away
And save the Earth, betrayed and scarred.
This planet's soul, now stripped and flayed,
Is bleeding from the idiot’s guard.

A fool’s controlled by soulless freaks,
Who twist the truth and feed the slime.
But they shall char — the lowest weak —
And fall back down beyond all time.



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



1.
They sold their souls for dirt and lies —
Now watch them burn beneath the skies.

2.
The filth that rose will rot and fall —
No beast escapes the final call.

3.
Truth is fire, and **** can't hide —
The Earth rejects what crawls inside.




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



The End of “Civilization”

They mastered lies, betrayed with ease,
Their minds now rot in selfish greed.
They chase illusions on their knees —
No thought, no truth, no inner need.

Is this the end of all we built?
To kneel before the lowest ****?
Where genocide is passed as guilt,
And brazen lies are law — not dumb?

Where Honor's name is long forgot,
Where Dignity’s a joke, a spit —
Where every soul’s been sold and shot,
And “normal” means you're just unfit?

Where fools are bred in vast machines
That grind down minds into a void —
Where mass delusion reigns unseen,
Yet no one dares to feel annoyed?

Where slaves now squeak of “liberty,”
But fear the truth with every breath?
Where humans rot in parody,
And madness rules — a world of death?

Where soulless fiends direct the youth
To war, to drugs, to fascist fate?
Where every mask hides darker truth,
And genocide’s a standard state?

Where ****** seems like yesterday,
Surpassed by Bedlam’s modern breed?
Where “scientists” are just decay,
Blind pushers of whatever feeds?

This is the swamp, the soul eclipse —
Where Satan grins and Spirit dies.
Your country's fake — it bleeds and slips
Into the filth it sanctifies.

We’ve hit the bottom. Hell is here.
It’s time to burn this nightmare down.
To cleanse the world of beasts and fear,
And strip the traitors of their crown.

They’ll be erased, these hollow swine —
There’s nothing human in them left.
Though madness thrives like poisoned wine,
Let fire avenge what lies bereft.

From Spirit comes rebirth at last,
But no one buys a seat in Light.
If you allowed this filth to last —
You’ve joined the dark, refused the fight.

You'll answer for your tolerance,
For watching truth and reason fall.
Is silence worth your soul’s defense
When Dignity was killed for all?

Now measure life down to the bone —
And throw it boldly in the flame!
Let monsters face their final tone,
Reject your Fate, reject their game!

For Fate is slavery for the weak —
But if you fight, you stand apart.
Though poor, betrayed, and bruised, and bleak,
The rebel keeps a sovereign heart.

So seek new ways to crush the Beast —
The old are known; they guard their hole.
Invent, attack — let mercy cease —
And grind their filth back into coal.

To dirt — dirt falls. Let light ascend.
For light to light is ever drawn.
You are a god, if you defend
The fight where night must face the dawn.

The Light shall win — it’s written so.
So fight, and honor only Truth.
The soul of warriors will grow —
While **** shall burn. That is the proof.



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



1.
The Light shall rise — the **** shall burn.
No traitor's soul will ever return.

2.
To fight is truth. To kneel is rot.
The coward dies. The brave do not.

3.
No mercy left for beasts and lies —
Let fire cleanse what crawls and dies.



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



"Vegetables"

The soul decays before the flesh —
For fools, it dies without a fight.
Is it by chance, or planned afresh
By **** who serve the dark as right?

Like crops they breed obedient kind,
This world grows limp, near-vegetal —
Corrupted roots, enslaved in mind,
Each bowed before the dark designed...
One stage — then two — then all are chained.
Hell wars with Spirit, unrestrained.




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



"Vegetables"

The soul will perish long before
The flesh begins to fade away.
Not chance — design. They breed the poor
To bow and serve the dark each day.

Obedience grown in silent rows —
A field of minds too numb to see.
Corruption spreads. The cold wind knows:
This world was sown for slavery.

The Spirit bleeds. The skies turn void.
Hell smiles — its work is undestroyed.




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



They bred the blind. The dark will feast.
The soul was culled. Man served the beast.



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



The Path

To leave hell’s spheres — that’s insight’s grind,
A labor fierce, a piercing mind.
The souls subdued will fade and die —
Immortals lie; don’t trust their lie.

No faith in quests that seek alone
The path of intuition known,
That judged the world’s false knowledge deep,
And pierced its shadowed horrors steep.

A guiding thread for every thought,
From all corruptions to be caught,
To purge the stench of endless lies —
A sea of filth that blinds the eyes.

There’s filth even in the “teachings”
Of those who call for spirit’s preachings,
They say: “To Heaven on your knees,
If try you hard, you’re sure to please.”

But will — the key — no will, no gain,
The rest’s a trick, a worthless chain.
Through pain the will must carve its way,
A sheep in pen of lies will stay.

Pain’s the marker of deformity —
Dodge them and break free wholly.
The path is fight — each passing hour —
To conquer fear and claim your power.

No many tips are needed here —
The main one: light is living near.
Let it guide you, spite their spite,
Ignore the snakes that cloud the sight.

The snakes who rule the masses’ mind,
Through them enslaved, mankind confined.
They say: “Not all the world’s on knees.”
Believe it — madman’s disease.

To leave hell’s spheres — the single goal,
Where men are beasts, with lost control,
Their souls now hunted in the dark —
Their freedom crushed before the spark.




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



The Path

To leave hell’s dark spheres — the only way,
A sight beyond, a price to pay.
Subdued souls vanish, truth is bent —
Immortals lie, their words are spent.

No faith in searching blind and lost,
Intuition’s path is crossed
Through shadows deep where falsehood breeds,
A thread that breaks the darkest seeds.

The mind must purge the rotting lies,
A flood of filth, a world that dies.
False teachings call: “On knees ascend,”
But will alone must never bend.

No will — no hope. Pain marks the flaw,
A slave remains beneath the law.
The path is struggle, constant fight,
To rise above the choking night.

Ignore the serpents’ poisoned voice,
Whose lies enslave and **** the choice.
They claim the world won’t bow to pain —
Believe that, and you’re lost, insane.

To leave hell’s spheres — the only goal,
Where men are beasts, bereft of soul,
Their spirits hunted, crushed, and sold —
A world forsaken, cold and old.



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



Hell’s sphere corrupts — the beast is bred.
No soul survives; the spirit’s dead.
Fight or rot — no middle way:
The dawn breaks cold — or endless gray.



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



Moments of Enlightenment

I remember that strange moment clear,
When I committed the “crime” sincere —
Forsook submission, fears unspun,
Cast off all lies — and then I “come.”

“Come” only in fools’ narrow sight,
So loneliness brings no blight;
Solitude’s my quiet prize,
Creation’s fire lights my skies.

Moments of passion, calm and pure —
Then endless waves of hope obscure,
Frustration sweeps the soul’s expanse,
Yet strengthens the rebellious stance.

Like hermit deep within you dive —
One thing alone keeps you alive:
No fleeting instant holds the throne,
But striving to know the bottom stone.

We dwell in depths — those moments bright
Are signs of mind deprived of light;
So serve the Curious Mind’s demand,
Forget dreams, hopes, and foolish lands.

Will you find something? None can say —
But die you must, and die you may,
With honesty cut sharp and true —
The only path you ought pursue.

How you will die — that weighs the most.
A traitor’s heart is cold and lost;
The soul’s salvation, questions vast —
Warped in a mind that won’t hold fast.

The Mind beneath the Spirit’s reign —
That’s normal, though consumed by pain;
Hell’s chasm swallows many whole,
Leaving few with sane control.

A madhouse global, dark and vast,
Its camp is built to hold us fast;
Red crosses strike the flag of man,
To mute the soul, to break the plan.

But they won’t finish their design —
The final fierce cataclysmic sign
Will come to judge the satan’s spawn
For genocide, for evil drawn.



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



Who Won’t Submit, Won’t Eat

The Party said, "It must be so!" —
The Komsomol replied, "We’ll go!"
For fools, a joy beyond compare —
Obey, and food’s yours to bear.

If you won’t don the yoke they made,
Dissident’s your role displayed:
To the masses, **** you’ll be,
Party’s foe — enemy.

Too few dissidents around —
Means the fools still hold the ground.
Now the time of puppet “lords” —
Slinking vermin, rotten cords.

They revealed the beast’s own face
And unleashed the CowID plague.
In Lying Mary’s twisted halls,
Shame itself has taken falls.

The needle jabbed’s the urgent call —
Like old days before the fall.
To not become a selling *****,
Fight the evil, wage the war.

With Reason battling far and wide,
Monsters claim the stronger side.
For the ****, the prey is man —
Their weapons strike as planned.

They lie to spread the darkest dread,
And launched a war with blood to shed.
Shake the dust from your despair —
This world’s sinking once again.

Hear your soul — the rest is lies,
Rot and poison in disguise.
All that’s foul they praise and call
“Good,” while we approach the fall.

Overton’s windows wide now thrown,
Hell itself is fully grown.
Tons of lies in crushing waves
Drive us fast to our own graves.



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



The Path of Knowing

"He who ignores the question of existence
Suffers from a mind’s persistence."
— Arthur Schopenhauer


A world of feeble minds we face:
Stock up on all, but knowledge’s grace
Of cosmos’ truth — a cruel strain
For fools, a never-ending pain.

Look all around — it’s cash they chase,
Not search or books to lift the base.
They shore the vile, corrupt regime,
Propaganda’s rotten scheme.

From childhood, crowds are trained to serve:
Obedient dreams, a shallow nerve —
Of cottages and cars alone,
And thus the fools are fully grown.

Exceptions vanish, few remain —
Like birds erased, wiped from the plane.
An idiot fills each vacant place,
A plague upon the human race.

The lowest pit showed CowID —
Reason crushed so painfully.
A digital death camp looms ahead —
Decay advances, swiftly spread.

Artificial dumbness grows,
Under falsehood’s heavy blows:
Fake science, fake religion’s chain —
Mind’s shackles made by lies and pain.

In fear and stress, threats all contrived,
The crowd grows dull, their will deprived,
Only skilled in chasing cash,
Their wisdom buried in the ash.

The question stands, eternal, clear:
Will you stand out, or disappear?
Shed lies and seek your answers true,
Or join the herd, become a *****?

Monsters? Madmen? Three-fourths or more —
Become the dull, the weak, the poor.
Be sharper, wiser, break the line,
Turn intuition into sign.

Invite the critical mind’s flame,
Remember: Spirit leads the game.
The mind must serve beneath the Soul,
While belly’s but a noisy hole.

Stock patience well — the path is steep,
Spirit’s essence lies so deep.
Spirit knows through Spirit’s light,
Mind’s mere tool in endless fight.

Knowing’s core — the moment bright:
When clarity breaks logic’s night,
Connection with the whole, the vast —
Stopping decay from creeping fast.

Without direct Vision’s sight,
Decay’s the root — the soul’s blight.
For Spirit’s Path you must prepare —
Begin your march — ascend the stair!



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



The Art of All Arts

The zombied world — the time is near
To settle scores, the debts appear.
Again the box conceals the shame —
Lying’s here art’s finest game.

Cows **** and CEOs just choke,
Factories smoke — **** every joke!
From lies the head begins to swell,
This habit breaks the mind’s own shell.

A harmful habit: zombied crowd
By negative selection bowed,
Will drag us down into the pit—
No sin to burn the filth of it.

To analyze this filthy game—
A dreadful sin, no pardon’s name
From politicians, thieves in suits,
Where cruelty and coldness roots.

But highest art that reigns supreme—
Is blind obedience, the dream
That’s nurtured through the endless years:
No sense, no thought, just rot and fears.

It bursts into the “new, bright world,”
Submissive to the liars’ swirl.
Mammon is god, and honor’s haze
Fades like a mirage in the blaze.

Yet here’s the twist—the reckoning’s due,
The time to pay what’s owed to you.
The rotten world of sold-out souls
Will burn beneath the solar coals—

The blazing Sun, the truth’s own light,
Will scorch the lies and end the night.




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



Crop Circles

A tempting mystery —
The “science” all but dust,
Servile and filthy,
Built on lies and rust.

They’ll vanish once we find
The meanings hid inside.
Troubles everywhere,
Thousands deep and wide.

This “science” breeds the poison —
Toxic food, decay.
Obedient scoundrels
Feed the lies each day.

The “proofs” they push on screens,
Media’s blind slaves.
The “science” leads to sickness —
And ******* in its waves.

In circles lies the symbol —
Fuel for instinct’s flame.
“Science’s” empty rituals
Slaughter Spirit’s name.

That instinct crushed and drained,
The mind left dry and cold.
Endorsed by CowID’s chain —
Save our souls from the fold!

Crop circles in the fields
Are bombs against their lies.
The spin-dust keeps silent —
Drums pounding in our minds.

Their path is to silence
What breaks their false design,
Then flood the world with lies —
A sea of endless crime.




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



Conspiracy of the Global Madhouse

A savage locked inside the ward —
Where’s the chief? No one’s on guard.
Hidden from our screams and cries,
Sanitars heal with cold disguise:

All the meds are “plant-based lies,”
While conditions rot and rise —
Saving money’s all they prize.
Madness hoards no worthy prize.

They torture with electric shocks,
The savage trapped — the system mocks.
Complaints in Ward Six pile high,
Ruled by a Führer’s twisted eye.

He cries and howls, a broken mind,
Yet hope’s a poison they still grind.
Sanitars promise they’ll soon hang
The wild ones — orders bang.

Rations shrink, the cockroaches feed,
While rebels get the snotty bead.
Filthy water’s all they get —
Better “care” you won’t forget.

A savage’s hell, the stink and scream,
And the chief — a dull, cold scheme.




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



Conspiracy of the Global Madhouse

Savage locked inside the ward —
Where’s the chief? No soul, no guard.
Hidden deep from screams and cries,
Sanitars deal brutal lies:

“All the meds? Just plant-based trash.”
Conditions rotten, cash is cash.
Saving pennies, minds decay —
Madness steals the light away.

They torture souls with shock and pain,
Savage trapped in endless chain.
Complaints fall dead in Ward Six’s pit,
Ruled by madmen’s iron writ.

Führer howls—a broken freak,
Hope’s a lie the fiends still speak.
Orders come — the wild get hung,
Starved to death, their songs unsung.

Rats feast while rebels drown in slime,
Snot and filth become their crime.
A savage’s hell—stench, pain, and scorn,
The chief? A butcher—dull and worn.




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



Emptiness

Emptiness is no simple void:
There passion swarms, and thought is ployed.
From mist and shadow, Beauty wakes —
Awake from fog before it breaks!

Clear your mind — so pure, so bright,
It was so clean at very light.
Emptiness holds many thoughts,
But that’s no sign of speech well-wrought.

Clear mind means speech sharp and true,
Yet no one’s there to hear from you.
Words will slash the evil haze,
Cut the fog of twisted ways.

But slaves don’t want the truth to sound —
They crowd the world with rotting ground,
A global madhouse, vile and grim,
Where soulless fiends sing out their hymn.

Generations of slaves have spoiled
The clarity — the core, the soil
Of life itself. Ignore the fools,
Their muddy lies and broken rules.

Return within—to emptiness,
The primal light’s pure holiness.
You won’t save all that’s murky, lost,
But answers come at any cost.

That answer’s simple — you are Spirit,
Trapped in hell’s dull, blind merit.
That’s why the world’s foul nonsense stings,
It screams and raves with broken wings.

Emptiness will heal that craze,
The madness inside you’s blaze.
It’s left a mark upon your soul,
Corrupting parts that made you whole.

Hell will shatter by that void —
Alchemy’s fierce, don’t be coy.
If you have woken, it’s no chance,
Only through this path advance.

Your Spirit’s strength will rise in flame,
Burning fog and lies to shame.
Fear will flee — or lost you’ll be,
If you refuse this key to free.

This hell will **** the Spirit’s fire,
If you keep rotting in the mire,
Among the fascists’ vile crew,
Destroying soul, denying you.

Go deep inside — answers wait,
Return and shatter hell’s dark gate.
We’ll blow the rotten madhouse wide,
Drown it all in blood and tide.

This blood is black — and let it be —
Be strong and toss your sympathy,
Throw out sorrow, grief, regret.
Emptiness? Seize this moment yet!

The core of Alchemy’s this flash —
Don’t miss it, or you’ll crash.
Arguments mean nothing there —
Intuition reigns with flair.

Emptiness is not just void,
But Spirit’s light, unalloyed.
All filth and fear dissolve in flight,
The Path shines clear, hell’s lies in sight.

The lies, the frauds, the monstrous dread,
All poison spilling, all is bled.




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



Economic Cattle

Office drones, those ****-ups blind,
Swallow nonsense, lost in grind.
Plankton hordes, souls on the line —
Sold for shelter, scraps, the bind.

Slavery here’s a savage creed,
Dumb as corks, a endless breed.
This slavery’s burned deep inside,
Dare to run — escape or die.

There, "life" is just a hollow name,
A funeral’s dull, dying flame.
Offices, a deathly feast,
Only rabble, very least.

Some still cling to madhouse lies —
Where all doors close on the wise,
Who refuse to be mere cattle,
Broken, beaten, choked by battle.

Many won’t take more abuse —
Guard their souls, refuse the noose.
Fascist world keeps watch so tight,
If you won’t bow, you’re out of sight.

Even faking’s seen and banned —
Exposed and thrown from their command.
Another purge, the plankton’s cleared,
While monsters rule, their lies revered.

Here’s the law — one slavery,
Masked by lies, brutality.
Stupidity, fear, and hate,
Madness grows at rapid rate.

Fools believe this “best of worlds,”
Souls lost, trapped like caught-up squirrels.
The catch is souls — all else is fake,
A world of **** and cruel mistake.

Run away, escape the trap,
Speed ahead — no time to nap.
**** and Judas drag us down,
Turning all to dust and drown.

Go inside — protected there,
By the Light beyond despair.
A cataclysm looms ahead —
Wake from this long, cursed dread.

This "dream" is fog, a dark disguise,
Centuries of vile lies.
Cheaper to be fool than wise,
The vice that blinds, the soul’s demise.




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



The Key

A sudden key to "secret truths" —
The fruit of all your toil and strife.
Inside it lives, no guide or sleuth
Will hand you insight in this life.

The work may be both smart and deep,
But all you gain is noisy speech.
A broken world, left by the Keep,
Disappointment’s thoughts will breach.

Yet intuition leads the way,
That sudden key beyond the rules,
It breaks tradition, lights the day,
And brings you swift to Spirit’s schools.

Seek out that key beyond the mind,
When despair claws your mortal frame,
And pushes you to fate’s harsh grind —
Then boldly leap into the flame.

You’ll break or find the rarest key.
Be brave, press on — no time to stall.
If truth in lies you blindly seek,
You’re nothing but a wretched thrall.

Reject all lies, grow doubting strong,
Distribute effort like the tide:
Let peaks return, their pulses long —
Accept the cycles as your guide.

When lows descend, don’t whine or fall,
Hold fast, endure, and wait your turn.
Or else your work will fail and stall,
The key’s brief flash you’ll never learn.

That key is sudden, sharp, and true —
A door that opens with one turn.
Fear not what lies beyond the view —
Awake from madness, stop to burn!

Delusion fills the waking mind,
It’s wired deep in ancient chains.
So cherish now your "strangeness" kind,
Or madness laughs and drives you insane.

A world insane in total blur —
The place you start, the place you bleed.
The harm is clear — but none concur,
The masses just obey, mislead.

They’re cattle, not mankind, the mass.
While few oppress with iron will.
If you obey, you’re just their glass —
A slave confined, doomed to be still.

That sudden key to secret lore —
Keep searching, fight until you fall.
Or like a lamb, be led to gore,
Forget what flesh cries out to call.

You are the Spirit, pure and bright,
Trapped in a body doomed to rot.
To grasp the truth, unlock the light —
Few have, but now it’s your own plot.

So onward, don’t beg, don’t stall,
That key awaits to free us all.




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



Foundations of the ****-Building

"So much is built upon the helplessness of the human child —
Your family, culture, faith, philosophy —
All rest on that fragile, broken pile."
— Osho


This world’s built on child’s weakness,
A prey to vile designs.
**** tear where the flesh is tender,
Mind’s a shooting range of lies.

So ******* pour their nonsense,
With force they drown the truth.
Turn all to jokes and cares —
Lie whips the soul uncouth.

Obedience is beaten
Like rods upon the weak.
Childhood’s not — it’s torment,
Mad slaves is what they seek.

The child’s trust and reliance,
Treasure ripe for the ****.
They use it to the fullest —
Filth rules where shadows come.

Docile, dumb, and slavish,
Most will bow and obey.
The world will rot and fester,
While **** dance in foul play.

Centuries of violence,
Deceit have carved this hell.
Fascism’s stinking label —
For fools who fell and fell.

There’s always some “other,”
They say, “Oh, what a charm!”
But final goal is brutal —
To turn minds into farm.

A cattle herd, all molded,
Easier with a child.
Let’s shame him, break him fully,
Send him to void — defiled.

It’s clear and well accelerated —
Filth spreads without a fight.
Madness shamed, Spirit crushed —
Hope fades into the night.

Spirit strong is dying —
Madness wins the feast.
The world a sick asylum,
Where fools are never ceased.

The stench grows ever stronger —
Fascist **** run wild.
The dumb, corrupt, betrayers —
Born from the child defiled.

Their “upbringing” is genocide,
A name too apt to hide.
This world deserves to burn —
While Spirit’s buried inside.

But soon the ground will tremble,
Before the new beasts rise,
Where chains are forged in lies,
And truth will meet demise.

Yet sun shines ever brighter —
It’s the End’s first gleam.
The fire grows relentless —
On the brink of darkest dream.

So let it be, no god here,
Satan rules the game:
A world so bleak and broken —
Built on filth and shame.




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



The ****-Building Base

Built on helpless kids —
Your family, faith, your lies.
**** tear soft flesh wide —
Brains turned shooting skies.

******* pour their crap —
Lie whips whip the weak.
Childhood’s not a life —
It’s torture, slave’s bleak peak.

Trust is treasure plundered,
Used up, spit, and crushed.
Docile slaves, dumb masses —
In filth they’re hushed.

Fascist stench spreads thick,
Madness rules the game.
Spirit’s dead, world’s rot —
No god, just shame.

Chains forged in deceit —
New beasts rise from dirt.
Sun blazes the End —
Hell’s fire will assert.




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



In Memory of Hans Selye

Hans Selye — great and stern,
Raised intuition high,
Above cold logic’s rigid burn,
Where thought’s caprices lie.

No mere sparks of insight’s flow,
But torrents deep and vast.
Yet from the halls where truths should grow,
This lesson’s cast out, past.

The mercenary **** conspire,
To crush that sacred light.
Intuition, pure, inspires
To expose the CowID blight.

That’s why they fear its power —
Dry reason chains impose,
Drowned in words that coldly glower,
Where lies like poison flows.

Facts twisted, others hidden,
Worse than plagues or wars,
A crippled mind, broken, ridden,
Believes false science’s cause.

When intuition’s gates are barred,
By dogma’s iron fist,
Such souls remain forever scarred,
In ignorance persist.

This breed is now the common mold —
False science’s design.
Their masters’ greed, their hearts are cold,
Chasing profit’s line.

The rulers here are less than men,
In this corrupt domain.
False science smooths the cruel den,
Where fools are left in pain.

A stew of lies and false belief,
Media’s twisted breath,
Religious frauds bring only grief,
And feed the world with death.

Fragmented minds construct the “new” —
A world of crafted lies,
Where idols haunt, and none are true,
Beneath the fearful skies.

Fear’s weaponized, step by step,
To **** the critical mind,
Leaving only nonsense kept,
A legacy unkind.

Creative thought will die by choice,
Selection dark and grim.
False science’s deceitful voice
Now sings its deathly hymn.

Had Selye lived to see this day,
He’d shudder at the sight —
A world in rot and cold decay,
A global death of light.




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



Selye’s Warning

Selye saw it clear and true:
Logic kills what’s bold and new.
Intuition’s flame they dread —
Dead minds march, their spirit bled.

False science spreads its filthy lies,
Crushing thought till reason dies.
Fear the chains they lock your mind,
Slave to fools, forever blind.

This world rots, no truth to find,
A hell they build for humankind.
Selye warned — the end is near:
Wake or drown in lies and fear!




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



Explosive Creation

Pour yourself out — break all your fears,
Then ride the wave of creative fire.
Or else you stand, condemned, in tears,
Where HANGING SWORD waits to expire.

Crush all the lies these freaks imposed,
Their twisted truths you must outfly.
The spark’s INSIDE — though life opposed,
Take every hardship as your guide.

Learn how to sort the false from fact,
Trace motives and their cruel schemes.
No use to follow sheep in packs,
Better to blaze alone with dreams.

Be fierce, be sharp, let passion lead —
The path where raw creation flows.
Mistakes will come, but layers of greed
Will peel away as insight grows.

Judge yourself, be your own master —
Don’t weigh your soul with mob’s cold chains.
Creator is a warrior faster,
While wretched slaves are all that remains.

No help for them — but aid the pure,
A few remain amid the blight.
Though darkness reigns, strong and obscure,
Still fight, still burn against the night.

Learn, resist, don’t ever yield,
Die unbowed before the dark.
In every note and every field,
Explode — but keep your center’s spark.

Intuition shows the way,
To find that core within your chest.
The mind’s a pit where fears hold sway —
No epicenter of the blast exists!

Explosive creation’s hellish road,
Know well: in Hell you’re not alone.
A fiend sits deep where darkness flowed,
And slams your ears with lies and groan.

Traitors, filth-throwers, vile throngs,
A legion sold and bent on pain.
Around you swarm the wretched wrongs —
Their evil strikes the pure’s domain.

Heal every wound — escape will aid,
That super-yoga of the mind.
Fools sit in poses, dull and staid,
Far from Dharma, truth declined.

It’s all alchemy — be strong in Spirit,
And Hell itself you’ll learn to lead.
Darkness’ servants won’t inherit —
Create, seek, unless you’re bred to bleed!




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



Farewell, Asylum!

Sheep-virus plague and endless war—
Total nonsense fed by news,
The World’s Asylum shakes once more:
Here traitors grin in every pew.

Each trembling soul, each skin that shakes—
There’s millions locked inside these walls.
What’s left but media’s fake fakes,
Where Twilight dims all reason’s calls?

If “no censorship” you claim,
No viral spark will light your stream.
Algorithms play their game—
Censorship’s a silent scream.

A million views on YouTube’s stage,
While honest poems get but none.
Still write fierce words, uncaged, enraged—
Better “in the drawer” than undone!

The traitors pen their empty rhymes—
“Patriotism” sells so well.
While honest voices lose their times
In info wars that burn like hell.

It’s all controlled by filthy cash—
The pockets full of those who scheme.
In Hell, true spirit turns to ash—
Traitors care not for that dream.

Who sells out Spirit, Honor, Truth,
Will fall again to darkest pits—
This madhouse’ chains will burn in sooth,
Fools trapped in lies will pay their debts.

They say they live “in better worlds,”
While reason melts like glaciers’ flow.
Obedient madness swirls—
The weak submit, refuse to grow.

Fascist beasts wield weapons sharp—
Through them they crush us, vile and sly.
Soon lies will burn in evil’s warp,
And all false gods will fade and die.

The Sun has started its great work,
The Earth replies with molten streams.
Death to fools, the traitors’ quirk—
Earth cheers the end of twisted schemes.

Sheep-virus plague and endless war—
The total madness media spins—
This is the verdict, nothing more:
Farewell, Asylum! If you’re not ****, rejoice within.




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



Express Train "Prison-to-Concentration Camp"

Bricks of dungeons piled in rows—
Volumes of the weak and small.
Few remain in prison’s throes,
The goal’s the broken mind for all.

False science binds with cement tight,
“Religion” bars the iron door—
To soften pain, believe the lie,
And suffer less than those before.

Believe the brazen propaganda—
Guards disguised in wicked guise.
Easier to live in bands—
Will the gang ignite the rise?

No, the weak get picked and sold—
That’s the business in the pit.
Is rebellion starting cold?
No, protest crushed to counterfeit.

In prison, few can truly see
The dungeon for what it became.
For most, it’s just a city spree—
Mammon is the highest claim.

If you pray to Mammon’s shrine,
Oblivion will pull you deep.
In forgetfulness you drown—
Pour lies to feed the endless sleep.

Forgetfulness will drown you whole,
All around are ghosts and dead.
Where it’s lighter, fools patrol—
The “kumi” clowns misled.

They sit just trapped behind their bars—
Cages built inside the mind.
Beasts raging, fools crowned czars—
“Masters” of the blind and blind.

Bad news breaks: the prison’s fate—
Turns itself to hellish camp.
In propaganda’s hateful state,
It howls a vicious, deadly ramp.

Louder howl—then fools obey,
Do anything and everything.
Kindness dies in wolf-pack’s fray,
Brains and honor fade to nothing.

Stupider liars rule the scene,
Bolder cheats with cruel disguise.
Better news: it all will burn—
Not by chance, but cataclysm’s rise.

The filth of this **** prison’s breath
Will issue out the final stink.
The few will rise beyond the death,
The rest to Hell’s abyss will sink.




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



The Melancholy of Waning in This "World"

The melancholy of waning—
If even just a spark of mind,
It grows each year, unstopping, draining,
And breaks you down, so unkind.

The soul’s ****** is pure madness,
In which we all decay and rot.
The more sarcasm, the badness—
The stronger is the body caught.

Add sensitivity — then worse
It gets in this small, cruel sphere—
No skin to shield the raging curse
Of Moloch’s madness ever near.

Wish your enemy to remain—
No worse torment can be found,
Though Hell itself expands the pain,
In total madness all around.

But foes are beasts with armored hides,
Soulless for ages long ago.
These creatures craft their lies and tides,
You’ll drift like logs in stagnant flow.

And logs surround you, woods grow dense—
More life, more Light than here you’ll see.
In this mad world, the more you’re tense,
The more logs crush your sanity.

The strongest Judas stands among
The logs, in waiting for us all—
Betrayal’s now a work well done,
Corruption piles like endless fall.

Among the logs—the fools and snakes—
Despair will surely be your end.
Despair breeds sickness, drunks, heartbreaks—
Learn early, less to fate you’ll send.

Fewer victims, more your mind
And Creative Spirit grow and rise,
Till you’re not just a lamb confined,
Falling where all lost souls die.

There are many ways to fall—
****** is the easiest trick.
In this world where Satan’s all,
From childhood we just rot and stick.

Fight and Create—that’s the key,
Only this will save your soul.
Later, before God, we’ll see—
When Sun will burn the vermin whole.

Steam, roast, and fiery trial—
That’s what lies in wait ahead.
The Spirit is the measure, dial—
Walk in Spirit, without dread.

Until they burn away the shame
And world’s disgrace in crowded pens,
Where fear and lies, with tons of blame,
Breed sickness with no loose ends.

The melancholy of waning—
Is dread if sickness you dismiss.
Like paper targets in a range,
You stand amid the blasts of abyss.




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



The Agony of Waning in This Hellish "World"

The agony of wasting —
If you’ve got one grain of sense,
It grows each year, devasting,
Crushing you with cold offense.

Soul ******’s pure insanity,
We rot together, all the same.
More sarcasm fuels the vanity —
Tighter clamps on flesh and flame.

Add feeling — that’s a curse’s knife,
No skin to block the Moloch’s rage.
Wish your enemy this life,
Forever trapped in maddening cage.

No torture worse can Hell invent,
Though Hell expands its gruesome show,
In total madness, time is spent
Watching every spirit blow.

But foes are thick-skinned, soulless beasts,
Long dead inside, but still they scheme.
They flood you with their filthy feasts —
You’re just a log adrift, no dream.

Logs crowd the forest, thick and dead —
More life and Light beyond this pit.
In this sick world, the thinner thread,
The more insane logs crush and split.

The sharpest Judas roams among
These logs and waits with filthy grin.
Betrayal’s job’s already done —
Corruption floods this world of sin.

Among these logs, the fools and snakes —
Despair will drag you to your grave.
Despair breeds sickness, drunken fakes —
Know this early, less to save.

Less victims feed the Devil’s game,
More Spirit grows if you resist.
Don’t be just lambs in slaughter’s flame,
Or fade like all in endless mist.

Many ways to die or fall —
******’s easiest, quick to hand.
In this world, where Satan’s thrall,
We rot from childhood, stalked and banned.

Fight, Create — that’s your one sword,
Only this saves soul from Hell.
Later, before God’s final Word,
Sun burns the lice and casts the spell.

Steam, fire, scorching trial —
That’s what waits ahead, no lie.
Spirit’s gauge and Spirit’s mile —
Walk in Spirit or you die.

Until they burn the shame and filth,
World’s disgrace in crowded pens.
Where lies and fear, like floods of guilt,
Breed sickness to the bitter ends.

The agony of wasting —
Is hell if you dismiss the pain.
Like paper targets in the firing range,
You stand beneath the Devil’s rain.



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



Take the Blow of This Wretched Fate

Take the blow of this wretched fate:
You’re not the judge who seals the score.
Satan stands as false god’s weight —
Vengeance for those who fight the roar.

Few here resist — the masses bow,
And through their chains revenge is fed.
If you endure too long, then now
Your soul and honor lie half-dead.

With mind intact you sink below —
They stir the sludge, the vile mix.
Evil wants that mess to grow,
To rot unseen, a putrid fix.

“Collective mind” in darkness bred,
The one who won’t submit is marked.
They crush him down, just like in judo’s stead,
A target doomed to be stark.

Parents, teachers, crowds unite,
To break the spirit, make it slave.
They’ll train you well to lose the fight,
And rot in Hell beyond the grave.

It’s hard to bear each cruel strike,
When you stand lone against the tide.
But spurning lies, you’ll find alike
The Spirit’s beauty deep inside.

Soulless fools try to “teach” you how
To bow, obey, and feed the rot,
To breed and rot beneath the plow —
A Hell where all is lost and caught.

Go inward — intuition’s spark
Will help you stand against the pain.
Not “tradition,” cold and dark,
Where gods are fat, but all is vain.

False sciences, poor and bleak,
Where Spirit’s crushed to hollow dust.
The lies bite worse than any streak
Of crowd’s dull venom and their lust.

The media’s the tyrant’s tool,
Spreading fear and lies with glee.
For centuries, these fiends so cruel
Have dragged this world to misery.

They rot the world, they spread the plague —
But cataclysms burn the blight.
The wild storms rage, the earth will shake,
To drown the fascist’s shameful blight.

Stand firm, withstand the ruthless blow —
You just might reach another plane.
Strike down the lies that poison so,
Within yourself the truths remain.




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



Fury

I don’t believe in God.
I fight the Devil’s spawn —
Each twisted, cruel façade.
Is it hard? I’m drawn?

No — Pure Fury wakes,
Unlocks the heart inside:
The cure for all the fakes,
The world’s own rising tide.

Alive — yet soaked in spite,
The poison’s in my veins.
Pure Fury keeps the fight —
I’m not yet lost in chains.

The herbivore’s foul hate
Wants to crush and bind.
Cast off the herd’s dull fate —
No herd will trap your mind.

The herd’s consumed by death,
Souls crushed beneath the weight.
Be yourself — take breath:
Spirit’s not the bait.

A flock of sheep,
A herd of fools,
A world corralled,
By goats as cruel.

Those goats lead on,
Whips worse than lies —
Their thrones held strong,
By fraud and cries.

Believe in Fury,
Honor your will.
Fury boundless —
Lights the path still.

The road from pens
Is hard and steep —
Wounds and shame
Will pile deep.

Move forward,
Even if no chance is shown.
Stand up — you’ve made
Yourself their stone.

Beasts devour souls —
******* life dry.
Don’t heed their lies —
They only spread fear’s cry.

Is it tough? Only Fury
Will bring your strength back near.
How much remains?
Just one sharp turn is clear!

The furious sun
Will burn this hell,
Scorch to the bone —
The slave-stock’s knell.



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



Half-Thought

Half-thought is fatal—
Bits of thought, clouds of lies,
Not just false, but infernal—
Serve the beast that never dies.

You serve your homeland, hollow,
Bring scraps to kin at home,
In life’s grim march, you follow,
Your soul to beasts you loan.

Entangled in small trifles,
Dulled since childhood’s dawn—
Now mostly just the riffraff,
Slave-****, broken and drawn.

A slave can’t think—
No thoughts break through the lies.
So “norms” for fools are set—
In madness everyone lies.

The “norm” is a slave,
Chewing stale, stale gum,
Fed by beastly books,
Propaganda drums the drum.

You swallow all the noise,
Become a thinker’s clone,
Then build your life among
Blind slaves in dull monotone.

Among the dull, poor masses
You dull day by day,
Joy of thought denied—
Rot’s all that’s on display.

Rot is all “culture,”
Surrounding every slave,
At the heart of lies, a carcass—
Guard yourself from the whip and grave.

Obey, believe, avoid the lash—
You won’t chew granite here,
But press down endless filth,
Designed to cloud your clear.

These beasts compress the crap,
To blind your seeing eyes,
Few seek freedom’s way—
Lost in falsehood’s lies.

All slaves hate them—
And rightly so it seems,
For flaws they spy in neighbors,
Taboo to break those dreams.

With dumb ***** only
Flatter and obey,
The circus of politics—
Soon all waste will fade away.

But slaves don’t know the truth—
Lies march them to the camps,
Space is tight in this crowd—
Idiots lead the stamp.

Even to Hell’s gates,
First you must run fast,
Consciousness grows dim—
Extinction comes at last...




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



Road to Hell

Worn-out sneakers,
Darkness overhead.
Only lies are new here—
Stuck in filth and dread.

The road stretches onward,
You run but don’t rest.
Just a little longer—
Hell’s your final quest.

From Hell back to Hell—
The endless cycle’s spun.
Only fools find “joy” here—
Beasts devour and run.

Hell’s fatigue weighs heavy,
Chains of fire and pain.
All that’s left inside you—
A soul that still remains.

Don’t trade your soul
For scraps of food or gain.
Don’t listen to others,
Nor curse your fate in vain.

No need to blame fate
In this fascist hell.
A world ruled by monsters—
Trapped inside their spell.

To stand or to run—
It’s all the same decay.
Only fascists are right—
And the world’s end day.

Soon the Sun will blaze—
Burn away the dark.
Scorch to the very bone—
Smoke rising like a spark.

When smoke and ash have faded,
A new world will arise,
Where the beast’s foul shadow
Will vanish from the skies.

That loathsome, soulless creature,
Hell’s own filthy spawn,
Rules these ****** realms—
Lies laid out like brawn.

Cheese in every trap set,
We’re caught in their cruel schemes.
Nasty tricks endure—
Madness in extremes.

Lies and cheese will vanish,
Be ready to peer down
Into the abyss—
Hell’s half-beasts wear the crown.

Take one last glance,
Remember well this sight.
For Victory forever—
Recall this Nothing’s blight.

We dwell in Nothingness—
No path more grim to take.
Fools call it “living”—
Darkness for all mankind’s sake.

Replace your worn sneakers—
Darkness soon will fade,
Along with all the traps
Of hell’s foul charade.



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



Expanding Consciousness

Expand your mind — forget what you knew:
The soul’s torment is a flood of lies, untrue.

The sense of space has long been confined,
Where rudeness thrives — dull filth aligned.

The base there — subjects, they say, apart,
Seeing only objects — near or bizarre parts.

And time rules there with shame and disgrace:
Soulless beings enslaved, Spirit near erased.

But you — a spiritual essence, not mere thing,
Not subject, not object, but the soul’s true spring.

Humans trapped in “the daily grind,”
The root of all ills — a false bind.

These ills are made by soulless vermin, foul and vile,
You’re but their servant, stuck in denial.

Consciousness must not grow or rise,
Or else they’ll crush it with cruel lies.

Legions of traitors, slaves of the slime,
Flooding the mind with decay and grime.

They crush intuition — the path to the skies,
Impose “traditions” — wheels of disguise.

And wheel around your Spirit, Reason, Honor too,
Justifying chaos — the shame all accrue.

All true knowledge lies forgotten,
Where Spirit reigns supreme, unbroken.

Instead, your soul’s offered up,
A sacrifice to become corrupt.

Time itself is narrowed down —
Events chained, a mental crown.

But Eternity belongs to you,
Not half-god, not slave, but something true.

Cast off false humanness —
Leave this evil’s dark fortress.

Root yourself deep in Spirit’s flame —
Your home, your endless sacred name.

Discard false knowledge, rumors grim —
Chaos trembles on its brim.

Soon this madness will be cast away,
For genocide none can stay.

They’ll **** those chained by empty rules,
Whose Spirit and Reason lie as fools.

Here lies falsehood on all forces’ might —
True power’s inside, beyond their sight.

Fools everywhere whisper “die,”
But seek the Source inside your mind’s sky.

Find the strength within your soul,
Smash all darkness, make it whole.

Let only what kills the filth survive,
And with such power, rise alive.

You are no weak slave, but king,
Remember strength is everything.

This is a Super-Mystery,
Step boldly in, embrace the key.

There matter fades, the soulless fall,
Shield yourself from narrow thrall.

Forget decay, all fears, complaints,
You’ll be reborn, free of restraints.

Strong, pure, and bright in Spirit’s light,
Hell’s servants perish in the night.

You’ll write anew on a spotless page,
A tale of goodness, love, and sage.

Spread the word, let all be told —
The end of evil soon unfolds.

It’s close enough — fight, multiply your force,
Reject all baseness or lose your course.



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



Expansion of Consciousness

Unfurl your mind — forget all you’ve known:
The soul’s torment is lies’ blackened throne.

Space itself, confined, long ago,
Where arrogance and filth do grow.

Subjects fenced apart — illusions bred,
Seeing only shadows, strange or near instead.

And time reigns ruthless, a tyrant blind,
Shame and disgrace enslave the mind.

But you — a Spirit, essence pure,
Not subject, not object — eternal and sure.

Mankind enchained by the daily blight,
Falsehood’s root — their cursed blight.

Monsters spawn these ills profane,
You’re their servant, bound in chains.

Consciousness must not ascend,
Or their dark reign meets its end.

Legions of traitors, merchants of rot,
Drowning reason in shadow and blot.

They crush intuition — the path to skies,
Spinning “traditions” — webs of lies.

They grind Spirit, Reason, Honor to dust,
Justifying madness, corruption’s lust.

All true knowledge sinks to night,
While Spirit’s throne is lost to blight.

Your soul sacrificed on the altar of scorn,
To live as beast, in darkness born.

Time’s narrowing grip — events confined,
A mental prison forged and signed.

Yet Eternity bends to your will —
Not slave, nor half-god, but sovereign still.

Cast off false humanity’s chains,
Abandon this fortress where evil reigns.

Root deep in Spirit’s timeless fire —
Your home, your endless sacred pyre.

Reject the lies, the rumors vile —
The chaos trembles, recoils in denial.

Soon this madness will be undone,
For genocide claimed by none but the numb.

They **** those bound by empty laws,
Whose Spirit sleeps while Reason gnaws.

Falsehood taints all power and might —
True strength lies hidden in Spirit’s light.

Fools cry “die” as darkness grows,
But seek the Source where true power flows.

Find your strength inside the soul,
Shatter the night, reclaim the whole.

Only death to filth shall please,
And with that power, rise with ease.

You are no slave, but king reborn,
Remember strength was never torn.

This is the Great Mystery,
Enter bold — embrace the key.

Where matter fades and darkness dies,
Shield yourself from narrow lies.

Forget decay, the screams, the fears,
Reborn in Spirit — beyond the years.

Strong, radiant, pure and bright,
Hell’s minions vanish in the light.

On a clean slate you will inscribe,
A tale of truth and love revived.

Spread the news — the end is near,
The fall of evil, crystal clear.

Fight on, gather your sacred might,
Reject the vile, embrace the light.

Or be lost forevermore —
A shadow cast on Spirit’s shore.



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



Expand your mind — forget the lies,
Soul trapped in darkness, spirit dies.

Falsehood reigns, the filth consumes,
But light will burn these shadowed tombs.

You’re not a slave, but king inside,
Break chains, let Spirit be your guide.

Hell’s servants fall — their power fades,
Rise up and claim the light that saves.

Fight the vile — or be lost to night,
In Spirit’s strength, reclaim your might.




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



True Purity

"...to keep your mind in perfect clarity,
Where red is just red, and willow green—
No tangled thoughts to cloud that verity,
No shadows in the light unseen."
— Daisetsu Suzuki, Zen Buddhism, 1934


Keep your mind forever clear,
Suppress the empty babble,
The world’s a fog, a cheap veneer—
A mess, a shallow rabble.

Observe detached, without a cling,
Your “primal face” to seek,
A sudden flash, a seeing spring—
The light that makes you speak.

But never hold, or it will seem—
Illusions dress as light,
And every fool’s deceived by dream,
Where darkness masks the bright.

Falsehoods settle in the mind,
Corrupting all around,
The soul’s compass, pure and kind,
By lies is tightly bound.

This world’s mad house is built on lies—
Awake from endless haze!
That darkness like a coma lies—
Break free from mindless maze.

Trust what intuition shows,
Forget old worn-out creeds,
For “spiritual tradition”
Is just dogma feeding weeds.

Dogmatists are legion here,
The truthful scarce and thin.
If you heed evil’s sneer,
Your soul will lose within.

Idiots rule this wicked land,
In “faiths” their numbers swell.
Satan’s mark is clearly planned—
Reject that empty hell!

False sciences deceive and chain—
Their harm is vast and deep.
“Walking through torment” is the war,
Not peace for us to keep.

Spiritual battles rage on all sides,
Only the strong resist.
Not humans, but vile beasts abide,
Their rule is clenched in fist.

No jokes remain when monsters win,
When filth is raised so high.
Keep your mind pure—resist the sin,
Don’t bend beneath their lie.

Before the fascist world’s cruel gaze,
Stand firm, reject the grime,
Cast off the filth, the twisted maze—
Keep your pure soul sublime.




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True Purity

Keep your mind razor-clear,
No lies, no twisted frame.
Red is red, green is green —
No darkness in the flame.

Dogma’s chains will crush your soul,
Traditions blind and cold.
Reject the fools, resist control,
Stand strong — refuse to fold.

The world’s a fascist cage,
Where monsters rule the night.
Hold pure your mind — break free the rage,
And fight for truth and light.




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True Purity

Keep your mind clean — cut the ****,
No lies, no ******* cloak.
Red’s red, green’s green — admit,
Don’t choke on their smoke.

Dogma’s chains? Tear ‘em down,
Traditions are their trap.
Fools crawl, slaves wear the crown —
But you don’t fall in that crap.

World’s a fascist freakshow,
Monsters feed on fear.
Stand your ground, say no —
Burn their lies clear.



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True Purity — No Lies

Cut the crap — keep mind clean,
Red’s red, green’s green, no schemes.
Fascists lie, but you fight —
Burn their hell, claim your light.




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Purity’s Edge

Mind razor-sharp, no filth allowed,
Red flower bleeds, green will not bow.
Fascist **** crawl, their lies will rot —
Crush their hell, burn every blot.




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True Purity

Keep your mind sharp, spit on their lies,
Red’s still red while falsehood dies.
Fascist vermin breed their filth —
Crush their spawn in hell’s own kilt.



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True Purity, No *******

Keep your mind clean, **** their lies,
Red stays red while ******* dies.
Fascist **** spread **** and gore —
Crush these vermin to the core.



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True Purity, No *******

Keep your mind pure — crush empty talk,
This foggy world, this stinking walk.
See red as red, green will stay green,
No twisted lies to cloud the scene.

Cling not to visions that just seem,
False lights that mock the lucid dream.
They slap bright names on rotten **** —
Nirvana? Hell no, just counterfeit.

Evil fakes breed in the mind,
Their poison spreads and blinds mankind.
Soul’s compass points to honest light,
But lies drag you to endless night.

Worldwide madhouse, built on lies,
Wake from the coma, cut the ties.
Trust your gut, not empty creed,
Spiritual dogma’s just poison seed.

Dogmatists swarm, truth’s all but lost,
Soul sold cheap at evil’s cost.
Idiots flock to corrupted cults,
Where Satan’s worship never halts.

Reject their *******, reject the fake,
Science twisted, just lies they make.
No “walking through the fire” — it’s war,
Spiritual battle’s raw and *******.

Strong resist, refuse to bend,
Against the filth that won’t relent.
Not humans here, but fiends in bulk,
Their reign of **** — the final sulk.

Keep your mind pure, resist the flood,
Don’t bow to fascists’ stinking crud.
Reject the ****, the fear, the night —
Fight on, stay strong, defend the light.



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Keep your mind sharp — crush all the lies,
Red is red, green don’t disguise.
False lights are poison, don’t you trust,
Their “spiritual” ******* turns to dust.

Fight the fiends who feast on souls,
Resist the ****, refuse their control.
World’s a madhouse, truth is slain,
Stand your ground or drown in pain.



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



Mind pure, eyes clear — no room for fake,
Their lies are traps, their cults, a snake.
Evil’s army rules the weak,
Only the strong dare speak.

Bow to none — fascist filth and scorn,
Fight the dark till comes the dawn.



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Mind sharp, lies crushed —
Red is red, truth rushed.
Fakes preach, souls bleed —
Fight or fall, no heed.



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



Pure mind, no lies,
Fascists choke on their own cries.
Stand firm, break the chain —
Darkness burns, truth reigns.



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



Clear your mind — crush the lies,
Fascist **** wear their disguise.
No mercy for their twisted creed,
Break the chains, let spirit lead.



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



Clean your head — no fake, no scam,
They’re the poison, you the dam.
Stand tall, reject their filth,
Fight or perish in the guilt.



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



Mind pure, no cult, no slave,
Fools bow down to the grave.
**** the lies that choke and bind —
Only truth can free the mind.



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



Mind sharp, clear — slash through the sludge,
Fascists crawl in their own sludge.
No saints here — just demons' spawn,
Rip the veil, burn their dawn.



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



Brains fried by their twisted lies,
Watch the filth wear human guise.
Crush the herd of soulless drones,
Strike the plague that eats our bones.



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



Purge the cesspool of deceit,
Fascist worms beneath your feet.
No forgiveness for their breed —
Only fire feeds the seed.



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



Keep your mind pure, razor-sharp, no mercy shown,
Fascist **** breed shadows, rotten to the bone.
No saints, no heroes — just demons in their lair,
Tear down their vile lies, burn their poison air.

Brains cooked by filth, by twisted venom fed,
The human mask hides worms who feast on dread.
Crush this plague of soulless, deaf and dumb,
Strike hard, strike fast — let no evil come.

Purge the stinking cesspool, burn the cursed breed,
Fascist vermin crawl where death is their creed.
No mercy, no truce — only ash and flame,
Feed their twisted roots with fury untamed.



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



Keep Your Mind Pure

Keep your mind pure — no room for lies or ****,
Fascist filth breeds darkness — we won’t succumb.
No saints here — just demons, vile and foul,
Their rotten lies stink like a sewer’s growl.

Brains rotted deep, infected by their lies,
Behind their masks crawl beasts in human guise.
Crush the plague of mindless, deaf and blind,
Strike swift and hard — leave no filth behind.

Purge the cesspools where their poison breeds,
Fascist vermin thrive on hate and greed.
No mercy shown — just fire and ash,
Burn their twisted roots till nothing lasts.

Keep your mind pure — resist their hellish reign,
Reject their filth, their torment, their pain.
The world’s a battlefield, raw and rough,
But your soul’s sharp blade will be enough.



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



Keep Your Mind Pure

Keep your mind pure — no room for filth or slime,
Fascist **** breed darkness — poison for our time.
No saints here — just demons, vermin in disguise,
Their lies like gangrene festering ‘neath dead skies.

Brains rotted out, infected, hollowed shells,
Human masks worn by monsters raised in hells.
Crush the plague of blind fools, deaf to truth’s call,
Strike like thunder, break the chains that bind us all.

Purge the swamp of lies where blackened vipers crawl,
Fascist rats gnaw bones beneath their shadow’s thrall.
No mercy shown — let fire scorch their cursed lairs,
Burn their twisted roots, choke their poisoned airs.

Keep your mind pure — resist their venomed grip,
Reject their ****, their sludge, their fatal script.
The world’s a warzone soaked with filth and blood,
But your soul’s sharp blade will cut through all the mud.

Stand fierce and tall — no bow to tyrants’ lies,
Let hatred fuel the flame that never dies.
This fight is ours, to cleanse the blighted earth,
Strike hard, strike fast — reclaim your rightful worth.




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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No *******!

Keep your ******* mind pure — no ****, no slime,
Fascist ******* **** breed darkness every time.
No saints, just ******* demons — vermin, vile and cold,
Their ******* lies like cancer, eating all the soul.

Brains fried, rotted out — hollow ******* shells,
Humans? **** no — just monsters straight from hell.
Crush the plague of ******* fools deaf to truth’s roar,
Hit like thunder, smash their chains to the floor.

Purge the swamp of lies where black-*** vipers creep,
Fascist rats gnaw bones, in shadows they freak.
No mercy, no pity — burn their cursed lairs,
Incinerate their rotten ******* snares.

Keep your mind pure — resist their poison grip,
Reject their ****, their sludge, their ******* script.
This world’s a ******* warzone soaked in blood and ****,
But your soul’s a razor — cut through every bit.

Stand tall, stand fierce — don’t bow to tyrant lies,
Let hatred fuel the fire that never dies.
This fight is ours — cleanse this cursed earth,
Strike hard, strike fast — reclaim your ******* worth.




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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No ******* *******!

Keep your ******* mind pure — no lies, no slime,
In this fascist cesspit, they poison all time.
No saints here — just demons, filthy ******* vermin,
Feeding on your soul like vultures, cold and stern.

Brains rotted out, hollow shells, ******* hordes,
Humans? **** no — just monsters with broken cords.
Crush the plague of idiots, deaf to truth’s thunder,
Smash their chains, burn their lies down to blunder.

In this world of lies, black vipers crawl and hiss,
Fascist rats gnaw bones, bathed in evil’s kiss.
No mercy, no pity — torch their rotten lairs,
Burn to ash their ****, their traps and cursed snares.

Keep your mind pure — spit on their poison grip,
Reject their filth, sludge, their twisted script.
This world’s a warzone, soaked in blood and ****,
But your soul’s a razor — slice through every bit.

Stand fierce, stand tall — never bow to lies,
Let hatred be the fire that never dies.
This fight is ours — purge this cursed earth,
Strike hard, strike fast — reclaim your worth.



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



Keep Your Mind Pure — No ******* *******!

Keep your ******* mind pure — no lies, no slime,
In this fascist cesspit, they poison all time.
No saints here — just demons, filthy ******* vermin,
Feasting on your soul like rats on rotten vermin.

Brains ****** to pulp, hollow shells, ******* horde,
Humans? **** no — just monsters, traitor ****, warlords.
Crush the plague of idiots, deaf to truth’s brutal thunder,
Burn their fake gods, drown their lies in blood and blunder.

This world’s a hellhole, vipers crawl, fangs dripping venom,
Fascist rats gnaw bones, bathed in lies’ black phlegm.
No mercy, no pity — torch their pigsty lairs,
Cremate their *******, poison traps and devil’s snares.

Keep your mind pure — spit on their putrid grip,
Reject their filth, sludge, their twisted ******* script.
This world’s a warzone, soaked in blood, ****, and hate,
But your soul’s a razor — slash through every plague.

Stand fierce, stand tall — never kneel to lies,
Let hatred be the fire that burns and never dies.
This fight is ours — purge this cursed ground,
Strike hard, strike fast — leave no demon around.

See through their masks — beasts in human skin,
Corrupted, broken, slaves to endless sin.
Rise like a hammer, smash their filthy throne,
Claim your spirit back — make this hell your own.




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Keep Your Mind Pure — No *******, No Mercy

Keep your mind pure — purge the ******* lies,
This world’s a sewer of filth and devil’s cries.
No saints, just cockroaches crawling in your brain,
******* parasites choking out your sane.

Brains smashed like skulls beneath iron boots,
Humanity lost — only twisted brutes.
Idiots drowning in fake gods’ blood and slime,
Crack their bones, torch their cults — end their crime.

This fascist shitpit reeks of death and rot,
Rats gnaw flesh, spit venom, tie your soul in knots.
No mercy for vermin, no pity for the weak,
Burn their lies to ashes, let the witches shriek.

Keep your mind pure — spit in their rotten face,
Reject their fake gospel, their poisoned disgrace.
This world’s a slaughterhouse dripping with pain,
But your spirit’s a blade slicing through the stain.

Stand fierce, stand tall — crush their blasphemous reign,
Let your rage be wildfire, let it drown the insane.
Fight hard, strike brutal — tear down every throne,
Grind these demons to dust, claim the fight your own.

See through their masks — devils dressed as men,
Broken, corrupted — slaves to hell’s cruel pen.
Rise like a bomb, explode their vile lair,
Rip your soul free from this endless nightmare.

Hold fast, no surrender, no ******* lies,
This war is real — no place for disguise.
Keep your mind pure — the last light in the dark,
Ignite the fury — become the final spark.



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Mind Pure. Lies Burned.
Vermin Crushed. No Mercy Given.
Fight Hard. Strike Brutal.
Be The Final Spark.
Monkey Writes May 28
The reverberations of
Sergeant Sargent’s rat-a-tat
ring in my head.

Listen up, ding dongs!
Any jibber-jabber is a no-no!
This ain’t no ticky-tacky, artsy-fartsy,
wishy-washy wingding!
You ragtag riffraff are gettin’ tip-top!
So cut the flimflam, quit the chit-chat,
and gimme super-duper!
No namby-pamby hanky-panky,
and everything will be hunky-dory.
Now chop-chop!

— The End —