This one goes to the real poets.
To those who decide to carry the world on their own.
To those who carry hell in their head and a graveyard of lost love stories in their heart
To the brave ones who fight darkness with darkness.
Tho those who the only answer they seek from a god is if there's eternal life for their loved ones, because they know there's no space for them in that paradise.
To those who know that suffering is the most humane feeling there is.
To those who loved and hated the wrong person.
This goes to Lorca isolated, hiding in a closet in New York.
To Unamuno craving to believe in something impossible.
To Quiroga drinking the poison of his sorrow at a hospital.
To Becquer and Espino for dying so young.
To Neruda for cheating on himself so many times.
To Machados' lost spirit.
To Marquez and his melancholic ******.
To Poe's tormented soul and his raven.
To Shakespeare and his Juliet.
To Dante and his story of woe.
This goes for the only beings who can live with a hell inside of them, and still manage to write heavenly things for those in need to read.
This one's for us.

Heme aquí ya, profesor
de lenguas vivas (ayer
maestro de gay-saber,
aprendiz de ruiseñor),
en un pueblo húmedo y frío,
destartalado y sombrío,
entre andaluz y manchego.Invierno. Cerca del fuego.
Fuera llueve un agua fina,
que ora se trueca en neblina,
ora se torna aguanieve.Fantástico labrador,
pienso en los campos.¡Señor
qué bien haces!  Llueve, llueve
tu agua constante y menuda
sobre alcaceles y habares,
tu agua muda,
en viñedos y olivares.Te bendecirán conmigo
los sembradores del trigo;
los que viven de coger
la aceituna;
los que esperan la fortuna
de comer;
los que hogaño,
como antaño,
tienen toda su moneda
en la rueda,
traidora rueda del año.¡Llueve, llueve; tu neblina
que se torne en aguanieve,
y otra vez en agua fina!¡Llueve, Señor, llueve, llueve!   En mi estancia, iluminada
por esta luz invernal
-la tarde gris tamizada
por la lluvia y el cristal-,
sueño y medito.                 Clarea
el reloj arrinconado,
y su tic-tic, olvidado
por repetido, golpea.Tic-tic, tic-tic... Ya te he oído.
Tic-tic, tic-tic... Siempre igual,
monótono y aburrido.Tic-tic, tic-tic, el latido
de un corazón de metal.En estos pueblos, ¿se escucha
el latir del tiempo?  No.En estos pueblos se lucha
sin tregua con el reló,
con esa monotonía
que mide un tiempo vacío.Pero ¿tu hora es la mía?
¿Tu tiempo, reloj, el mío?(Tic-tic, tic-tic...) Era un día
(Tic-tic, tic-tic) que pasó,
y lo que yo más quería
la muerte se lo llevó.   Lejos suena un clamoreo
de campanas...Arrecia el repiqueteo
de la lluvia en las ventanas.Fantástico labrador,
vuelvo a mis campos. ¡Señor,
cuánto te bendecirán
los sembradores del pan!Señor, ¿no es tu lluvia ley,
en los campos que ara el buey,
y en los palacios del rey?¡Oh, agua buena, deja vida
en tu huida!¡Oh, tú, que vas gota a gota,
fuente a fuente y río a río,
como este tiempo de hastío
corriendo a la mar remota,
en cuanto quiere nacer,
cuanto espera
florecer
al sol de la primavera,
sé piadosa,
que mañana
serás espiga temprana,
prado verde, carne rosa,
y más: razón y locura
y amargura
de querer y no poder
creer, creer y creer!   Anochece;
el hilo de la bombilla
se enrojece,
luego brilla,
resplandece
poco más que una cerilla.Dios sabe dónde andarán
mis gafas... entre librotes
revistas y papelotes,
¿quién las encuentra?... Aquí están.Libros nuevos. Abro uno
de Unamuno.¡Oh, el dilecto,
predilecto
de esta España que se agita,
porque nace o resucita!Siempre te ha sido, ¡oh Rector
de Salamanca!, leal
este humilde profesor
de un instituto rural.Esa tu filosofía
que llamas diletantesca,
voltaria y funambulesca,
gran don Miguel, es la mía.Agua del buen manantial,
siempre viva,
fugitiva;
poesía, cosa cordial.¿Constructora?-No hay cimiento
ni en el alma ni en el viento-.Bogadora,
marinera,
hacia la mar sin ribera.Enrique Bergson: Los datos
inmediatos
de la conciencia. ¿Esto es
otro embeleco francés?Este Bergson es un tuno;
¿verdad, maestro Unamuno?Bergson no da como aquel
Immanuel
el volatín inmortal;
este endiablado judío
ha hallado el libre albedrío
dentro de su mechinal.No está mal;
cada sabio, su problema,
y cada loco, su tema.Algo importa 
que en la vida mala y corta
que llevamos
libres o siervos seamos:
mas, si vamos
a la mar,
lo mismo nos ha de dar.¡Oh, estos pueblos!  Reflexiones,
lecturas y acotaciones
pronto dan en lo que son:
bostezos de Salomón.¿Todo es
soledad de soledades.
vanidad de vanidades,
que dijo el Eciesiastés?Mi paraguas, mi sombrero,
mi gabán...El aguacero
amaina...Vámonos, pues.   Es de noche. Se platica
al fondo de una botica.-Yo no sé,
don José,
cómo son los liberales
tan perros, tan inmorales.-¡Oh, tranquilícese usté!
Pasados los carnavales,
vendrán los conservadores,
buenos administradores
de su casa.Todo llega y todo pasa.
Nada eterno:
ni gobierno
que perdure,
ni mal que cien años dure.-Tras estos tiempos vendrán
otros tiempos y otros y otros,
y lo mismo que nosotros
otros se jorobarán.Así es la vida, don Juan.-Es verdad, así es la vida.
-La cebada está crecida.
-Con estas lluvias...
                    Y van
las habas que es un primor.
-Cierto; para marzo, en flor.
Pero la escarcha, los hielos...
-Y, además, los olivares
están pidiendo a los cielos
aguas a torrentes.
                  -A mares.¡Las fatigas, los sudores
que pasan los labradores!En otro tiempo...
                  Llovía
también cuando Dios quería.-Hasta mañana, señores.
  Tic-tic, tic-tic... Ya pasó
un día como otro día,
dice la monotonía
del reloj.   Sobre mi mesa Los datos
de la conciencia, inmediatos.No está mal
este yo fundamental,
contingente y libre, a ratos,
creativo, original;
este yo que vive y siente
dentro la carne mortal
¡ay! por saltar impaciente
las bardas de su corral.

Este donquijotesco
don Miguel de Unamuno, fuerte vasco,
lleva el arnés grotesco
y el irrisorio casco
del buen manchego. Don Miguel camina,
jinete de quimérica montura,
metiendo espuela de oro a su locura,
sin miedo de la lengua que malsina.A un pueblo de arrieros,
lechuzos y tahúres y logreros
dicta lecciones de Caballería.
Y el alma desalmada de su raza,
que bajo el golpe de su férrea maza
aún durme, puede que despierte un día.Quiere enseñar el ceño de la duda,
antes de que cabalgue, el caballero;
cual nuevo Hamlet, a mirar desnuda
cerca del corazón la hoja de acero.Tiene el aliento de una estirpe fuerte
que soñó más allá de sus hogares,
y que el oro buscó tras de los mares.
Él señala la gloria tras la muerte.
Quiere ser fundador, y dice: Creo;
Dios y adelante el ánima española...
Y es tan bueno y mejor que fue Loyola:
sabe a Jesús y escupe al fariseo.

Unamuno wrings his hands, frets over
the Tragic Sense of Life in which we
all die inevitably, inexorably, unwillingly.
And death is simply non-being to him,
and non-being looks a lot like pure
nothingness, which means we can't
even think "non-being" or "death"
when we're dead. It's all one, big,
fat zero. Add it to or subtract it from
itself, and it's still nada, the sum
of all fears. O the woe of being human.

I read him as a teenager in love with
philosophy, and thought him the most
profound thinker Europe had conjured up
in the 20th century. Continental philosophy
was the only philosophy for me, heavily
Germanic. Even Sartre was a closet
Heideggerian, teething on Sein und Zeit.
But Unamuno leapt over the Teutonic depths,
plunged into Dante's circle of death, scratched
out a mirror image of the human face. I took
it and ran, Kierkegaard stuffed in my back pocket.

Philosophy is eros is love is an incomplete connection.
Reality rises like a daffodil in the green grass
of spring. Wordsworth pens an ode; the rest of us
stare and blindly think we know what we see. But
the eye doesn't conceive, it doesn't relieve anything
save a surface tension. The eye can't speak, can't say
that the daffodil is real. Nobody sees reality in the
flesh. Nothing meshes with sensation but sensation.
That's the Latin way, the Mediterranean way, says
Jose Ortega y Gasset, another Spanish wizard of
wisdom, wishing for intellectual love, dancing at Delphi.

Philosophia. You can't see it, you can say it, but it's
all yearning, no release, no peace until the mind
settles on the bottom of the stream, feeds on
jetsam, maybe flotsam, then thinks "Being" and
gushes *******. This is Plato's territory, a long way
from Spain. But there's geometry in the bullring. There's
life and death and nada and sol y sombra in the stands.
Ideas don quixotic cloaks. Cervantes turns them into
literature, the Ur-story of Spain and its millions of minions.
The common man squirms for comedy. Tragic senses
squire hard work, and if life is so short, why not eat, dream

and be merry? Unamuno deserves his fate. Thinking
about death still adds up to nothing. Thought dies, too;
it's not accustomed to rue the end of infinity. It has no
affinity with hard limits. It rises, stays aloof, looks down
on the world, which has only one side visible, and pronounces
it good for nothing. But can't the thinker take a joke?
Incompletion competes with vast yearning like the tortoise
with the hare. No one gains on the other: Zeno's Paradox.
We might still ride Mediterranean Vespas, but the Greeks
kick-started this thing into motion. There's no reason

without Socrates, and he pronounced death a no-fear zone.
Unamuno forgot his Crito, Phaedo and Apology. Irony adds
up to something, not nothing. There's no surface irony here,
folks. This is Mycenean, not Mediterranean, Athenian not
Salamancian. Spain thinks it thinks new thoughts, taking
the bull by the ****** ear that's left behind the horn. No mas.
Only philosophy thinks itself, eternally. It never dies, man, even
if the cosmos explodes to a pinhead, then vanishes like
a magic trick. What's tragic about necessity, certainty? They
rave on in that dark night of the soul. Nada means nada,
but "means" isn't nada. It's todo on the human topos.

So climb it like a mountain in Dante's Purgatorio. Fret
no more, amigo. You are on the top of the world; it's a tricky
move to the summit. Ascend on the wings of meaning,
then see what you think, not think what you see. That's something.
And Socrates proclaimed it enough. Hey, Plato made him say so.

Señor, me cansa la vida,
tengo la garganta ronca
de gritar sobre los mares,
la voz de la mar me asorda.
Señor, me cansa la vida
y el universo me ahoga.
Señor, me dejaste solo,
solo, con el mar a solas.   O tú y yo jugando estamos
al escondite, Señor,
o la voz con que te llamo
es tu voz.   Por todas partes te busco
sin encontrarte jamás,
y en todas partes te encuentro
sólo por irte a buscar.

Hey it's tough guy **** Biggers popping a bone or boning a popper
while merrily copper-cladding stuck stick-figures in an iron hopper
Vita, vita nuova my Mary Timony: helium half caste guitar shopper

Atheism and Satanism

“Atheism is a thin ice on which one man may pass safely, but a people will fall into the abyss.”
— Francis Bacon, 17th century


The Soviet crowd once took the dive —
In atheism’s dark abyss.
They tossed fake gods to keep alive
A shinier lie — material bliss.

The Darkness swaps its masks and names
To keep its nature veiled from view.
Each “path” it sells is just new chains
To lead the herd away from truth.

The inner Light’s beyond the frame
Of labs and books — it won’t be caught.
And lies, when told in Spirit’s name,
Are devil’s coins, deception bought.

They’ve sold “eternal life” for cheap,
And paved the path with sugar lies —
While demons laugh and secrets keep,
The whip of Satan sweetly flies.




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




Sweet lies, sharp lash — the Devil grins.
Atheist chains, satanic sins.




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

Permanent Devilry

“Worse than the order destroyed by revolution is the order created by it.”
— Bauyrzhan Toyshibekov


"Tsarist rule — a prison!" — true.
Then the Red Camp crushed us more.
“Revolution” — what it blew
Were graves for minds it dragged to war.

Lunacharsky's demon came,
Plugging “Bes-” in every phrase —
(Once it meant “without” in name,
Now it glorifies Hell’s ways).

Thrown into the melting pit,
The crowd obeyed, the slogans hissed —
Till every soul was steeped in ****,
And “communism” reeked of this.

Now it's back — the beast's encore:
Rashism dressed as tsars of old.
A wretched clown, a ****, a bore,
With minds in chains, their hearts gone cold.




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



Rashism grins in Tsarist guise —
Same old demon, new disguise.




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



Fake Diseases, or Marching to Hell

(“Open the door to ‘hemorrhoids’ — and the BEASTS are building the world again.”)


Let “hemorrhoids” in — and see
The beasts rebuild their grand façade.
But the real disease is we,
And our minds — the path to God?

Not with “reason” dead and gone,
Where no doubt is left to stir,
And belief in Crap is strong —
So the world will drown in Blur.

In short — that’s all. The tale is told.
We're marching into Hell... in bold.



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



No mind, no doubt — the lies prevail.
The beasts march in. We march to Hell.



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

A Palace of Evil the Size of the World

“A craftsman sharpens his tools before beginning his task.”
— Confucius


Sharpen your mind for every deed
That doesn’t clash with soul or heart.
But fools, untrained, will let the seed
Of rot and madness take their part.

That rot comes dressed as “science,” “news,”
As lies that cloud the inner spark —
Until the soul itself they bruise,
And help build Evil’s palace — dark.

Each brick’s a fool. Each block — a lie.
And fools line up to take their place.
So seek your Light — don’t close your eye,
The wretched dark is near full grace.

Train your mind like tempered steel,
So beasts can’t trap you in their net.
Your path is yours, through pain made real —
To fight, to know, and seek the Light yet.



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



Each fool's a brick in Evil’s hall —
Sharpen your mind, or you will fall.



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



Fools of Pseudo-Science

Dogmatism. Mechanism.
Crackpot creeds in soulless prisms.
Fascism guides the foolish crowd —
Feeds them trash, proclaims it loud,
Drags them down, debased and blind.

Spirit's first. But once it's wiped,
The barking frauds — forever hyped —
Serve the cult of “Nothing’s real,”
All that’s left: dead tech and steel.

"Erase the soul!" the fascist screamed.
So came the lies, so nicely schemed:
Dogmatism. Mechanism.
Half-truths twisted into schism.

Add it up — this clever trick —
And man forgets what makes him tick:
The ESSENCE sold for shiny tech,
While Truth is thrown into the wreck.



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



Soul erased, and lies infect —
Fools trade truth for tech and wreck.



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



Almost About the Weather

Few are honest, few are strong,
Many blind and filled with wrong.
Why's the air so thick and foul?
MEDIA is everywhere — a howl

Of fools that grow with every year:
The poison of propaganda clear.
And if more subtle than the snake,
It still chokes all that we forsake.

Breathing’s hard, it’s almost done,
If you endure, then you're the one
Who sees the lies the creatures spout,
And feels your mind, a ragged shout.



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



The air is thick with lies that churn,
The stench of media’s foul return.



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



The Bedouin

A Bedouin amidst the ruins —
Like the desert, the city’s dead.
Buildings stand, but in their minds,
Despair and lies, the soul's dread.

Destruction of the mind comes first —
Then cities, towns, all burn.
The Bedouin’s just left with the curse,
If honest, fear’s his only turn.

He shuns the dark, the twisted sin,
Banned from food that feeds the lie.
Want the cash? Then break within,
And let the evil forces fly.

A Bedouin amidst the ruins —
How long must he wander, lost?
Among the obedient masks?
Not for long. Life’s the final cost.



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



A Bedouin lost in ruin's tide,
In a world of lies, he cannot hide.



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



Personal Hell
Or the Common Hell?

A fool is needed in Hell —
To submit, he’d gladly dwell.

Personal? Unlikely so —
Too much trouble, don’t you know.
To fall together in the fire,
A fool’s required to stoke the pyre.

And so the work begins —
They’re shaping it with grins.
The vile fools, with evil grin,
Now hold the reigns, they’re most within.

A fool will drag you straight to Hell,
Calling it “happiness,”
Killing Mind and Spirit as well,
With lies that make the soul regress.



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



A fool will drag you down to Hell,
Calling it joy — a soul to sell.



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



Office and Other Plankton

Confusion on Fridays —
Idiots off for the weekend.
The mad have joined the “plankton,”
And now it’s just the trend.

Work and drink. A pointless grind —
Your labor won’t be lost?
If you’re not a fool, then find
The plankton will pay the cost.

A digital camp, a prison cell,
Where plankton’s not required,
Now like moths they burn in Hell —
While Bedlam drinks and’s wired.



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


Plankton works, then fades away,
In a digital hell, they pray.



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



Clouds Drift from Afar

Clouds drift from far across the sky,
Or is it Earth's own breath nearby?
Just fables for the foolish mind,
"Science" — with reason left behind.

It always turns things in its way,
For that’s the task it must obey.
Say "YES" to intuition's call,
Forget the liars, one and all.



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



Clouds or breath, it’s hard to tell,
Science spins its empty shell.



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



The Bedouin

To escape the Madness' fray,
No chance — you'll die, come what may!
The creatures will within you slay,
But rise, awaken, see the day —

The Madness’ army’s everywhere,
The "ordinary citizen" —
Held by fear and lies, in care,
From childhood to their graying skin.

How to escape? Be alone,
Create while strength still makes you whole.
Like a Bedouin in desert’s bone —
If Reason’s still your heart and soul.



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



Madness reigns, it’s everywhere,
Fear and lies — they bind with care.



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



Flags, False Gods, and Other Things…

A flag,
A dart,
It pierced my heart.
A god,
Rotten,
Shat in my mind.

From FILTH
No hiding's found —
Be dumb, be vile, let fear resound,
Preferring Spirit’s daring sound.



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



The "Pros" Don't Think — They Act

The "pros" don't think — they just act.
To think, for hired hands, is sin.
Those who do think, they suffer, cracked,
Among the fools who chase "success" in vain.

Only the meek and foolish ones,
In this world of sales, are promised gain.
The "pros" with brutish acts have done
The bidding of the monsters building Hell again.



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



"We Have Freedom! Democracy!!!"

"Freedom!" "Democracy!!!" they scream,
Shout loud, on every post they hang.
Posters everywhere, the media’s dream,
Like priests, they spread deceitful slang.

They shove "faith" down like a puppet's string.
And fools believe, for lies always thrive
In a world for sale, where money's king,
The years go by, and lies survive.

They'll always pile on more deceit
Than ever before, that’s "progress" for sure.
The layer of Reason grows thin, complete,
As lies press down, the mind unsure.



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



The New "Luminary" of Pseudo-Science

"Right" is granted through degrees,
A flood of murky publications spread.
And the new fool grips with ease
The gullible, as the world has fled.

Into pure nonsense, they believe,
Claiming to see progress, no less.
The whole "progress" in the media's weave
Revealed by CowID — the press of distress.

Each year, the evil grows stronger,
While the lackeys of false science claim,
They'll convince the fools ever longer —
The stupid servants of Satan's name.

If you're foolish, under Satan's reign,
Call the system whatever you please.
Now the fools, under the Russian pain,
Fight in the "revenge" war with ease.



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



The Voice and the Whine

The voice of one crying in the wilderness —
It echoes through all times,
What’s changed? Now it’s just a whine,
Amidst the poor, foul grime.

And the "times" have vanished, disappeared,
Only timelessness ahead,
If lies have burrowed in, adhered,
Don’t expect progress to be fed.




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



Cry Out, Wail, Even if You Perish

Cry out, scream, even in convulsions—
All are worth but a dime.
Telling an idiot, "****, awaken!"
Is in vain. CowID, war, this time

Has shown it all. Only the finale
Remains to be awaited, so near,
When the soul has gone, for the majority:
To serve the BEAST—one fate, one fear.

For serving Evil and forgetting
What we were meant to do,
The little world shall burn, regretting—
It’s rotted through and through.



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



"Iron Men"

"Iron men" —
Salt shakers on a plate.
With that seasoning, the inhuman feast on us.
Their minds are barren:
Serving fools,
They can’t comprehend the commands of "attack!"



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



The Path in Solitude

"I do not need the consent of others, but their soulful response."
Miguel de Unamuno.


A soulful response amidst Bedlam,
Where compliance is held in high esteem,
Is hard to find: the brutes love
To follow in the reins of "happiness."

Brains washed, spirits shriveled—
Among the rabble, there’s nothing to seek!
The path in solitude is not hard,
When you no longer care for responses.




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



Overthrow to Hell through Dehumanization

"The power that rules to the detriment of the people is short-lived."
Lucius Seneca, 1st century AD.

Centuries have passed—Seneca is wrong.
To harm, with every age growing stronger,
Here reigns the brute. Their goal is clear:
To rid the world of humankind. We’re at the edge of days:

Only a moment from the incarnation
Of this hellish aim. But salvation lies
In Cataclysm—it will disrupt
The decay, and halt the fall.




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



The Human Louse

The "modernization" of reason—
And madness became the norm.
False AIDS, CowID—a silly jest,
But if the mind is weak and worn,

Panic will arise. The muzzle
Showed us—seven-eighths are fools,
And Darkness' source is subtle:
A code of fools in chains and tools.

To enslave—the world with dullness
To collapse, then do as you please
With it. In slavery, generations
But to "happiness," the louse still seeks.




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



Cinematic Heroes

Heroes serve the "good"—it's true,
Almost always a rotten regime.
They make films, sing songs anew,
About this tale, a thousand dreams.

With shabby props, "ideals" they push
To all the souls with hollow hearts:
If "ideals" are all they hush,
The mind within is torn apart.

Easier to push through heroes—
Korzhagin, **** him, sets the pace:
Look, the "communism" they impose,
And every pioneer takes his place.

The Yanks too have found their way:
"The Free World"—what a charming lie!
Heroes never miss the play—
And citizens... cheer as they die.

"You’re not even a pack—you’re a plague,
A virus of fascist decay.
Your hollow cheers are empty stage,
And graves lie deep beneath your way."
— Miguel de Unamuno, Fascism, 1953


Fascism returned? No, it never withdrew,
Just changed its disguise, yet its core stays the same:
A genocide blind, where the lies twist the view,
And people still live like mere pawns in the game.

Now war makes it clear—there’s no doubt left to feign,
Deception strikes hard like a shot to the head.
If reason keeps rotting, then truth won’t remain,
And masses will march where the soulless are led.

Corruption’s a mirror—a mindless display,
And war shows how deep the infection has spread.
Fascism is rising, and soon on its way
Will bring us such horrors that lies seem like bread.

Yet one final reckoning looms in the night,
A chaos so great it will shatter the maze.
The Bedlam of tyrants will drown in its blight,
For souls and for minds, it will burn through the haze.



In Russian:

Непрерывный фашизм

"Вы даже не свора. Вы — сволота.
Фашизофрении бацилла.
За вашим "да здравствует!" — пустота.
За пустотой — могила".
Мигель де Унамуно, "Фашизм", 1953 г.


Вернулся фашизм? Диктатуры дерьмо
И не исчезало, меняя обличья:
Тупой геноцид и неправды ярмо,
Права у народов по-прежнему птичьи.

Сейчас обостренье — война и говнид
То нам показали, развеяв сомненья.
Обманом как пулей ты будешь убит,
Коль дальше пойдёт здесь ума разложенье.

Говнид — индикатор: как мало ума!
Война показала бездушья проказу.
Фашизм нам навалит такого дерьма,
Что детскою сказкою все лже-заразы,

Что были доныне, покажутся нам.
Одно утешение — вновь подступает
Большой Катаклизм. Он разрушит Бедлам,
Что Души, Умы чрез фашизм убивает.

Creation

Explosive the force that creation ignites —
It shatters the question of “how to survive.”
But it leaves the half-wit alone in his fights
If it chooses to live — as a beast still alive.



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



Creation explodes — and survival is dead.
It leaves the fool grunting, half-living instead.



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



To Hell!

No critique can break or shatter
These insane, obedient flocks —
Idiots, and whining chatter,
Slaves not bound by years, but locks.

It’s forever when corruption
Is the greatest, foulest sin.
Honor? Courage? Pure eruption —
“Empty bragging,” judged within.

Bragging beasts — among the vermin —
That’s a fate of bitter scorn.
Truth is stabbed, and minds are burning —
Is there one not bruised or torn?

Lies like Everest are soaring,
Built from treachery and rot.
If no place for Worth and Glory —
Then to Hell — it’s what they’ve bought.

Priced it out. Misjudged the bargain.
Sold the soul — for what? For smoke.
Now they’re lost, corrupt and darkened —
To hell en masse. Forever broke.



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



Lies piled high like mountain stones —
Cowards kneel and trade their bones.
Sold their souls for empty breath —
Hell is home. The price is death.



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



"Somehow, Maybe?"

“Somehow, maybe” — that’s the motto
Of a *******’s worthless breath.
Just survive — no more bravado.
Now it’s DSpirit... or it’s death.

For betrayal, for distortion,
For the vermin’s meek consent —
Even logs will face abortion.
Earth will breathe, and filth — repent.

If you're Spirit — let disaster
Crash around. You'll stand, unmoved.
Feasting fascists rising faster?
They will die. Be killed — and proved.

Only song and pure creation
Give you right to truly be.
Will you rise in new formation?
Will the flames burn tyranny?

Yes, they will — no second chances.
"Somehow" fails in what's ahead.
Only Spirit makes advances —
All the rest is walking dead.



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



“Somehow” fails. The world is burning.
Spirit speaks — while beasts are squirming.
Rise through fire, or fall like lead —
Truth survives. The rest — are dead.



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



The Essence of Hell

To speak with clarity and fire —
Is that an art? No — it’s your fate.
Don’t lie. Don’t sell your soul for hire —
That’s how you break the slave-born state.

This world is slavery. You're a fool
If Hell’s true nature stays unknown.
But grasp it once — and take the rule:
Burn all chains. Tear out the throne!



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



Know Hell — and start the war today.
Burn the chains. Don’t look away.
Truth is sharp. No time to dwell.
Speak — or stay a slave in Hell.



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



Not of “the People”

They’re clearly a different kind —
With Honor, with Mind, and with Pride.
Not part of “the people” you’ll find —
The mob wants them crucified.

They're hated by all, without pardon,
Alone, for they see through the lies.
Truth isn’t welcomed in gardens
Where filth is what loyalty buys.

The slaves don’t hate chains — they hate truthful
Voices that shout what is real.
The ****** rejoice, loud and youthful —
And Reason gets crushed under heel.

With Reason now dead — what's the question?
The rest doesn’t matter at all.
Charge forth through this dark retrogression —
When death comes with no bugle call.

This planet will **** off the vermin —
Earth doesn’t need soulless brutes.
The joke’s over — demons are burning.
All die. That’s the end of the Spirit’s dispute.



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



Not from “the people”? Then run — they hate.
Truth marks you fast for the mob’s blind fate.
Earth will rise. No soul shall fake —
Spirit ends what filth won't break.



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



Deal for a Soul

No escape key works when you’ve cheated —
Or traded your soul for some cash.
Far better to break, be defeated —
The soul is a deal: bash for bash.

You gain only ashes, in madness,
Still thinking you’re mighty — a king!
But who in the herd feels that sadness?
They chew — and don’t feel a thing.

Work only with minds that are sensing,
Seek sparks in the Dust of the Whole.
Let trials be cruel and tensing —
What matters is guarding your soul.

Tune in to your inner ignition —
That thread is the truest guide.
Make truth-crushing your tradition —
Or perish — enslaved by the lie.



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



No deal for the soul goes cheap.
Truth cuts hard. The fake won’t keep.
Bash for bash — or fall asleep
In lies too dead for even grief.



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



Stupidity and Lies

Stupidity stands firm like granite,
Outlasting scholars, calm or bold.
It scoffs at those who think, who plan it —
Their truth won’t pierce that mindless hold.

And so, the world builds forts of madness —
Thick bunkers made of vacant thought.
Then chains of lies — with brutal gladness —
Are thrown on minds. The wise are caught.

But wisdom’s rare — and shrinking daily.
The numbers drop, they won’t rebound.
And all around decays so gravely —
As Evil's roots infect the ground.

And Evil sets with concrete slather
This cult of Dumb as global norm.
They feed it, seed it — praise the blather:
“Be sane?” — you’ve left the human form!

The fool is “normal”, safe, and stable.
The mind that creates — insane, alone.
So here’s the future, cold and fatal:
To put it bluntly — we’re all gone.



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



They praise the dumb, they chain the wise —
And feed the world on hollow lies.
The truth is banned, the end is near —
Say it plain: we disappear.



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



Humans and Beasts

There are humans — and beasts.
No more lines to define.
In this whirlpool of cheats
From the lies of mankind.

True humans are few,
Getting lost in the mess.
Each year — less and less —
While the filth claims the rest.

Brutes barking like men,
Void of heart, void of soul.
It’s already the end —
We just haven’t yet smelled the whole.



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



Just humans — and beasts in disguise.
The rest is a circus of lies.
Decay’s in the air. No alarms?
You’re dead. You just don’t smell the harm.



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



Once Were People

Once were people — now just beasts.
Only few escaped the feast
Of decay and soul corrosion —
Satan runs this world’s devotion.

Traitors, liars — swarms of night.
Darkness rules. Forget the light.
No tomorrow, no escape —
Welcome to the age of hate.

When the Foundations are betrayed,
Let it burn — no truth remains.
Let the new fools build their dome...
Till then, we chew the dust — and foam.



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



Once were people — now just ****.
Satan's king, and God is dumbed.
Truth is ashes. Hope is dead.
Build with fools — or burn instead.



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



The Great Warrior

An anecdote.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf and Nuf-Nuf. But there was also a fourth one. He did not hide from the wolf, did not build houses, but walked through the forest and sent everyone to *******. And his name was Nah-Nah.


A joke, they say: three pigs once played —
Nif-Nif, Naf-Naf, all bricks and hay.
But there was one who didn’t run,
Built no **** house, just cursed for fun.

His name was Nah-Nah — fierce and lone,
No fear, no lies — pure backbone.
No brother, husband, kin, or clone —
Just walked the woods, made wolves atone.

He dropped the filth, forgot the herd,
A rebel mind, a sharpened word.
A legend, bold — yet none revere...
For that, you'd need a pioneer.

And now we’re all “pioneers” here,
Old age or youth — it’s insincere.
Where lies are law, and whips or sweets
Direct the fate of pork-fed fleets.

The Nah-Nahs vanish, fade away —
While pigs still grunt, and eat, and pray.
But who will care when swine decay?
The lie still rules. And that’s the play.


Note. In Russian, "Nah" is consonant with "****".



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


Nah-Nah’s Creed

Nah-Nah fights, no fear, no lie —
While pigs build huts and suckers die.
Nah-Nahs fade — the pigs remain,
Swine run wild, and lies reign.



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



Into the New Hell

Rights erased, defeat complete,
Stupidity’s a crushing weight.
Lies explode — a deadly heap,
Medical guillotines await.

On paper, rights are still in place,
But industry dulls every mind.
Heads swollen up with lies and disgrace,
And Judas plays the Savior’s kind.

The world asylum marches on,
With giant strides toward the grave.
Fools still count their blessings wrong —
Blind to death’s relentless wave.

A sea of idiots prevails —
No chance left to turn the tide.
Soon the Earth will break their scales,
And wipe the filth with molten pride.

The sun burns brighter, heat descends,
Magma rising from below.
Fools and tormentors, in the end —
The New Hell waits to claim its toll.



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


New Hell

Rights destroyed, fools march to flame,
Lies grow wild — no one to blame.
Earth will burn their madness out,
New Hell waits — relentless shout.



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



Fury

Pure Fury lines each verse —
The poet’s cursed fate to bear,
In worlds where fools rule worse,
No light, just darkness there.

Only flickers faintly shine,
But light can’t breach this hell.
You’re blamed for all, the line —
While creatures spin their lies so well.

Fury’s answer — fierce and clear,
To fools it’s just a show.
Fury tears a hole for light,
And light will save our souls below.



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



Fury’s Edge

Fury strikes, no place to hide,
Fools in power, dark inside.
Light will break the hellish bind —
Save the soul, leave lies behind.




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



Lost Battle

“At four years old, a child’s given a flag—
And into their grasp the system drags,
A molding process that never ends,
Lasting ‘til life itself descends.”
— Hermann Göring

The rag of flags becomes a shroud,
Flagpoles skewered, sheep disowned,
The cruel “rights” all wrapped in lies,
Controlled by liars, dark disguised.

Lies spread deep, a total plague,
Fools endure, believe, obey,
Marching blind to slaughter’s gate,
Led by ****** who sell their hate.

Too many beasts betray the rest,
The wise are few, a fading crest.
Corruption breeds a stifled breath—
Spirit, Honor trapped in death.

When Honor, Spirit grow too thin,
All that’s left is empty din:
Flags wave dull in propaganda’s cry—
Reason’s lost, the battle’s die.




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



Lost Battle

Flags become your shroud and chains,
Rights are lies, and truth complains.
Fools march blind to slaughter’s call —
Spirit crushed, the fight will fall.



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



Filth

Fear will gnaw you like a worm,
Lies will crawl like serpents, sly:
“Bow to beasts,” their twisted term,
“Trust the **** that dares to lie.”

Bow and believe — you’re just a pest,
Their filthy plans come into play.
This world’s no peace, but beastly nest —
Only few refused to sway...



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



Filth

Fear eats deep — a worm inside,
Lies sneak in like snakes to bite.
Bow to beasts, obey, abide —
Trash rules loud, and kills the light.

Bow, you filth — their plans unfold,
This is hell, no peace, no pride.
Few stood firm — the rest were sold,
In the zoo where truths have died.



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



Filth

Fear gnaws deep — a worm inside,
Lies slither, poison in your ear.
Bow to beasts, obey, abide —
Trash rules loud, the end is near.

Bow down, filth — their will fulfilled,
Hell’s no place for truth or pride.
Few stood firm, but all were killed,
In the zoo where souls have died.




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



Waxen Figures

What doesn't **** makes weaker still,
Slowly beasts grind down the brain.
Survive — grow meek, grow cold and chill,
Then waxen like a lifeless stain.

The creatures mold their cruel disgrace,
Wax counts as just a little loss.
The cunning fiends forgot all grace —
To be their wax? I'd rather cross

To death’s dark door than stay this way,
A soulless figure, stiff and cold.
No mercy left — they hold their sway,
And crush the spirit — **** the bold.




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



Hell of Fear and Lies

Weak minds, so poor and small,
Souls faded, lost their spark,
They tremble like rabbits all —
Their madness vile and dark.

That madness feeds the fiends,
With lies and ruthless shove:
Propagandists spin their schemes,
Traitors march above.

Betrayal’s just their trade:
All woes flow through their hands —
To crush the weak and afraid
Is easy in these lands.

The fool submits, defeated,
Bent, broken to the core.
This “world” itself is cheated —
A hell of lies and more.




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



Hell of Fear and Lies

Weak minds bowed down, souls cracked and torn,
Rabbits trembling, hopeless and worn.
Lies flood in, the fiends arise —
Traitors rule in hell’s disguise.

Betrayal’s work, crushing fools,
The world’s a pit of broken rules.
Fear and lies, a deadly stew —
Hell’s own fire burns through you.




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



Kholstomer

Your task — to tear this “world” apart.
A wretched soul? You’re beast, no heart.
You’re Kholstomer, plain to see —
A slave of hell’s harsh misery,

A prisoner bound in cursed spheres,
With scars of madness, pain, and fears.




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



Plans and That **** Fascism

A prison-ward asylum’s shape —
That’s what this little world will make.
The asylum’s here; wild fascism —
Both mark the end, the final schism.

The sentence set, the time is short.
But plans will fail, collapse, distort —
Earth’s cataclysm will seal the pain,
Killing all — their fascist reign.



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



Kholstomer?

To tear this “world” apart —
That’s your fierce task.
Weak and orphaned heart? —
You’re a beast’s worn mask.

You are Kholstomer,
And here’s the tale:
A slave of hellish spheres,
With curses frail.

So tear it down! For strength
Is truly vast.
Only fools bow down
And worship past.

That “god” is poor —
A hellish myth.
Be brave, be sure,
Cast off the myth.

Die — explode,
Blow hell away —
Then rise up high
With a different fate.



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


The Zoo

To write of “happiness” and such
Is **** for fools to tell.
But prophets suffer, bear the clutch —
Only courage breaks the spell.

“Arise, O prophet, see and hear,
With fiery words ignite
The hearts of those who will not fear.”
But slaves shun truth and light.

Just burn, consume in hell’s own flame —
Or be a jackal dull.
All rot within this foul zoo’s frame:
Submit — you’re done, you’re null.



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



The Mark of Slaves

Stupidity and trash,
Trash and stupidity —
The mark that binds the slaves.
Step into this world,
And chains will clasp you tight —
Trash to bind your hands,
Stupidity to cage your mind.

Trash will hold you back,
Stupidity will lock
Your path to freedom’s gate —
All chances gone, just smoke.
Your mind is buried deep
In lies and fear’s sharp grip —
You’ll be weak, subdued,
Silent, meek, and stripped.



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



The Herd Believes Anything

You can convince them anything —
The wise, or flock of sheep?
Around is all forgetting —
Where’s freedom here to keep?

Only food on plates
For cruel tyrants’ greed,
Fear, filth, and lies —
This is all they feed.




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



What Do Slaves Truly Hate?

Slaves don’t hate their chains or masters,
Nor brazen lies they’re fed each day,
But those who lash the tyrants’ blasters —
Those slaves won’t give a ****, no way.

They’ll snitch on neighbors’ smallest flaws,
Those slaves will spread the vile disgrace,
While tyrants crush what’s left of cause —
And brains are wiped without a trace.

So truly, vile ones hold no glory,
No victories their kind can claim.
Slaves heed the court fools’ lies and stories,
And worship lies as sacred flame.

Slaves don’t despise their chains or *******,
But honest minds they deeply fear —
They call all civility “wrong” and
Bow down to masters they revere.




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



Lies

False prophets,
False teachings —
In this haze,
Generations.

Lies grow strong,
Wild and fierce —
Cain’s own blade
Kills with fierce.




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



March 8

Aunt Klara, Aunt Rosa crawl,
Like creeping threats that seek to crawl —
Communism in women's hearts,
Beasts who pry to tear apart.

They hunt for every open door
To push their poison evermore.
Drop those lies — the fiends impose!
Believe them — rot’s what you’ll chose.

Rot spreads wide, mad fools obsessed,
By twisted ideas possessed.
Monsters mock and cruelly play,
Lies invade and lead astray.

Progress? No — a hellish stage,
Where slaves comply to cage their rage.
Spirit, Honor left to rust,
Mind kills truth with lies and dust.




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



Rightness

Most are never right,
Only few see light —
But not all the time.
The crowd obeys with might,
Blind to false command,
Their truth just sham,
Behind lies planned
The shepherd’s cruel hand,
To crush the Spirit’s stand.

All striving gone,
That honors none,
The shepherd’s game.
So much is slain
Within the herd,
Corruption stirred,
Reduced to dust,
Consumed by rust.




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



So They Say "Winners Write the History"?

They say history’s made by the victors—
But all mankind stands defeated.
Tales spun by wicked corrupters,
The price of a war undefeated.

Dumbing down’s the main caliber,
Violence sprays like machine gun fire.
Lies chosen as the chief tactic—
The battle’s end: fool, dunce, and liar.

Monsters rule this ******-up world,
Brainwashing all since our birth.
Once a range, now a cesspool curled—
Through the filth, no glimpse of worth.

A foul transformation’s the story
Of pure life given by God’s hand.
We lost nearly without a fight—
That’s why we’re worth less than sand.




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



Suckers

Suckers now are worse than ever —
A super-sucker’s born for show.
Not quite humans — more like fleas, yeah,
Hold on, endure, prepare for woe.

Sucker’s blame is deep and twisted,
In their “greeting” lies the root.
No secret now — the world’s enlisted,
Under rule of Devil’s brute.



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



Mad Slaves

Vedas...
.........................
......................­...
Troubles...
From Victory
Just one step away...
Darkness piles in waves of lies —
Slave: not just dumb, but blind.

Stupor, madness —
Enemy’s war design.
What remains, when all is done?
Few minds left — for now, just fine...




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



Children Like Canned Goods

Cans will spoil — illusions must go,
The surface shows a happy glow.
Inside the mind, the night and fear,
False joy they wear year after year.

Old cans turn slaves who cannot love,
Their only joy’s to feed and shove.
To breed, to live without a cause,
While crushing kids with iron laws.

Slaves breed slaves — the endless chain,
Their “upbringing” is just the pain.
They worship carrion, decay,
Ruled by Hell’s void — a dark display.




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



The Media

With slick ads flashing bright,
No need to sell the goods outright.
In Dull Bedlam’s hollow roar,
The battle cry’s "For free! For more!"

Free “vaccine,” coupons stacked,
Free war — its losses masked.
In endless ads you’re just a pawn,
The media breeds the cold and drawn.

They groom the rude, the soulless waste,
All for free — no time to waste.




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



So-called "Rules"

So many rules —
So little sense.
Left nothing but
Nonsense dense.

Life strangled tight
In foolish sludge.
Like leeches cling
In lies and sludge...




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



So-called "Money"

Shagreen Rot — not just a skin! —
Crushes paper scraps within,
Stronger than the tyrants’ chains,
Spreading slavery’s dark stains.
That’s money — fools believe,
A tool to take and not to keep.

When not a means to save or gain,
Money’s but a wicked chain,
Weapon wielded by the ******,
For silent purge across the land.
Genocide in cash concealed,
Darkness in the truth revealed.

Greed has blinded every eye,
Murdering the mind’s supply.
Greed’s obsession, deaf and dumb,
Turns resolve to silent numb.
In a world of buzzing flies,
Hope and honor slowly dies.

Honest souls can’t break the wall
Built by **** who sell and crawl.
Hell no longer just a dream —
We’re trapped inside its evil scheme,
And Spirit fades to shadow’s thrall.




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



Projections of Consciousness

Projections cast — the projector
Feeds the world a web of lies.
Ruled by evil, the director
Mangles minds — the spirit dies.

Sticky fear becomes the backdrop,
Carrying nonsense through the air.
So you turn to empty chatter,
Just another fool who’s there.

Soulless hordes — they fill this realm,
Lost within a dull abyss.
In the graveyard, God is absent —
Only silence in the mist.

Break those projections, shatter,
When you journey deep inside
To roots where souls first awaken —
There your path begins to guide.




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



Zombies and Combis

Ads for zombies —
A flicker in the gloom.
Also combis —
Not just empty doom.

Subtle poison feeding
Monsters’ endless greed.
Thus the Spirit’s bleeding,
While herds graze on deceit.

The Shepherd dulls the mind —
The sheep just obey.
Humanity’s resigned —
Beasts led all the way.




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



Zombies and Combis

Ads for zombies — false beacon’s flare,
Combis spit their poison bare.
Feeding freaks with endless greed,
Killing Spirit’s every seed.

Shepherds dumb the flock’s dull brain,
Sheep obey in blind refrain.
Human fades to beastly grime —
Lost to slaughter, lost to time.




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



So-called "Peace"

Tenderness is gone, no trembling hands,
The "bandit" never knew such strands.
Around — just ashes, mad decay,
The soul in this world killed away.

Not with a shaking hand you write
The nightmare tales that haunt the night.
Why crave the dull, dead "peace" you seek,
When all around are cells, not meek?




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



New World

To light the faded — hard and cold,
But poetry’s the truth they hold.
The vile beasts lie without shame,
Turning the world to murky blame.

In murk, the monsters fish and snare —
How pitiful, ridiculous, bare!
The world has died in drunken haze
Of lies from fiends who set the phase.

The equation of BASTARDY,
If ******* — then the hellfire’s key.
So much fear and endless drone,
No flow of energy, just stone.

No energy — just death’s slow dance,
This wretched world has lost its chance.
Don’t trust the fiends who twist and stir —
The new world’s only for the slur.




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



Active Slaves

An active slave is worse than fiends,
They nurture slave’s relentless means.
The core’s a devil’s cruel domain —
Not God’s bright world, but hellish bane.

Convince the slave he’s truly free,
Poison him ideologically.
Decay’s path then will be paved —
Just call the “enemy” enslaved.

They’ll **** the “foes” by killing souls —
And Hell once more will claim its tolls.
Only lies, lies fill slaves’ ears —
Grinding them in grinding gears.




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



The Path to Nothing

To fight again amid the flames—
A heavy fate, a bitter game.
Yet still the battle rages on,
To **** the slave inside, and gone—

That’s easy—just a simple feat.
But break the chains that bind defeat?
Harder still. To start anew
In Hell’s deep pit—that’s what you do.

A path that leads to NOTHING’s door,
Where all begins and ends once more.




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



The Path to Void

To clash again within the blaze—
A burdened fate, a soul’s malaise.
The fight endures, a sacred test:
To purge the slave deep in your chest.

That task is light—a fleeting breath.
But shatter all the chains of death?
To rise anew in Hell’s abyss,
Where all begins and ends in this—

A journey toward the void profound,
Where lost echoes are the only sound.

In darkness thick, the spirit groans,
Through shattered stars and broken bones.
A whispered call beyond all time—
To break the space, to break the rhyme.

No final step, no end to find,
Just endless depths within the mind.
Yet in this void, a spark may glow—
The seed from which all life can grow.




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




Fascism

A virus herd of fascist plague,
*******’ war on Ukraine’s stage?
No peace—just mass stupidity,
You live in it? You rot to be.

But this mine’s not what it seems—
The Sun will burn away these schemes.
From filth and beasts, the Earth will break,
Soon freed from every filthy snake.

They hide in holes, a trivial game,
But sparks burn stronger than their shame.
This world of Shame and endless Blight
Will burn—its end now near in sight.



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



Fascism

Fascist plague of sheep and ****,
******* war on Ukraine’s drum.
No peace here — just pure *****’s game,
You rot inside this filthy shame.

But that mine’s not the end, beware —
The Sun will burn their filthy lair.
This cursed Earth, soon purged and torn,
From beasts and filth it will be born.

They hide in holes like coward rats,
But fire’s hotter than their gnats.
This world of Shame and Endless Blight
Will burn to ash in coming night.




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



Fascism

“Today it’s you,
Tomorrow me.”
Join the cops—
If you’re a pig, be.

You’ll die second,
Serving the Evil,
Swiftly rotted,
Slave of the Devil.

Join the doctors,
Praise CowID,
Or scream loud,
Shameless, unfree.

Propagandist —
Top rank of shame.
Their damage cuts
Deeper than flame.

No soul can conquer
The lies within.
Tremble, betray,
Glorify the Sin.

And wait your turn —
Your time is thin,
A fleeting stay
In Dark’s grim din.




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



Fascism

“Today it’s you,
Tomorrow me —
Join the cops,
If pig you be.

Die the second,
Serve the Vice,
Rotting fast,
Slave to Lies.

Praise the doctors,
Bow to CowID,
Scream your shame,
Forget all dignity.

Propaganda’s
Top **** breed —
Wrecks the soul
More than greed.

No lie inside
Can be outrun.
Tremble, betray,
Glorify the ****.

Wait your turn —
Your time’s a cheat,
A brief reprieve
Before defeat.



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



Fascism — The Pig’s Creed

Today you —
Tomorrow me.
Join the pigs,
Rot to be.

Serve the Lies,
Die in chains.
Praise the plague —
Feed the pains.

Propaganda’s crown,
Soul’s deep blight.
Tremble, sell,
Lose the fight.

Time’s a joke —
Darkness calls.
Slave to fear,
Empires fall.




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




Sometimes — or Almost Always?

“Men believe their minds command the words.
But sometimes words turn sharp against the mind.”
— Francis Bacon, centuries behind.


The naïve “old school” once held sway,
Fascists left that far away:
The root of chaos — words they wield,
A twisted power now revealed.

With methods cold and cunning, they
Bend all but few, who won’t decay.
Madness spares a chosen few,
While others fall — deceived, subdued.




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



Beekeeping and Mankeeping

“Life’s a blend of honey and of gall.”
— Lucius Apuleius, ages past and all.

Beekeepers know — today’s sweet gold
Is not the same as tales of old.
While in our veins the bitterness chills,
Poisoned blood flows through human wills...




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



The Foul Breath of Half-Realities

“The present breathes upon us, hard and close.”
— Miguel de Unamuno, truth verbose.


A stench that lingers, harsh and deep,
Through media’s torture, lies they keep —
“Reality” ruled by evil’s hand,
A shadow dark across the land.



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



Generations of “Wise Men”

“The true wise man: bows to kings so sly,
He shows his *** to those nearby.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


Generations called “wise” —
No ends, no starts, no rise,
Where lawlessness took root and spread.
Their “wisdom” screams: “I’m flesh, not head!”

Spirit caged, conscience fallen low,
Beneath the floor, it’s lost its glow.
The best is gone or trapped and thrown —
Degenerates, beasts, upon the throne.




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

Blurring Lines Between Dead and Living

"Restraint is owed more to those who hear bad things of themselves than to those who get stones thrown."
— Antisthenes, 4th century BC


Tolerance? The sane will throw the stones,
It’s not the first time — they defend their bones.
Restraint’s for those who bend the knee,
Stand up to Evil if you’re free!

Tolerance feeds the dead, not the alive,
The world shakes with the dead’s contrived.
But lines erased by fools’ new creed —
No difference now, just endless greed.



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



Blurring the Dead and Living

“Restraint’s for those who hear foul words,
Not for those who get stones hurled.”
— Antisthenes, long ago


Tolerance? The sane will stone —
They guard their bones, defend their own.
Restraint’s a chain for those who kneel —
Fight the Evil — spit and steel!

Tolerance’s gift to the dead,
The world now shakes on rotting thread.
Lines erased by fools’ disgrace,
No life, no death — just empty space.




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


Dead or Alive?

Tolerance? For dead men’s breath.
Fight or rot — there’s no half-death.



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



Bones and Flesh

Dead men shake — they beg for peace,
Living fight — or find their cease.



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



New Creed

Stones fly at the truthful few,
Dead just smile — what can they do?




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



Silent War

Dead don’t fight — they just decay,
Living roar — break chains today.



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



Fools’ Creed

Dead hearts cold, their silence loud,
Living stand, unbowed, unbowed.



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



Stone Throwers

Truth gets stones from tongues of spite,
Dead just vanish in the night.




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



Silent War

The dead don’t fight — they rot, decay,
Their silence feeds the living’s fray.
But we who breathe and feel the fire,
Must rise again, must climb up higher.

No chains can bind the roaring heart,
No darkness break the fearless part.
In silent war, the living wage —
A battle fierce, a breaking cage.




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

Fools’ Creed

Cold hearts of stone, dead souls that sleep,
Their silence loud, their secrets deep.
But living blood beats strong and free,
Defying all that fools decree.

The creed of fools — to bow and fade,
While truth and spirit are betrayed.
But we remain unbent, unbowed,
Alive and fierce against the crowd.




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



Stone Throwers

Truth is tossed by tongues of spite,
Thrown like stones in darkest night.
The dead just fade, they do not stand,
But living souls must make their stand.

In faces harsh and voices cruel,
The stones of lies become the rule.
But stones may bruise, yet cannot break —
The spirit’s fire no lies can shake.