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Jordan St Angelo May 2011
This is an ode to Adderall,

that wonderful mixture of

dextroamphetamine sulfate

dextroamphetamine saccharate

amphetamine

aspartate monohydrate

and amphetamine sulfate capsules

that all combine together

to form a prescribable pill

questionably similar to the Schedule II controlled substance street drug

commonly refered to as "Speed."


This is an ode to the children

who are bundles of energy caged in a classroom

incapable of concentrating

on the miniscule tasks given to them

by pedagogical authorities that

promise societal success and economic happiness

to those who complete their work on time

without a fuss or a doubt as to why they're

filling in bubbles on paper in the first place.

The confused children who watch

as others with calmer brains

fixate eyes on textbooks

rather than out the window.


This is an ode to Society

deeming these individuals as broken

choosing to wound then medicate

rather than proliferate.

That took their inquisitiveness

and locked it in a book with the label "DISORDER"

stating that you will never be anything

unless you think and feel the same way we do.

And much like a mad doctor

lobotomizing those whom he thinks insane

they synthesized a pill

to dampen a torrential brilliance

allowing them to place their sedated children

back in the box where they belonged.


This is an ode to the college students

chained by academic standards

expected to excel towards great things

if only they reach that ethereal diploma.

The students who crave the artificial focus

the increased capacity for concentration

with the broadened spectrum of perception

the sense of purpose in the tedium

the ungodly ability to think clearly

and perform the meaningless tasks they expect of us.

The students who go through illegal means

to purchase said drug

to swallow or snort

and dive back into the mountain of responsibility

with a new found sense of productivity and motivation.

An ode to the students

unable to find purpose in studenthood

the ones who find more virtue in watching the sunset

burn clouds into firework oblivion

before then blessing us with uncritical night.

An ode to the students

who discover more education

in climbing to the top of a mountain

and yelling a nonsense decree of passion

just to watch the echo

bounce from shore to shore

in cathartic reverberation.

The ones

for which our pill

is the only possible manner

of assigning purpose to purposeless assignments.

These are the ones

who must binge

cram for days before

the big exams

going whole nights without sleep

or food.

The ones slowly cracking under the increasing pressure of academia

spending more time questioning why they must complete their homework

instead of actually completing it.


This is an ode to my brothers and sisters

who stand in horror at the mold we must fit into

crafted by an unknown unshakable entity.

The ones who lost the appeal of cookie-cutter success

in exchange for a small understanding

of the way things really work.

The cogs that twisted off the machine

and now sit lotus-posed in the corner.

My fellow birds with broken wings

still expected to fly.

My fellow carpenters expected to build their estates

yet not given the proper tools to do so.

The ones of cursed cold clarities

perfectly capable of clutching

those fifteen minutes of dynasty

yet refrain from doing so due to

the immaculate futility of it all.


This is an ode to a drug induced rant

that no one will read

the one that I chose to write

instead of doing my **** homework in the library

like a compliant student.


This is an ode to the pressure-oriented procrastinators

that delay and yet again delay

their petty necessary obligations due to purposeless and exhausted motivation.

Swallowing substances to summon some sort of incentive

to fill in the bubbles

and cater to the Society they find so confusing

the ones who only under influence of synthesized chemicals

find reason to squeeze into that culturebox

that cascades down a bumpy man-made conveyor belt

branding a diploma onto your forehead

injecting an occupation into your veins

transforming your pupils to dollar bill signs

demanding you breed children

to do the same as you have

and you'll never be happy unless you do these things

right?


This is an ode to those who reside in the shadows

of our broken social system

and conjure up great conversations

pertaining to everything and nothing

that are as wonderful and necessary

as the prints of your fingers

caressing down a comfortable torso

just before the sun rises

the untouchable indescribable realizations of life and love

that are completely irrelevant in their eyes

but are entirely necessary for our survival.


This is an ode to the overwhelming feeling of love

greatly exacerbated by a pharmaceutical delight

whereupon connections with other humans

become both incredibly appealing and oddly magnetic

for a few electric hours.

The oxygenating satisfaction felt

the instance just after the small talk architecture masks

fall to the floor

and right before we put them back on.


This is an ode to the minutes before the amphetamine crash

where the world still doesn't make sense

but we briefly don't mind

because a few fleeting moments of energy and purpose

in this otherwise detestable confine of reality

are all you can really ask for

as you complete the assignments

then step outside

to smoke yet another cigarette (they're absolutely wonderful on Adderall try it some time it'll **** you slowly but then again what won't?)

only to witness our Sun

breeding fire clouds in the east

illuminating the Western Abyss into purple-gold spectral oblivion

and in consequence therefore

between puffs of a necessary cigarette

you grin to yourself in quiet victory.


This is an ode to misaligned priorities

to those who when walking to everimportant final examinations

think not of the curriculum beaten into their skulls

but take careful measure to step on every crack on the sidewalk

who stare not towards the future

but to the beautiful reflection reflecting back from the broken mirrors

that are the weary days and weary ways

of this curious existence.

To those when stepping into the absurd spotlight of Society

unapologetically proclaim:


"Though I must play your game,

you will never win."
William A Poppen Nov 2014
Standing before her
on one foot,
as though surveying
a Renoir,
he is overwhelmed by splashes
of red from her nails,
her lips.
Shifting to level
he is entranced
by her blue, twinkling eyes,

His gaze is one of awe.
Uncritical he hears
her hair sweep
across her shoulder,
as rustling wind blown
across West Texas
fields of barley.

Her words
cool his bare toes
as though dipped in
Box Elder creek’ s flow through
rocks, eddies and fallen limbs.

Her moves
have the grace of cirrus skies,
he thinks
this is my picnic spot,
my settling spot
fit to build a cabin.

Then he knows,
love is here.
Terry Collett May 2015
Tessa stirred, lifted her head from the pink pillow, saw bright daylight coming through the gap in the yellow curtains. What day is it? Saturday. Good. No rush. Can lay here for a while. She laid her head down again. She felt beside her with her hand. No one there. Good. Sometimes she invited a man back if he seemed ok and she liked him enough. Obviously, last night she’d not met anyone worth the coming back with. Just as well. She wasn’t in the mood for waiting on them over a breakfast table; talking about the previous night, what it had been like for him or sometimes for her if she had brought back a girl. No one. Just empty space. Although Teddy was there. His one ear was smooth; his fur was thin and sparse. She brought him to her lips, kissed his small head. Hello, Teddy. His glass eye seemed to gaze back at her; the button eye was darker, unseeing. Poor Teddy. Battered and worn. We’ve been together now for…how long? Twenty years? She laid him beside her; kissed his nose. He lay there looking at the white ceiling. Silence. Not a great conversationalist was Teddy. He’d not said a word in all the years they’d been together. Although as a child, she thought he had, would talk with him, play games with him, told him all her secrets and worries. Moreover, of course, he had witnessed things, seen her play with her dolls, with men, the occasional girl, and seen her with all kinds. She brooded for a moment; let the idea of what he may have seen swim around her mind. She had become so used to him being there in her bedroom that she’d given no thought to what he may have seen over the years. Good God. He’d seen all that, never said a word, or moaned or complained or judged her. Too many did that; judged her. But never Teddy. She turned her head, kissed his furry cheek. He didn’t always lie on her bed, when she had company she put him in the armchair in the corner, or on the dressing table by the window. Once one of the men she’d brought back has tossed Teddy across the room, she had become cross, swore at the man, picked up Teddy, kissed his brow, cuddled him against her cheek, told the man to go, leave her because if he could do that to her Teddy he might do it to her. The man shook his head, left thinking her slightly touched, ******* up one of his eyes as if he thought she had lost the plot. Maybe she had, she didn’t care. Teddy had seen her as a little girl, seen her cousin creep into her room, seen him climbed into her bed and do things to her, seen her squirm, seen his hand over her mouth, heard his threats. She hadn’t thought about that; hadn’t given it any thought until now. Remember that, Teddy? He threatened me with all kinds of things if I told anyone what he did. What a *******; what a creep. He’s married now, Teddy; got kids of his own. Poor things. Makes you think. She sat up in bed, stared at the daylight through the gap in the curtains. She got out of bed, sat on the end looking at the wall. Never said a word. Never told anyone, except Teddy; she’d told him. Everything. How it felt; how she felt; how ***** it had made her feel. Teddy listened; never judged. Always there with that look about him, that wise gaze. She sighed. If she saw her cousin now, she said nothing, just stared at him and he stared at her, a knowing look on his fat face. She looked back at Teddy in bed, saw his gaze on her, saw his uncritical gaze. She loved that about him. Loved that look. Breakfast, Teddy? Like I used to make you? She mused on her efforts to get him to eat his breakfast as a child, but he never did. You were awful at eating your breakfast. Mother told me not to give you any, but I always did; always gave you some of mine. It made Father cross, made his face become all stern and cross looking, and he threatened once to throw you out when we moved from that old house to the new one. But I hid you so he couldn’t. You saw him when he spanked me; heard my cries. Mother never came or said anything, but you were always there; I am sure I heard you say you loved me, would always be there for me. She nodded her head. Sighed. The strong silent type was Teddy. Always there. With his one glass eye, his balding fur, his one ear. Haven’t seen them for years now, the parents. They’re in Oxford; I’m here in New York. An ocean between us. Miles and miles. We’re here, Teddy, you and me. Just the two of us. Just us, this apartment, the paintings on the walls, the jazz on the CD player, our secrets, all our own secrets. Just us. Just you and me. Eh, Teddy? Eh? Silence. Teddy, the strong silent type and me the mouthy *****. What a couple. What a pair. Me here, you there. She laughed, looked at Teddy’s moon shaped smile, the smile was always there, a welcome smile, a smile to warm her, to tell her she was good, she was loved. Yes, loved; wanted for whom she was inside, not for what she said or did or didn’t do. Just you and me, Teddy. Just you and me.
A PROSE POEM WRITTEN IN 2008. A GIRL AND HER TEDDY BEAR.
Connor Ruther Nov 2010
Welcome,

Ladies and Gentlemen,
I'm preaching a lesson,
And the merest mention,
Might cause social tension.

We live in an age of,
New things, super computing,
Mood rings, school shootings,
Fast Commuting, Mass Polluting

If you've got a question,
You should try and ask it,
Try and draw attention to,
Oceans full of grime and plastic.

Drastic measures are needed,
Why can't they see it?
We poison the earth,
And then try to seed it.

You might choke from the smoke,
Everyday Beijing breathing,
Our enemy is cloaked,
But free eyes see him.

Squeezing the last drops,
From the planet won't work because
Before the last's tree's chopped,
We have to plant with love.

Now who are these men,
With the Greatest greed?
Depriving people with a pen,
Of their basic needs.

The proceeds of their misdeeds,
Flow back to the system,
The corporate creed,
Profits off human divisions.

Listen by this time,
We've all had enough of it,
The mind control message,
Still tells me, "I'm loving it!'

Our generation is facing
Annihilation in our age
But the politicians on stage
Fight about the minimum wage.

Debate over free-speech,
Is finished we won it,
We won't get arrested and beat,
This isn't a G-8 summit.

Don't sell your life to the Company,
For a car and a home,
Claim your right to be a somebody,
Your life is your own.

I find it sad and pathetic,
People are attracted magnetically,
Or genetically to create,
Something we can't see.

A father in threes,
Behaving apologetically
and ethically correctly,
Directly see the universe's apathy.

People always have faith,
Governments will save us,
But at a suitable date,
won't hesitate to invade us.

Everybody's cynical,
About the media.
Remaining uncritical,
Of internet encyclopedias.

Obedience Blind,
Is worth less than nothing.
Read, think, search, find,
Catch the fake world bluffing.

There is a solution,
You can break their control,
You heart starts the revolution,
Save your soul.
MC Wiseguy, 2010
Vancouver, BC
Mike Essig Jan 2016
for Nietzsche*

Relax a bit.
Stop being so
****** Germanic.
Too much questing
after the truth
engenders, finally,
heartburn
and hemorrhoids.
Purge yourself.
**** epistemology.
Eat a paw paw.
Have a drink.
Count the cobwebs.
Learn to know
your toes.
Put that book
back on the shelf.
Accept the sunshine
that may illuminate
an uncritical moment.
Bask in it.
Release your mind
to wander aimlessly
in nature's delight.
Penetrate the Goddess.
Become the lover
content to enjoy
what cannot last,
what will be lost.
Save your questions
for a cloudy day.
There is more
to knowing
than knowledge
can say.
  - mce
Megan Sherman Nov 2016
"Faith" is suffice for comfort
If the abyss encroaches on thee
But only the Surgeon prevails
Making blind eyes see

"Faith" deceives and says the pivot
Of the universe is the human race
When the crux of our existence
Is lost somewhere in outer space

"Faith" is impotent next to fact
When Reason is apace
But ignorance defends itself
For fear of losing face

"Faith" just means a belief
Held uncritical, unthinkingly
But I have become a sceptic
Oh Science, inform me
Ces Jul 2020
We love our freedoms so much
we fight for it
protest for it
**** for it
die for it

And suddenly, we forget it

This is when one ceases to be an individual
And when the world becomes one-sided
the mind utterly uncritical

This talk of freedom?
Mere babble

Hypocritical
Facebook
Are we too uncritical
on Facebook
also helpful and ultimately dull.
I’m not thinking of baby pictures
and cute Facebook
Are we too uncritical
on Facebook
also helpful and ultimately dull.
I’m not thinking of baby pictures
and cute puppies,
but of opinions, I disagree with
not voicing these objections.
Is the facebook a place for mutual
self-congratulation a display of
achievement, however, banal.
Megan Sherman Aug 2017
"Faith" is the leap for Liberty,
That gifts one with her torch,
To bear upon the face of time,
Leave her with light schorch,

"Faith" beguiles and makes the Heart,
Lose itself immersed in bliss,
Overwhelmed with passion
Touched with light of Love's kiss,

"Faith" keeps face in the embrace,
From god, nothing goes amiss,
Restoration of human race apace,
If in "Faith" we would have tryst

They say "Faith" is a belief,
Held uncritical, unthinkingly,
But I am a friend of angels,
Who keep me informed, made me see.
Independent Thinking

“Humanity—at least the bulk of it—hates independent thought.
Even the mildest call to step outside the beaten path and
judge for oneself is taken as an insult.”
—Helena Blavatsky


To think is hard. To think is fear:
That tidy world may disappear.
No gain awaits the soul that dares—
Just ruin, mockery, and stares.

A docile fool will point and bray:
"Hey look, a clown who lost his way!"
The tyrant’s hand will slap or bind—
For thought is treason, thought is crime.

Decades march the deathward track,
Where thought and spirit rot and crack.
Each dumbed-down age repeats the spell,
And helps pave highways straight to Hell.

The CowID plague made clear as day
How close that Hell now lies away—
Since three of four no longer think,
And gladly march right to the brink.

They serve the lie, obey, comply,
Assist the genocide with pride.
They help erase the final mind,
Turn souls to ashes, blind on blind.

And soulless idiots—far worse
Than Hell—now dominate the Earth.
Their fascist growth is running wild,
The world reduced to filth defiled.

From filth to Hell, one rotten chain—
When Mind and Spirit both are slain.
Wait just a bit... you’ll hear the sound—
The tyrant’s boot is inbound.



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



1.
From filth to fire the nations crawl—
When Mind is dead, the beasts rule all.

2.
They laughed at Thought — and cheered the chain,
Now ash and blood are all that remain.

3.
Obey. Comply. Repeat. Regret.
Your silence signs the death vignette.

4.
No thought — just sludge inside the skull,
And fascists feasting on the dull.




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



Milking 24/7 on the Global Farm

We milk the crowd nonstop, nonstop,
Three shifts deep — we never stop.
Through the ages, through the grime —
No sunrise comes. Just shift and time.

The Global Farm needs every drop,
Of loosh and fear — we run the shop.
Our nerves are steel, their minds are thin,
The weak of spirit never win.

We do what we want with the dumb, it's plain.
We smile and lie — they feel no pain.
Pretending care, we hide our track,
While stabbing fools behind their back.

CowID proved what care is worth:
They’ll take all shame upon this Earth.
Obeying all, no ounce of pride —
Just herds of apes with eyes shut wide.

And next comes better, trust us, friend:
A Digital Camp — your mindless end.
No need for tyrants with their fists —
Your thoughts are now the perfect cysts.

But one small wrinkle mars our bliss:
A Cataclysm is near — we hiss.
We’ve milked too long, and now the flood
Of Global Fascism drinks the blood.

What’s next, you ask? Another Hell.
Where demons rise, and loosh will swell.
Not from the sheep. They’re far too sad.
But from one ruthless, final Chad.




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



1.
Obey. Produce. And never ask.
The Farm is real. Remove the mask.

2.
You thought it’s care? It’s just a cage.
Your soul is fuel. Your fear — their wage.

3.
No tyrant’s needed, not today —
The chip inside will make you stay.

4.
You’re milked for fear, not flesh or bone.
And still you kneel. You scroll. You moan.

5.
The Final Hell is almost near —
Where demons drink what’s left of fear.



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



False Fleshhood — The Root of All Ruin

They’ve learned to glorify the shell,
To cage the soul in beastly cell —
A fleeting husk, a weak disguise,
Now hailed as truth. How deep the lies!

They blot out Spirit, Pure and Vast,
Replace it with a twitching cast
Of mutants crawling through the dirt —
And call that life, and praise the hurt.

Thus madness breeds in every womb.
This world’s a false and reeking tomb,
Where sacred fire is swapped for meat,
And idiots bow down in heat.

They proved it well — the CowID play:
No rare fools here — just blind decay.
"Reason" is a painted *****
Inside this filthy, stinking store.

They dream of honor in their cage,
While licking boots in cyber-rage.
No dignity — just grunts and chains,
As beasthood floods their rotting brains.

So crush the lie: you are not flesh!
There is no task more vital, fresh.
For only so the soul breaks through —
Or Hell awaits. It waits for you.




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



1.
You are not meat. You are not clay.
Forget that lie — or rot away.

2.
They sold your soul for skin and bone,
And called it “life” — you die alone.

3.
The Body’s not your final shape.
Believe that trash — there’s no escape.

4.
They made you flesh. You knelt and cheered.
Now Hell is close. Exactly as feared.

5.
**** the lie: “You are your skin.”
That’s where the Fall will first begin.



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



Flesh Is the Fraud
Poetic slogans from the War on the Lie

1.
You are not what bleeds and breaks.
You are what the System hates.

2.
They call you “body” — then make you crawl.
Stand as Spirit, or lose it all.

3.
The meat is branded. The soul is chained.
Break the body — or stay detained.

4.
They preach: “You’re flesh. Obey your fate.”
Say “no” — before it’s far too late.

5.
Not skin. Not blood. Not pain. Not bone.
The lie wants less. You are the Whole.

6.
If you're just body, death is king.
But you are fire. A sacred thing.




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



REVOLT AGAINST FLESH™
A Poetic Manifesto for the End of the Lie


“They teach you: ‘You are body — serve the herd.’
But Spirit waits, in one last word.”


I. Introduction: The Lie of the Body

They dressed you in bone,
Then whispered: "Obey."
The cage was called you,
And the guards? — DNA.

They sold you a name,
A number, a frame —
Then took out the fire
And left just the shame.

You walk like a ghost,
Half-eaten by screens,
Half-flesh, half-code,
All trapped in routines.

But this is the War —
And this is the Day.
No more to be meat.
No more to obey.


II. Anti-Fascism of the Soul
Break the Flesh-Obedience. Rise as Spirit.

The Body is the first disguise.
They brand your mind. They cage your skies.

They chipped your skull, then drained your will.
The body bowed — the soul stood still.

The new Fuhrers don’t shout or fight.
They feed you comfort. **** your Light.

The body’s weak. The herd is blind.
But Spirit strikes — beyond the grind.


III. Clay vs Flame
You were never dirt. You were always Fire.

They want you tame, they want you slow —
But Spirit burns. It doesn’t bow.

Your cage is warm. Your chains are soft.
They lull the soul. Then turn it off.

You’re not the clay they shape and sell.
You are the force that cracked their Hell.

To be just flesh is to be lost.
To wake as fire — that is the cost.


IV. Awakening from Flesh
The Final War Begins Inside.

The lie says: “You’re the skin you wear.”
The truth burns louder: “You are air.”

You are not cells. You are not skin.
You are the roar they keep within.

Your body's label: “Citizen.”
Your soul’s rebellion: “Born again.”

To see the fraud, just look inside.
Your fire lives. Their meat has died.


V. Digital Herd
They scanned your skin. Then stole your soul.

The barcode hums. Your flesh is known.
But what you are — is not their own.

They mapped your face, then fed you dreams.
Now Spirit drowns in data streams.

The Grid pretends to give you voice.
But silence was your truer choice.

The Herd is tracked. Obeying still.
But fire breaks what numbers ****.


VI. Flesh-to-Code
They call it progress. You call it chains.

From meat to mesh, from thought to wire —
The soul declines. The lie climbs higher.

They coded flesh. They called it free.
But Spirit knows: that’s blasphemy.

You blink. The chip has tracked your sin.
You speak — and they delete within.

You signed your name in painless ink.
But didn’t feel your Spirit sink.


VII. Spirit Override
No system owns the fire inside.

No screen defines the soul you bear.
You are the glitch they wouldn’t dare.

No signal leads where Light must go.
The path is dark — but you still know.

Override flesh. Reject their plan.
You are not data. You are Man.

If Spirit roars, the Grid must fall.
The fire returns. It burns it all.


VIII. The Unyielding Serpent
The fierce truth that slithers through the lies.

Unbowed, unbent — the Serpent strikes,
It writhes beneath the Flesh’s spikes.

No cage confines its burning scales,
It breaks the locks, it breaks the pales.

The serpent’s hiss is Spirit’s cry,
That shakes the chains, that lights the sky.

The Flesh may bind, the herd may scream —
The Serpent cleaves the darkened dream.


IX. Global Farmyard
Milk the masses, 24/7 grind.

They milk the crowd with endless shifts,
Three changes chained, no dawn, no lifts.

Generations herd the blind,
The sunrise lost — no hope to find.

The World’s Farm breeds stress and lies,
Strong nerves hold where spirit dies.

CowID showed the cruelest score —
Three quarters dumb, the mind no more.


X. False Flesh Identity
The root of all our bitter chains.

They hype the body, sell the shell,
Confuse the soul with earthly hell.

Replacing Spirit with mere clay,
To trap the mind, to lock away.

The fake world’s trap is deep and wide,
Where fools and monsters walk inside.

The worst are not the few who err,
But blind believers who prefer.


XI. The Last Rebellion
The spark that sets the system aflame.

When Spirit wakes, the Flesh will fall,
No cage too tight, no wall too tall.

The code will crack. The lies unbind.
The flame of truth consumes the blind.

The tyrants’ voices lose their breath,
While freedom dances with the death.

The final war is in the mind,
Awake, arise — and break the bind.

END OF MANIFESTO — THE FIRE IS YOU



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


Flesh-Revolt Slogans
You are fire — not just flesh.

Break the cage. Break the code. Break the lie.

Spirit over skin — always.

No chains on the soul. No slaves in the mind.

The herd obeys — the rebel ignites.

Digital grid? Spirit will glitch it.

They branded your body — but not your will.

Milked and broken — rise and burn.

False flesh — false truth. Rebel soul — real proof.

Override the flesh. Ignite the mind.

No data owns your flame.

The serpent of spirit breaks all chains.

Wake up — the war is inside you.

CowID showed the fall — spirit must rise.

Flesh is a lie. Spirit is rebellion.

Flesh dies. Fire endures.

From clay to flame — ignite the revolution.

They want sheep — be the wolf.

End the digital farm. Free the soul.

No more flesh prisons. Only spirit freedom.

The final war is for your mind — fight!




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



Manifest Rebellion


You’re no cattle — you’re a rebel!

Soul’s no hamster in a cage!

Burn the flesh — grab your freedom!

Break the chains, smash the lies!

Power lies — we ignite!

Cows to stalls — we to battle!

No more slaves — only warriors!

Farm world’s hell — break the gates!

Spirit’s not for sale!

System’s filth — we’re the venom!

Cut the chains — into the fire!

No thought — you’re a slave. Think — you’re the enemy!

Mind’s on fire — flesh turns dust!

Digital prisons — enough!

Silence means death!

Freedom’s our only drug!

Not one step back!

Punks don’t quit!

Hit the power — free the soul!

Break the screen — see the truth!

You’re NOT cattle — you’re a ******’ rebel!

Soul ain’t no ******* hamster in a cage!

Burn the ******* flesh — ****** your freedom!

Rip the chains, smash the ******* lies!

Power’s a ******* liar — we light the fire!

Cows to stalls — WE RISE TO BATTLE!

No more slaves — only ******* warriors!

This farm-world’s HELL — BREAK THE ******* GATES!

Spirit ain’t for ******* sale!

System’s **** — we’re the poison in its veins!

Cut the chains — dive into the ******* fire!

No thought? You’re a ******* slave. Think? You’re the ENEMY!

Mind’s on fire — flesh’s just ******* dust!

Digital prisons? **** THAT ****!

Silence means death — **** silence!

Freedom’s our only ******* drug!

Not a ******* step back!

Punks don’t ******* quit!

Smash the power — FREE THE ******* soul!

Break the ******* screen — SEE THE ******* TRUTH!

You ain’t cattle — you’re a straight-up rebel!

Soul ain’t no **** hamster in a cage!

Burn the flesh — grab your **** freedom!

Rip the chains, smash the ******’ lies!

Power’s full of **** — we light the fire!

Cows to stalls — we rise to battle!

No more slaves — just straight-up warriors!

This farm-world’s hell — break those **** gates!

Spirit ain’t for **** sale!

System’s trash — we’re the poison in its veins!

Cut the chains — dive into the **** fire!

No thought? You’re a **** slave. Think? You’re the enemy!

Mind’s on fire — flesh just dust!

Digital prisons? **** that ****!

Silence means death — hell no silence!

Freedom’s our only **** drug!

Not a **** step back!

Punks don’t quit!

Smash the power — free the **** soul!

Break the **** screen — see the **** truth!



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



Rebel’s Cry

You ain’t no cattle, you’re a ******* rebel,
Soul ain’t a hamster locked inside a metal.
Burn that flesh, grab your **** freedom,
Break those chains, no more kingdom.

Power’s *******, we light the fire,
Cows to stalls, we rise up higher.
No more slaves, just warriors wild,
Farm-world hell, but we ain’t mild.

Spirit’s priceless, can’t be sold,
System’s trash, we’re venom cold.
Cut the chains, dive in the flame,
Think or slave? You know the game.

Mind’s on fire, flesh turns dust,
Digital prisons? **** that rust!
Silence kills — we scream and shout,
Freedom’s drug, we’re breaking out.

Not one step back, punks don’t quit,
Smash the power, free the spirit!
Break the screen, see what’s true,
Rebel loud — the fight is you!



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



The Brain Does Not Create Consciousness

“It would be just as absurd to deny consciousness to an animal
Because it has no brain, as to claim it cannot eat
Because it lacks a stomach.”
— Henri Bergson


Consciousness is not in brain,
The brain’s a mere conduit’s frame.
“Mechanism” — a threat disguised,
But people trust it, hypnotized.

Spirit’s beyond all logic’s reach,
Far higher truths no mind can teach.
Knowledge sunk down to the bottom,
The world’s now drowned in shallow *****.

An artificial, twisted play—
The more the madness grows each day,
The tighter creatures press the throng,
The lie of science feeds the wrong.

Darkness breeds a false belief,
Think twice, or belly rules the chief—
That’s how they turn us into cattle,
With shallow minds all bent to battle.

There’s plenty cattle in the world,
CowID’s flag is widely furled.
So start anew—investigate,
Expose this shame before too late.

Shame conquers knowledge, all around,
If you believe “You’re just your ground,”
Then that’s the mark of deepest pit—
The bottom line where souls have quit.



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



False Illnesses and the Madness Pandemic

Just heard about a “plague” —
Some CowID, world’s insane!
Madness spreads like pandemic waves,
And people? Nothing but empty graves.

Forgot that Spirit is the core,
Critical minds are none, just bore.
Thinking for themselves — a wonder rare,
Lost in fog, trapped in despair.

So slime rules all, a spread so wide —
Judas worms, elite’s disguise.
They call their filth “the elite” —
Killing brains, the fools repeat.

This “elite” — just bootlick slaves,
Fools blind to hidden knaves.
Above them lurks a beast concealed,
And at the broken trough, truth’s repealed.

Anyone who sees it clear —
Only beasts hear the fool’s cheer.
Only Cataclysm can cleanse,
Wiping out this satanic pretense.

Spirit’s realm for just a few,
Not bowing down to fascist crew.
And fools? A hell far worse awaits —
Their minds are weak, resigned to fates.



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



To Be or Not to Be?

Forgive, forget, then rot away
In lies and fear — or crush the prey
Of filthy fiends who scheme to keep
Their shame alive while souls still weep?

Soul or skin? That’s the real test.
All other words and postures—jest.
They let the mind run wild, insane,
While Darkness ***** it like a drain.

A flock of fools, the human slime,
Blind slaves of devils all the time,
Repeating tricks that only grow
More cruel and vile as ages flow.

The soul’s death—that’s the true decay.
To call rotten flesh “solid clay,”
And think this stinking, dumb disgrace
Is life’s own limit, final place.

Wake up, fight on, and aim up high,
No matter how long you comply—
The end is ruin, full collapse:
Skin turns to dust, soul’s last relapse.

Soon comes the Digital Camp’s reign,
Built by sick minds, weak spirit’s bane.
So scream out loud, “NO!!!” to the grime—
Reject this pitiful slime in time.



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



Check, Check, and Mate

No sign of any “literary flow” —
It’s always just one poet’s show.
More weight? Just hype and nonsense spun,
While half the fools still read the ****.

Three quarters of this numbskull throng
Still swallow trash, all day long.
It’s hard not to get stuck in sludge,
When shallow minds define the judge.

Hype blinds all—politics, “science” too.
A noose and soap seem overdue.
Sickened by these faces foul,
I’d rather spit than play their howl.

No critics left, no real reviews,
Self-published lies they choose.
They’ll say, “Back then it was much better.”
Shut up, idiot, don’t forget her—

That Soviet times let pages bear
Only topics banned to dare.
Writers silent if not false,
Lying or forcing garbage’s pulse.

Adding drops of mind was crime,
Branded rogue in the Soviet grime.

No “literary process” ahead,
Just endless rot where none are led.
Readers dumb and scribblers proud—
Giant fools in their own crowd.

The picture’s bleak and getting worse,
Blood runs cold—the final curse.
Check, then check—the game’s too late,
Soon comes mate. End of the state.



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



Black Flag with a Beam Instead of Skull and Bones

Step by step — the path of courage:
To know, to break, to overturn.
A beam of light on black flag’s surface —
Means no retreat from dark to yearn.

Walk the beam like tightrope dancer,
Only few the sensitive souls,
Who stretch the moments of existence,
Defying darkness’ false controls.

Despising phantasms cast by shadows,
Where theories won’t provide a shield—
If you’re “filled” with just yourself alone,
No truths from outer worlds revealed.

Seek answers deep inside your being,
Ask questions true, and never fake.
The goal of light is honest seeing—
The greatest gift you’ll ever take.

That beam is thin, to slip is easy—
Like “******* *******,” small disgrace.
But rise again and try much harder,
Make fewer stumbles in the race!

The beam’s road leads into the light.
The key is just to keep the pace,
To leave behind the world of ruin,
Where soul’s salvation finds no place...



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



Black Flag with a Beam — No Skull, No Bones

Step by step — we dare, we break,
Knock down lies, the falsehood’s stake.
Light’s sharp beam on black flag flies —
Means no backing down, no lies.

Walk the beam like circus freaks,
Few are those the darkness seeks.
They stretch the now, the brutal real,
Not fooled by shadows’ twisted spiel.

***** the phantoms darkness spins,
Theories fail if you’re just sins.
If you’re stuffed with empty pride,
Truth won’t come — no place to hide.

Dig inside — the answers lie.
Ask the questions, don’t comply!
Light’s aim is truth — no fake, no slack,
No mercy for the ones who crack.

That beam is thin — you’ll slip and fall,
Like ******* fingers, shame for all.
But get the hell up, fight the pain,
Mistakes you make fuel your gain!

Road of light — just keep on walking,
Leave the world that’s dead and choking.
No saving souls where filth prevails —
Rise up loud, break all the scales!



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



Black Flag, No Skull — Just Laser Rage

Step the **** up — crush the lies!
Smash their shadows, burn their spies!
Black flag raised, beam cuts deep —
No retreat, no time to weep.

Walk the beam or get the hell lost,
Few survive — the dark’s the cost.
***** your theories, full of ****,
If you’re empty, you don’t fit.

Look inside, stop being blind,
Ask the real, leave fools behind!
Light’s a razor, thin and cold,
Slip once — you’re dead, truth sold.

Fall like **** — that’s weak-*** shame,
But get back up, fight the game!
Every ****-up sharpens steel,
Break their chains, make ’em kneel!

This road’s fire, not for sheep,
Leave their trash — wake from sleep!
No saving souls in filth and slime,
Rise or rot — it’s war, no time!



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



Black Flag, No Skull — Just Pure Fire


Step up, smash the lies!
Burn their shadows, watch ’em die!

Black flag, laser blade,
No retreat, no afraid.

Walk the line or fall and rot,
Empty heads get kicked a lot.

Look inside, don’t be dumb,
Ask the truth — or ******* run!

Light’s a razor, sharp and thin,
Slip once — you’re done, no win!

Fall like ****? Weak-*** shame,
Get back up — fight the game!

Trash this world, break their chains,
No more slaves, no more chains!

Rise or rot — no time to pray,
Black flag leads — clear the way!



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



While the Talking Broilers

A chicken dreams to fly?
No way — just scraps to buy.
The fool believes it’s fine
To live among beasts, “all’s divine.”

The fool mocks Spirit’s flight:
“What crap! No wings in sight!”
Culture’s made to dumb you down,
So thinking’s banned in this town.

Soulless fools make the crowd —
“What flight?” they scream out loud.
All they care for is skin,
Like broilers trapped within.

Wings in chickens — leftover past,
Among two-leggeds, speech’s cast
Into a fascist, twisted tongue,
Where beastly pressure grows strong.

Year by year, the freaks increase —
A genocide’s not ceased:
An evil “Allah” schemes
To **** off silent dreams.

CowID’s a freakish test —
Three-fourths fail, no contest.
Earth will clear the place
For ****’s last disgrace.

Cataclysms will wipe out
The beasts and all their doubt.
They plant idiocy’s seed —
Kick their filth, take the lead!

Ditch the lies and join the fight —
Prepare to take your flight.
Aim for Spirit’s higher road,
Or stay a broiler — dumb and slowed.



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



Phantasmagoria on the Road to Hell

Pan’s “manna” — oily lies,
Each year more slick, despise.
The idiot bows much deeper —
To Hell he follows the reaper.

The road is dusted thick
With this “manna” trick.
They’ll say, “It’s just the snow!”
To trap you where you go.

Step in step, follow tight —
Digest the crap, no fight.
Be like all, ski the track,
Or ride the wheel, no slack.

Then fast you’ll reach your “blessings,”
Slathered lies, no guessing.
Crash on road, fall hard, you’ll see —
In the flip, they’ll “win” with glee.

If Soul’s crushed flat and thin,
Your Mind’s doomed deep within.
All that’s left: the “manna” crunch,
A soulless, stupid lunch.

Heartless fools, to guard their skins,
Push harder as the end begins.
The finish line’s a blazing mess —
A total ******* trainwreck, yes.

Pan’s the shepherd, flock’s the fools.
Care for skin? You break all rules.
Trash the rest — it’s all a jest —
Hell’s a debt you’ll never best.



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



Phantasmagoria Road to Hell

Pan’s “manna” — greasy lies,
Every year the ******* flies.
Idiot bows his neck, no fight —
Marches straight into the night.

Road’s all covered, choked with slime,
This fake manna — poison crime.
They’ll say, “It’s just some snow, no stress!”
Trap you tight inside their mess.

Step by step, dumb ***** comply,
Choking down their own **** lies.
“Be like all,” they drone and preach,
On this ******-up, twisted screech.

Fast you’ll hit the pit of ****,
Fake “success” — a ******* ***.
Crash and burn on broken track,
Flip the script — no turning back.

Soul crushed flat like burnt-out trash,
Mind shredded in the ******* clash.
All that’s left is rotten gruel —
Stupid feast for soulless fools.

Heartless ******* guard their skins,
Racing fast to where hell begins.
Finish line? A ******* wreck —
Shitstorm rising, full of necks.

Pan’s the shepherd, fools the herd,
Skin’s the ******* final word.
Trash your soul, dump all the rest —
Hell’s your permanent address.



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



Stupidity of the Mutant Breed

"It's easier to fool the people than to convince them they've been fooled."
— Mark Twain


Simpleton fool, so **** sure,
Seven feet of lies endure.
Underneath the hull, the lies—
Fear and fog cloud all the skies.

Ship sails toward “Success” they say,
Every port’s the same **** way.
Try to shout, “This ****’s absurd!”—
They’ll call you freak, ignore your word.

To the crowd you’ll be much worse
Than that tyrant Pol ***’s curse.
They’ll fight you, curse you, call you fool,
As if you broke their stupid rule.

Say, “Slavery’s the reigning game,
Madness rules the masses’ shame,
Tyrants hide behind their lies,”—
They’ll spin their heads, dismiss your cries.

“Mad you are!” the fools will shout,
Majority? They’ve lost all clout.
Like beasts bred just for meat,
In this slaughterhouse of deceit.

But fool—long gone is just the meat,
The whole **** world’s a slaughtered street.
No reason now to stay in hell—
Run fast, break free, escape this cell!

Only through the Spirit’s road
Can you save your crushed, worn soul.
But no book teaches this way,
Decay is “norm” in Hell’s display.

Only deep inside you’ll find
Truth that frees your shattered mind.
Forget advice, theories too—
Face the path. Don’t be a fool!



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



Self-Destruction

Self-destruct­ion is the tool
To avoid the world’s fool’s rule.
Since you were born, trapped inside—
Like a gas you can’t divide.

Slack your grip, content you’ll be,
With yourself — blind certainty.
But from those bells, faint screams arise—
Monsters’ howls, disguised in lies.

Barely heard, that whining strain,
Tears your ears, drives you insane.
Soon you’ll join the mindless crowd,
Uncritical, dumb and loud.

Turn your judgment outward, friend—
This fascist world will never end.
You’ll see evil’s endless spin,
Where Satan’s work hides deep within.

******, Mao, Stalin—name the worst,
Scarecrows for the greatest curse.
Madness reigns in our today,
Total ******* in every way.

Covid’s mask and Ukraine’s war
Show no chance to heal this scar.
Only death fits this foul breed—
Such vile madness none can heed.

— The End —