Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Gossamer Apr 2013
Who is to define crazyness?
Or being mad?
Being sane? Insane?
Who?
Not you, not me, not anyone!
Would you like to know why?
Because my description of crazy or being mad or sane or insane is completely different to what your description is.
So when people call schizos crazy, it ****** me off.
Schizos are not crazy,
Maybe they just see things that are actually there.
You can call me crazy, call me mad, call me sane or call me insane.
Just think about it, maybe they see the things we cant see,
Because we could be the crazy ones who cant see what they see.
Kagey Sage Dec 2013
And someday the truth will seep
Schizos, and friends who took too much, will be right
Truth seeping from the sewers and dampening
the carpet (basement first, upper floors later)
Then it will seep through our eyes
and our ears, some veins may burst
with all we found out
Our dark eye lidded friends holding the cigarettes
their stories will be true
There’s a New World Order being crafted
We didn’t land on the Moon. No sky
just a big planetarium around
The relatives of politicians, their children, etc.
picked out for some reason (which hasn’t seeped to us yet) from
random families at the hospital, or homeless on the street
Plastic surgery happens, so they all look believable as a family
and then everyone gets hypnotized not to tell, with pills and chanting
Cause secrets are never safe
just look how they seep
They live in satellites (watchtowers within the planetarium sky)
and wear nothing but white and clip their fingernails perfect, everyday
They think they know all
But he’s not as close
as yogi bear guru atop a peak point
that seeps up his ****** hole
He collects his bark and snow
at what the men in the tower label, 4 AM
then he sits and convinces himself
that everything’s fake, even himself
Convinces, for the least amount of reason possible
ConnectHook Apr 2016
Shout from the rooftops
those whispers in your ear
that schizos may speak
and their followers hear.

That nutcase Messiahs
and self-proclaimed Lords
may reign in the splendor
of ****** wards.

That demons be exorcised,
angels beheld,
and the Savior restore
what the Garden expelled.

That shepherds spin yarns,
flocks be well-fleeced
with no charlatan spared
from the reign of the beast.

Until virgins are satisfied
trimming their wicks,
and we see by that light
that we all need a fix.
a poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016
♪☺☻☺♪
www.connecthook.wordpress.com
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
.confined to: on the nigh... look... no surd in sight... no white night... do i need to say a certain word? no... but do i need to write it? well... if you want to take an escapade outside of the realm of dyslexia... sure.

i'm a wordsmith,
i tend to listen...
   better written down
than left
to a simple
conversation...

      ******'s aryan...
how else
to fudge so many
extra letters into
the word

          nigerian?

or maybe it has
something to do
with reading a book
review
by trevor phillips...

a book entitled
white fragility...
by robin diangelo...

               akin to that...
ha ha moment...
   when you spot
the vowel-catcher
aspect
of the tetragrammaton
and the, base,
for laughter...

can't seem to hinge
laughter on any other
consonant, other than
the H...

           sure: in hebrew that
amounts to saying
in English: the the the...
point?
    closure...

was i ever wrong in saying,
and abiding by
a non-dialectical
observation:
   a jazz record sounds
best...
   on vinyl...

jazz on a bus...
  a ring to it, doesn't it just
have it, the missing G
in a word like:
the Niger river...

oh right, that song...
not Oliver Costello's
oliver army...
rhymes with trigger...
on 1585AM radio...

they didn't hush
the word...
as would be the case on
FM radio...
i think that's
the right frequency...

i spent an hour sitting
in a car in a car park
outside the vets...
a cat in a car is like
a man about to fly
in a space-shuttle...
   the windows steamed-up
like that *** scene
from the movie Titanic...

billy joels':
we didn't start the fire...
belgians in the congo...
apocalypse now,
             heart of darkness,
joseph conrad...
         more like:
belgians in england...
          these days...
belgians in portugal...
        
the added G...
****... at least i'd be identified
with a Latin word
for black...
flag pole... the north pole...
******: grr...
         just one more word
you can add to speaking
a foreign tongue...

1 hour... sitting in a *******
car...
   can i drive one?
no! but i can ride you a horse...
how's that?

i had to lazily fathom
my... inability to dream,
or feel anything profound...
like making baby-steps
in a ******
that's supposed to be a heart...

well... if everyone is going
to be so ******* honest...
suicidal thoughts?
  oh, plenty of them...
   it's the only way to
contemplate mortality,
overshadowing an aspect
of god to send out Samael...

        well...
seeing how i ate the pain
of the four knuckle burns
from a cigarette
and enjoyed it?
           yeah...
that's weird:
     having the capacity
to enjoy pain...
                 it's like:
i want to feel what these
****-sodden *******
of a 14 year old girl
feel like...
     when cutting....
        the sad truth being:
               burning leaves
       you with tattoos...      

still, lazily budding with
a variant of sado-masochism...
           if there's pleasure
to be gained from...
   over-exposure to
the nerves...
           being recipient
of a...
                        impetus?

the fear of clenching
your teeth before
falling alseep...
in fear of a quasi-epileptic
spasm...
     fun days, and night...

hello the Chernobyl
winds...
             that year...
when the local park
experienced a curiosity...
when an atomic wind
passes?
  strips of trees...
roughly 10 metres
unaffected...
   rought 10 metres
decaying or...
speeding up from spring
into an autumnal
allure...
                  
  and this... this wasn't even
in Ukraine...
     head further,
north, across the border...

why i've come to enjoy
pain?
       a male ****** was
only ever so-so...
          what...
having to pull back
the *******...
   revealing the perfect
*****-****...
         because of two
protruding veins
being the reason for
not being given the:
             snippet treatment?

a hour, sitting in a ******* car...
apparently i gave off
a stench of a brewery...
filled the car with
toxic fumes of
the previous night's
whiskey consumption...

and i look at gambling
and think...
   yeah... i gamble...
i take a liter of whiskey
with me to bed...
chances are: i'll wake up
the next day... 3:1 ratio of me being
right about that...

     so...
   racism... race realism...
   very racist of me,
i somehow managed
to "bribe" a black girl
   with my up-stairs
doing it in the dark
on a leather sofa in a bedroom
while entertaining
a few guests who
managed to bother
a birthday part of me...
"bribed" her by providing
a decent stealth of cocktails
and cedric IM brooks',
notably the song
satta masa ganna...

   i do appreciate that classical
music lasted for
let's figure this out...
Vivaldi (1678)
Bach (1685)...
   vaughn Williams (1872)...
roughly 300 years...
        jazz?
             how long was that?
i'm not going to check,
i want to be guided by
some variant of ignorance
in... making general statements...
50 years?
           nig(g)er dropped
the ******* trumpet!

before it was rap,
it was a rhapsody...
            and i have...
0 colonial ancestry in me...
so... of course i'm not
excused...
         but you're just black,
while i'm a ******* flag pole...
and the people
most acutely aware to
any verbal transgressions?
they're the ones who
have no ******* puddle
for a soul behind the facade
of a smiling face.

racism contra race realism...
hmm...
       sounds like something
from an existentialist menu
that's... *******...
          hot... like a bagel
from a brick lane bakery!

never to be a convert
to rap, 'ere...
                reggae...
anything by culture
or isreal vibration...
who's who and who isn't
culturally appropriating
what?
         bunch of ******* schizos,
trapped on Jamaica,
thinking the Ethopians
are the 13th or is it the 14th
tribe is Juda?

i'm just a ******...
   shying away from
a Germanic heritage...
  ****... i'll just have
to butcher mein deutsche
for the, tickling thrill of it all!
and speak anglo-sax!
Jack Aylward Feb 2016
The ******, the gamblers, the killers
And the serial killers,
The psychos, the schizos, the villains.

The streets are *****.
The biggest ****** are in this city.

The streets are full of creeps.
The little shites
Walk up and down under street lights;
Licking the ***** of cheap ******
To whom money is a gun.

Dope dealers are priests.
Prostitutes that walk like wild caged beasts
Parading up and down the red
Light districts
Are desperate nuns looking for fun.

©Jack Aylward
JDK Jan 2014
All types of schizos are my friends
And I'm schizotypal too
We get together and share the crazy things in our heads
But care not about how much of it might be true

They may be a bit rough around the edges
But they're a good bunch
We focus on action; the things that we do
And try not to think too much

Most people find it bizarre
But most people bore me to death
We can't help it; we are what we are
All in love, obsessed, with insanity's depth
look away
Filmore Townsend Mar 2016
even though, blood become
               word. and the body
          continues to have to
     metabolize when slumbering,
till a future becomes
        some moved on
                                  parallel universe.
          (mahogany-stained oak grip;
                          she’s the better
               adventure, so don’t slip)
         and the Long Dark sweatings,
                     unusual;
             brambled-feet still stink.
     (it would snow
          in a raging roar)
        wonder, can the crazy
                      be smelled?;
        wonder, does the risen body
                      require metab.?;
        wonder, did he catch a ghost
                      between his teeth?
and now [SELF-DENTISTRY 101]
                     hold on –
         watch this guy
             pull his own tooth.
   (i’m too white
     to keep this a-flow)
but Paul spoke the red, (amanuensis,
    main-saint diggin’ the schizos)
and,            but wait,
       “Jesus spoke in red,” a lone
         cowboy sang.
and colorblind, remember
        and,
                  hold up,
     guy is still working
                that tooth –
     some paper towels,
     pair of pliers,
     someone to hold the light.
             “So I don’t get blood
                 all over my buddy’s bed,”
               [brake]
      “That was a long nerve.
           You hear it pop?”
               [brake]
           “If I was straight white-boy,
                   this’d be easy,”
               [brake]
   but what can follow.
skaldspiller Jan 2017
Now I understand the flame of your presence
to my lofty moth wings
and my icarus heart
your sadness is sweet love potion
aphrodisiac comfort of childhood
I see the echoes of my soul
in your deep river eyes
calm surfaced with a storm underneath
I come from the same water
your multifunction brain,
Analytics and creativity
you've argued once before that only schizos
can process two complex ideas at the same time
and i wonder how deep my problems go
because that cant possibly be true
I've told you I've worlds in my brain
i process multiple lives simultaneously
I know you feel me
I see you, I've whispered crazy things all my life
you think you're bizarre
i think we are alike.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.                  lindsay
                                                   shepherd...
     talking...

                                              do i even
need to watch
                       ****?

  sure...
i had one of those,
weird,
"love at first"
sight moments...

with a sister,
of a girl i was
"*******"
(trying to lose my
virginity to...
as it happens...
*******
is useful;
nope...
it ended up being
a girl from Grenoble,
and not,
that *******
   from Ukraine)...

   but never actually
know why...
   no... wait...
there's a tim burton
movie soundtrack?

see... that's why i never
managed to fuse myself
to liking,
either punk,
or rap...
   translating movie
soundtracks,
froming classical music...
somehow...
   i needed to feed
off the eerie...
snow...
   night...
tombstones...
   the cemetery...
ever clear your mind...
peering at a cemetery
when all saint's day
is taking place,
in poland,
and... it's not exactly
what halloween
is in the west, is it?

a crescendo of...
tear burning bright
as amber...
how i'd sometimes
walk into a forest,
sometimes the cemetery...
and then...
one night of the year...
i'd be excused
from wandering...
into...
what became...
an equivalent of
the Chelsea flower show...

the cemetery would
"magically" light up!
scary...
  seeing one's own shadow
in a cemetery...
but... adrift...
with no epitaph ascribed...

but there is that one
night in the year...
when the day of all saints
is celebrated,
in the more...
  "refined"...
catholic confined
countries...
   akin to poland...

    the most serene sessions
of treating my insomnia,
were bound
to falling asleep in
my grandparent's house...
which teases the presence
of mingling
with a cemetery...

to sleep...
  it's not so much
a concern to dream...
but to walk,
among the grey matter
of the throng
    of the dead...

and, all it takes is...
is to clech my teeth
and stutter
in finding a skull,
but no jaw...

           like the current
crescendo...
  it made sense when
the x-men movies
came out...
                   now?
eh...
          last time i heard,
when comics became
serious...
  intellectual pillars...
it was...

  either a danny elfman
soundtrack...
   or...
   m. night shyamalan's:

non-replica movie...

and this is where a
          the end happens...
or it extends...
into a conversation
over a bowl of
spaghetti,
and then we magically
kiss...
  
   and then... oops...
1990s gothica
isn't exactly going
to be "translated" /
plagiarized... is it?

          i see...
i too see it that way:
"they" never let me die
when the natural order
assured me, death...
  i became...
  sort of...
offspring of Rasputin...
well...
   i never came
about to playing
the luke perry role...
i just had the *******
audacity "thrill"...
       to play on...

count: 21... i'm almost 33...
12 years later...
and i've manged
to live through a brain haemorrhage,
an infancy "heart attack"...
and, oh gee!
well... i was never going
to test out
the aztec shaman psychadelics...
i was going straight into
the drug plethora
of what the people
were prescribing schizophrenics!

they said i lied...
   hell...        it's all fun now!
i lied...
   ha ha... i lied...
i almost wish i could
have done the psychadelic drugs
avenue...
****... got stuck in traffic
with the anti-psychotic
mind-numbing medicine
ascribed to schizos...

  and... hey presto!
                 this sort of writing...
good to know
we can be allowed
to experiment...
with / in the most unlikely
scenarios.

- and then you're teased
into a giggle...
via Denmark...

      dough k'all m'eh: bath-man;
ha ha...
you just become prone to loop
& loopy!
Nonsense

One bad thought won’t crush another,
One “first try” won't doom your brother —
No, they plant their filth with cunning,
That's how Reason takes a gunning.

Welcome, school. Then college, please —
Chains of lies from soulless fleas.
Monsters shake your soul to dust.
Every hardship? Man-made rust.

Genocide walks arm in arm
With the system — that's the charm.
**** and fascists call the shots.
Bow to them — you're lower than rot.



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



Descent into Savagery

Our folk keep sinking, going wild —
No will, no thought, no inner child.
Mass dementia — epidemic.
The state of things? Flat-out systemic.

We’re in the Madhouse, that’s our fate.
Where beasts and **** disseminate
A global lie with steady grin —
All else is fiction. Rot within.



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



So-Called "Fourth Estate"

“Fourth Estate”? Just greasy fiction —
Real power hides in mass affliction.
The beasts are safe, you’ll never find
The ******* spawn of Dark behind.

Politics? A circus act,
While zombotubes distort the facts.
The sick agenda’s pushed with pride —
Their war-cry branded: CowID.

War games? As easy as a ****
For mutant freaks — they thrive on this.
No stunt too vile, no lie too grand —
They’re trained to trick, deceive, command.

These swine lie loud, without regret,
And herd the sheep into the net.
Three layers deep, their lies unfold —
The goat leads sheep to death, so bold.

He calls it "duty", "war", "construction" —
Just names for mass self-destruction.
If souls in sheep are long since dead —
The whole dumb herd is easy-led.



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



Humusism
(or: The Cult of "Care")

A misanthrope won’t fake delight —
He smacks you with the truth outright.
But "humanists" will dig your grave
With smiles — like microbes well-behaved,

Breeding in their Petri dish.
The misanthrope may seethe and hiss,
But he won’t “heal” or preach or lie,
He won’t torment your soul with cries.

The ones who “heal” — they poison deep.
They build a cage where none can weep.
And all the idiots cheer with pride:
Their "care" just tripled. More to hide.



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



Sheer Nonsense

Hordes of halfwits spew their trash,
Drowning minds in noisy clash.
Souls are crushed beneath their load —
Truth is rare on this broad road.

Smart ones? Few. They stay unseen.
Loudest liars fill the screen.
Trolls and schizos, frauds and freaks —
They pollute all online peaks.

Wisdom’s quiet, sharp, and clear —
But no one wants it anywhere.
They crave nonsense, bold and loud —
That’s what pleases the dumbest crowd.



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



The Zombotube

Blue screen’s a trough
Of shameless lies and slough.
The sheep all drink their fill,
Glug down the poison still.

The whole “nation” penned and trapped,
This world’s a farm, all mapped.
One law rules all the same —
Be the FIRST sheep in the game.

Be the first sheep, get your prize —
Better swill before your eyes.
Blue screen glows bright and mean —
Only fools deserve this scene.



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



Petty “Paradise”

Folly thrives in petty spite,
The core of slaves who lose their fight.
Like Titans, they bear on their backs
A monstrous lie—its crushing facts.

The master spreads the deepest dread,
Fear him—bite your neighbors instead.
There’s nothing left untouched, betrayed,
No truth that hasn’t been waylaid.

So gnaw your way through all you see,
Petty slave, take out on the free.
Eat, breed, and hoard your worthless heap—
Lies dress up slavery as sweet.



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



Phantasmagorias

Karla Marla, Engel’s kin,
With their cash, this madhouse spin
As a cold, relentless beast —
Monsters shaping man, at least.

They claim the only force is might —
Production’s power, black and white.
Fools embraced this twisted tale,
Many lost, their spirits pale.

Forget all else — revere the Soul.
To selling snakes, assign their hole —
In cesspools deep, where **** belong.
We’re not dough to mold their throng.

Hear your Soul, and cast off chains,
See this Hell through different veins.
We’re in Hell, and all the lies —
Are beasts’ phantasms in disguise.

They **** the mind, enforce the cage,
Their rule is foul, a filthy stage.



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



The Last Zombobuster

Rise up, Zombie, wake and fight!
March on humans — bring the light!
Push ahead, no time to stall —
Joy awaits to crush them all.

Few remain, the end is near:
Zombo-paradise is here.
Strain your strength, erase their trace —
They’ll be gone without a face.

Off the planet — beasts must fall.
The order’s clear: destroy them all.
The ****** fool will take our place —
A cursed shadow on this race.



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



Flight

To fly through fog without a guide,
Relying only on your stride.
Crash into cliffs or hills you might—
But freedom’s love makes that alright.

You risk much more with every try,
Yet death is better than to die
A slow decay in silent chains.
Intuition sharpens—gains

Its edge amid the soaring flight.
To live is only in this height.
All else is falsehood, shame, and gloom.
At journey’s end, you may resume—

Escape the vile, imprisoned ground,
A shameful cage where fools are bound.
So fly, ascend, into the light—
Only thus can you beat the Night.



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



Hybrid Fascism

From Flycrap Town to Darkcockroach,
New Sarai, Europe — all encroach.
Under fascist filth they drown —
This whole **** world’s about to drown.

Fools and traitors, dumb and lost,
Brains depleted, paying cost.
Once so small, the mind’s supply —
Now just rot that multiplies.

Satan’s seedlings rise in rows,
Shameful fascism’s dog still grows.
Flycrap Town and Cockroach Swarm,
All consumed by falsehood’s storm.

They’ll be crushed by newest lies —
Hybrid lies that blind the eyes.



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



Hybrid Fascism

Flycrap, Cockroach, filth and ****,
World’s on fire — fascists drum.
Fools and traitors sold their brains,
Rot and lies run in their veins.

Satan’s spawn in every crack,
Hybrid lies will crack their back.



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



Hybrid Fascism

Flycrap, Cockroach, world’s a pit,
Fascist **** — we’ll never quit.
Brains are dead, fools march in line,
Rot and lies — their last decline.

Satan’s seed? We burn, we break!
Hybrid lies — the world will shake!



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



Hybrid Fascism

Flycrap cesspit, Cockroach hive,
Fascist beasts still snarl and thrive.
Fools are brain-dead, sold their soul,
Rotting lies have seized control.

Satan’s spawn? We scorch, we maim!
Hybrid lies — burn in the flame!



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



Hybrid Fascism — Inferno Call

Flycrap cesspit, Cockroach hive,
Fascist beasts still snarl and thrive.
Fools gone brain-dead, sold their soul,
Rotting lies have seized control.

Satan’s spawn in shadows creep,
Feeding lies, they sow and reap.
But we burn through night and flame —
Hybrid lies won’t stake their claim!



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



Love and Passion

Love and passion — dull and hollow song,
When Creativity feels gone too long.
You plunge into this bland, gray sphere,
No distant Star to draw you near.

The Don Quixote, tragic, weak,
A poser mad and far from sleek...
For beasts like him, such days are bright —
Pitiful, alone in endless night.

True strength’s found where wise unite,
There real men stand in honor’s light.
Beloved there, a woman’s grace —
A mother’s heart, a warrior’s face.

But dreams, oh dreams — away, depart!
The Tempter’s poisoned every heart.
Eternal Night has sealed the day,
And stolen all the light away.



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



Dolls and Psychos

Puppeteers pull strings and lead,
While the dolls go wild with speed.
Breaking free, they dance and stray,
Losing all their scripted way.

If they stray too far, replace—
Others take their puppets’ place.
Dolls still spin their endless dance,
Trust them? You’ve lost your chance.

Only doubt within the play
Keeps the mind from going stray.
Else you’re caught, a stubborn pawn,
In their game till hope is gone.



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



Dolls and Psychos

Puppets dance, the masters grin,
Break the strings — they pull you in.
Trust the show? You’re cracked, insane.
Doubt alone can break the chain.



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



Dolls and Psychos

Masters pull — puppets crawl,
Break their strings? You’ll take the fall.
Trust the lie — you’ve lost your mind.
Doubt’s the blade that frees mankind.



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



Pathos

Piff-paff — that’s old news.
Piff-pathos better fuels.
“Our side wins everywhere” — they shout,
But the snout devours all about —
Darker than a stormy cloud,
Fascist **** in triumph proud.



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



The Wave

A wave without a breaker’s shield—
What joy can such a crashfield yield?
Like a gang without a sawed-off gun,
The only rule: chaos won.

You cannot ride the wave’s full might
Unless you catch it in the light,
Near shore where depths are shallow, sure—
Where strength is pure, and less obscure.

But people? Shallow, blocked, and foul,
Obstacles and rot that howl.
Nasty spawn just feed them lies,
Dressed as breakers in disguise.

A scoundrel plays the breaker’s part,
While Satan holds the breaker’s heart.
Seek waves beyond the sheltered bay—
Or trapped you’ll waste your life away.



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



Creature

Once a Being, strong and true —
Now a coward through and through.
Hard to scare back in the day —
Now they **** with fear’s decay.

All the fault lies deep in Soul —
Drowned in lies, it lost control.
Shed the falsehood, fight the pain,
Or you’ll become the goat’s domain.



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



Consumblody

You consume — and they consume you!
A twisted world, upside-down view.
Beasts impose what seems mere whim,
But it’s the poison, dark and grim.

“Care” and “blessings” — empty lies,
You pay thrice over in disguise.
For every trash, each little treat,
Your soul’s gnawed by enemy’s teeth.



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



The Zombotube

Not just a screen — a mind’s descend,
A valve that pushes thoughts to end.
The sheep who heed its every whim
Will serve the darkest law, so grim.

Here governments are just a mask,
The zombotube controls the task.
It drowns the sheep in stale decay,
Drives herds to slaughter every day.

New gates, free cheese — a deadly lure,
A global camp built to ensure
That “healing” sheep’s a poison deep.
If you still watch — your mind will sleep.

It turns you into nothing, cold —
A hollow shell, obedient, sold.



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



Dreams and Splinters

Roses, tears, and dreams — all lies,
But splinters hurt — that’s no disguise.
Here’s the truth, both sharp and cold:
Tails grow long from nonsense told.

A tail now grows without delay,
Followed by fur thick in array.
It starts with fools who blindly trust,
Believing lies that breed their dust.

The **** prepares a brutal fate,
With brazen lies to execute hate.



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



Incense

Burning incense
For wretched beasts,
Who pose as leaders
With empty feasts?
The world is full
Of fools and grime —
Sworn to serve
Darkness in time.

To seek some joy
In filth and pain,
To bow to ****
In slavish chain,
Lost all of higher things,
With broken minds,
Clutching vile mirages —
Lies through endless times.



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



Evil, Blue, and Golden...

Even screens glow blue and bright,
Filled with “golden” shining light—
Super-useful gear and treats,
All the lies their ads repeat.
A kingdom made of foul deceit.

There the sheep will find the gate,
So “brand new” — but only fate
Keeps the fools from marching in,
Into this new paradise of sin.
One tale ends, another’s grin.

Endless cycle, mind’s decay,
Killed by filth along the way.
The swift result — a soulless brood,
Only soulless feed on crude.



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



The *** and the Perks

A poet’s ***,
A wise man’s box —
Supposed to help,
But spews the shocks.
Looks like you’ve drunk too deep,
Only Evil holds the keep...
If you live — you’ve lost the fight,
Decay will drag you into night.



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



A Barrel of Sky and Spoon of Ego

A barrel of sky,
A spoon of ego —
What you get is nothing but woe.
To hell with lies,
To demons’ ease —
Only mindfulness can bring you peace!
Ego fouls
Without remorse,
Even Heaven —
Be wise, of course,
Or else you’ll be
A vile disgrace,
Till time runs out
And ends the race.



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



Brave Souls or Scoundrels?

Once brave souls snap like sticks,
No patience, just sly tricks.
Their hearts are foul, no grace—
No goal, just ego’s race.

It happens all too fast,
When “I” defeats at last.
You fall down deep and blind,
If reason’s left behind.

But if you heed your mind—
Your soul and heart aligned—
You’ll dodge the wicked lies,
The madhouse in disguise.



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



Bright Faith in Global Fascism

I believe, I truly do,
That fascism watches through.
I open doors with pride —
Only fools will run and hide.

I know I’ll be cared for well,
Surrounded by their spell.
Get lost, you idiots — beware!
Don’t believe? Then stay out there!



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



Fools and Fleas

Being a fool’s not bad at all —
Even fleas can make you fall,
Lefties skilled to take their toll,
On that market, dark and full.

Plenty craftsmen crowd the place,
Clients lost without a trace.
Soulless many—beware, stay clear:
No spark of God? That’s rot, my dear.

To cheat all fools — become the chief...
They’re like fleas, in stench and grief.
Fascist filth that’s foul and mean,
A world that’s rotten, sick, and lean.



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



Samsarababa

Samsara-baba —
Like a toad, not queen,
Too wrathful, self-absorbed,
No happy scene.

With her, no joy you’ll find,
Indulge her will —
Your Spirit’s killed.
She strives to bend,
To break your mind,
Reject that filth,
Darkness designed
To crush the soul through daily grind.

Forgotten Spirit means no love
Can bloom within the home above.
The end is woman’s spite and hell —
A family cursed, a living cell.
You’re just a pest within that pit,
Her sting’s no bee’s — it hardens it.

Dreams turn wild — the mind derails,
Spirit’s core and creative tales.
Without them, you become the thrall
Of darkness, family, and all.

Remember this not with your head,
But heart instead. Your song’s not dead,
Unless you dwell in couch-bound hell,
Where rot and wounds and madness dwell.

Leave the madhouse — let it rage!
It’s demon’s work, a cursed stage.
Evil triumphs all around,
Fatal truth in every sound.

Except the Spirit’s shining light,
The source of all creative might.
Others are just empty hearsay.
Ignite your soul, burn bright today!

Create — if mind’s not dull and blind.
Let passion guide your will and mind.



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



Samsarababa

Samsara-baba, wrathful toad,
No queen of peace, but poison’s code.
Bend her will — you lose your soul,
Break the chains, regain control!

Darkness schemes through daily grind,
Kills the Spirit, blinds the mind.
Leave the hell, ignite your spark,
Shine your light into the dark!

Create with fire, break the lies,
Only Spirit never dies!



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



Madness

Replacing madness
With madness — mind’s way,
If you honor
This realm every day.
The soul knows truth
Direct and clear,
Mind obeys it —
Then shadows appear.

You’ll glimpse the world’s core
By trying to see,
But forcing the mind
Just breeds insanity.

You’ll be conscious
If Spirit’s your king.
Madness tortures —
The fiend rules this thing.

Only intuition
Will lead your mind
To clarity’s light.
Secret tradition won’t lie.



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



Super-Efforts

The impossible becomes the true,
The possible’s just worthless goo.
Ride the hardest, climb the steep,
And all your doubts will cease to creep.

Fears will fade, madness depart,
Ego shrinks, a broken part.
Super-tasks and super-strides —
The path where only few reside.

Impossible — the Spirit’s core,
The possible — a living war.
Shed the lies, the filth, the noise,
Or stay a worm among the toys.



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



Super-Efforts

Impossible’s the Spirit’s way,
Possible’s just led astray.
Push beyond, defy the odds,
Or stay crushed beneath the gods.



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



Freaks Without Freedom

Without freedom,
Only freaks are born.
Humans—shame, nature’s scorn.
All our ills, artificial seed,
Satan’s legacy, dark breed.

Inhuman fiends hold every throne,
“They’ll be last, the first are shown...”
Believe those beasts? You’re lost, condemned.
Don’t believe—fight to the end!

Though chances thin, the fools surround,
And everywhere, wild madness sounds.



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



Freaks Without Freedom

No freedom spawns just freaks and shame,
Nature’s curse, a broken game.
Fiends rule dark with lies that bind —
Fight, don’t bow, or lose your mind!



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



Freaks Without Freedom

No freedom breeds pure freaks and ****,
Nature’s shame, the devil’s drum.
Fiends hold power, lies their sword —
Fight or rot, you’ve lost the war.



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



Freaks Without Freedom

No freedom spawns a twisted breed,
Filthy freaks, disease and greed.
Dark fiends rule with venomed lies,
Fight or rot — no compromise.

— The End —