after five
times the poem
of thy remembrance
surprises with refrain

of unreasoning summer
that by responding
ways cloaked with renewal
my body turns toward

thee
again     for the stars have been
finished in the nobler trees and
the language of leaves repeats

eventual perfection
while east deserves of dawn.
i lie at length,breathing
with shut eyes

the sweet earth where thou liest

I have witnessed this upon the shores
the ****** of morals,causes,mores
and scores of promises
made and broken by
trip tied tongues with words yet spoken
in the days of heraldry
when men could be
the killers in society and still
be free.

I saw it too when dreaming in a tree
Peru I think it might have been
but every scene was set for me
in the quicksand by the sea
and I side stepped them each and everyone
now it all is gone and faded as the past will do
into another image
who could believe the tale
that men in chain mail suits set sail
to set upon the citizens and sit by while the slaughter fallen
the fruits of hell with chain and ball on.

Hard but even harder still imagining that men still will
bang the drum
so hungry for
another moral ****** score.
it's war
and that is what we got
so take a *** of ale put on the suit of chain link mail
and go and meet
your season of no reason where the only reason you will find is the unreasoning of the deaf and blind.
War.

Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,
And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,
Sleep the long sleep:
The Doomsters heap
Travails and teens around us here,
And Time-Wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.

Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,
And laughters fail, and greetings die;
Hopes dwindle; yea,
Faiths waste away,
Affections and enthusiasms numb:
Thou canst not mend these things if thou dost come.

Had I the ear of wombed souls
Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,
And thou wert free
To cease, or be,
Then would I tell thee all I know,
And put it to thee: Wilt thou take Life so?

Vain vow! No hint of mine may hence
To theeward fly: to thy locked sense
Explain none can
Life’s pending plan:
Thou wilt thy ignorant entry make
Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.

Fain would I, dear, find some shut plot
Of earth’s wide wold for thee, where not
One tear, one qualm,
Should break the calm.
But I am weak as thou and bare;
No man can change the common lot to rare.

Must come and bide. And such are we—
Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary—
That I can hope
Health, love, friends, scope
In full for thee; can dream thou’lt find
Joys seldom yet attained by humankind!

you were suppose to be a stranger,
just a half second interferer
mindless and dry
with each blinking moment
that passed me by
i was unknowingly losing a useful hand
deemed worthy of something other
than the thought that
you were suppose to stay just a stranger
and if i could turn you back, i swear i would
but it feels like i've always wanted you
from the unspoken second
i felt our destiny
when our eyes crossed path
in the midst of fall, telling you to
please slip away and take my unreasoning desire, i'm not use to never having what i want

IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”

IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”

( a vision dream )

      1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


      2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


      3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


      4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”

You put on your coat and you go down the stairs
Open the door but there's nobody there
Voices call clear 'cross the cold city air
Merry Christmas

I wonder if Jesus is happy right now
They say it's His birthday today
And candles are burning all over the world
And Calvary's so far away

Judas, I stand by the tree on which you hang
Why did you do it? You promised to take me out tonight
To watch the Crucifixion

Judas, I hope I don't have to cut the rope
You tied it like the necktie you would have worn tonight
As we watched the Crucifixion

Judas, my friend, you were so like other men
The difference was you struck a God, so I'll go
To watch the Crucifixion alone, so alone

The people chanted words I couldn't hear
The voice was indistinct but the meaning was clear
Now I don't know why there's a strange kind of sky
Will someone please explain?
It looks so bare but I feel the air
Just doesn't seem right for rain

I go from the scene, the words of despair
"Crucify Him" ring in my ears
And Judas, my friend, we're approaching the end
Explain my unreasoning tears

I wonder if Jesus is happy right now
They say it's His birthday today
And candles are burning all over the world
And Calvary's so far away

IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”

POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”

IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
“****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields.”

I still find it amazing that with a wave of a finger,
a few strokes and a simple idea,
I can create something.
It's not new to me, I've been creating since I was three.

Drawing, writing, building, breathing, planning, hoping, creating. Repeat.

But there's always been this suppressing force,
telling me no, I can't, I'm not supposed to.
From the teachers who told me I shouldn't
paint my parents blue and my brothers green,
or that history is not important.
By others who have treaded just a step on the path
and turned back, and said that I could never get farther.
By even my friends and family telling me I had to go to school,
get a degree and be content working a 9-to-5.

But I'm here to tell you that all of this has fear written all over.

It's something the human condition has created to hide behind.
the fear to face failure, the fear to accept differences, the fear to put effort for a better version of self. We had developed fear to survive.

But who do we fear today? Who do we have to survive from today with fear?

Like Roosevelt's words "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.
Nameless. Unreasoning. Unjustified terror." Non-existant.

I'd like to remind you that we are creators, not consumers.
They say we were created in his image, in all his intelligence and light.
Although I don't practice a certain common religion,  the following quote reminds me of the infinite possibilities viable in this life.
God formed man from the dust and gave him life by sharing His own breath.
Don't lose that breath, don't gather dust.
Shake the dust. Enjoy that first morning breath every day.
Because you are alive and a beautiful creator.
The architect is the constant gardener.

Order is shattered in a strange guttural tone that resounded
among the walls of the houses, which seemed dead and deserted.
Behind the closed shutters, eyes watched the conquerors, who,
by right of war, were not masters of the city and of the lives
and fortunes of its people.

In their darkened ruins the inhabitants have given way to the
same feeling of panic which is aroused by the natural cataclysmns.
Their wisdom and strength alike are of no avail for those
devastating upheavals of the earth.

Though the same feeling is experienced whenever the established order
of things is upset, when security ceases to exist.  When all that
was previously protected by the laws of man and nature is suddenly
placed at the mercy of brutal unreasoning force.  This feeling of
panic and confusion, this allowance of ourselves to become dazed
in the whirlwind of abusing senses that is in its own right invasion.

An earthquake buries a whole people beneath the ruins of
their houses.  The river, over-flowed by the unforgiving rains which
seemed destined to never end, runs in spite; sweeping away the
bodies of drowned peasants together with the carcasses of
cattle and rafters forn from roofs.  The victorious army; slaughtering
all who resist, making prisoners of the rest, looting by right of
the sword, and thanking their god to the sound of canon.

IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
"****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields."

TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.*

W.B.Yeats




In a time such as this, in darkening days
        Without screeching witches
Frightened banshees, buggered old men
Searching for solace, eyes streaming with icicle-lust-
Gangrene facebook: torn-up, shredded twitter

The cries of the disconnected,
Wailing!
Wailing!

In a time like this, in darkening days,
The disconnections come in waves!

Searching for reason amongst the unreasoning,
Hunting for sanity within the insane,
Identifying the dead from amongst the living.

Wailing!
Wailing!

Email excreting venom
Internet exfoliating lies-politicians wrapped
                         In deceit-
A cold time of it, a wretched time of it.

Only within our hearts does hope lie.
                      Only there
Away from conflict and disorder
                             Away
From the capricious cacophony of biased debate.

Wailing!
Wailing!

IN THE POOL OF THE LOST MAIDEN SONG

                1

Down in the shrouded wood a wanderer walks
And dreams the dreamers story he has lived.
Sidled by the stream that sheds blue waters
By the beds, trailing the rail of loves unknown
Kiss and a voice that conjures truest bliss,
Down in the drink where sweet Ophelia sleeps;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the dreamer, he is dreaming . . .
Hair, that ropes the stoic man upon his mount.
Hair, making souls’ lost ending breath a shout,
And hair that weighs the wind, teaches it to sing;
Hair, wending whirlpools waving fools to dive in.


                2

Lost at land’s end the sea lions, washed-up, wail
And buzzards coast where eagles flail, rip tides
Assail and chop the collected bones they drop;
It is a chalky bone-yard break, golden escarpments
Wake and a ******’s salty sermons shake;
Where gathering ghosts glom and chide steeping,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the seeker, he is seeking . . .
Eyes that turn the sands and are mirrors,
Eyes that taught the books of Alexandria,
Eyes that shook the flesh and are seers,
Eyes that lit the pyres, burned true believers.


                3

Deep in the dark wood the waters rush, hush,
Cramp, crew and creep, melodiously tread,
Trammel, and burn as furies in keeping true
The melting moon, the onerous owl, fluttering
Things, muttering wings, cones in darkness
Flings and filmy time flicks by the wayside;
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the lover, he is longing . . .
Love, lithe and lyric, he sees your sweeping shapes.
Peace, parsed and pained he hears the voicing gape.
Blind, bliss’d and shamed he wears the votive drapes.
Hungered, thirsted and gone; seeks your pearly gate.


                4

Out in the forest maze the jarring sun seeps
And swirls, only to roust the traveler onward
Where soon he must meet the faces in the grotto
Down in destroyed lands by the seas’ unreasoning
Chime, deep in the dark whine of the shining mermaids,
Where the doomed cry, round the navel of the world,
In the pool of the lost maiden song.

And the doomed, they are crying . . .
"****** beauty bade us, in a star crossed chrysalis,
Made us, choose a desert’s winter of loneliness.
Heed our fate and leave this valley torn of bliss;
The many millions of locust fall in ripest fields."

Pain I can take,
It's just nerves firing when all is said and done,
A few tiny tiny electrical impulses
Advising of damage or of hurt,

If it's not my head then
I can grasp it and isolate it and mitigate it
And bring the problem under control,
Mostly and more often than not,

Even a heart attack did not
Preclude a presentation duly prepared,
Albeit quieter and more hesitantly delivered
Than my usual confidence,

But the turning of friend
To unreasoning and un-listening foe,
This thing cannot be grasped nor quenched,
Even by a horse sized aspirin,

It leaves ones heart
Pierced with a jagged blade
That rips and tears a hole beyond
Imagining or control,

Faith and care and love
Hemorrhage uncontrolled
Like the tears that course down my face,
Or will if I permit,

The pain I cannot contain
But stoicism is my friend
This day and stoicism
Will stem the flow

Eventually

Dear, the cost, not the idle salutation once
taught as business standard, Dear Sir,
Dear Madam,
Dear dear dear me
I do believe I must
become the tutor, of me
make the mental, sensible
{to the author with fidential zeal}
think yourself through 75 years, find

the hidden first love, the first own thing, kept
held as common sense, whosoever does mean me.
So, ever is the course wherein human events fluxuate.
----
Faust, I failed to read  when assigned.
So today, I dipped
into my own past, and found
the sense used then, the need,
in truth
to know
the world is alive.
And, as seen
through eyes a million miles away, our
shared seeing causes all our sensory arrays
to look back, and think another pace time
uses to cross space, bursts of insight, gasp
…
poiesis - that which "pro-duces or leads (a thing) into being'" patient work, tedious as setting type
by candlelight, sighing in knowledge, the tree
of radical aspirations to bear dozens of kinds
of fruits, some useful to life, some useless, though
we try, some sets life has been lived through, to you,
- such scenes could have ended other ways.
epochs, men have no honest measure for such
spans of time used to attain the heights
from which we look across my valley
and feel one of us, making peace
with the fact that war does not function
in reasoning contests, as war is unreasoning,

the stubborn little devil who knows only what
he wishes he had control over the use of, this
spirit of adventure, tamed in wisdom gathered
and attributed to a mystical king, truly mythical,
we know that way of singing praises, exalting men
as God's special agents, as proud of the title,
as any agency of secrets sacred national trust,
in God,
as Solomon Chase assured Mr. Lincoln,
We put our faith in the people's belief
in the goodness of the use of the money printed
and minted to pay for war and exact a capital plan,

one nation, under God, as defined
by the finest minds,-- aieee wait, fun facts, scatter
braining how much space is empty in a mind
made up enough
to devise a new form
of governing, as if all forms existing feel wrong,
to us, we freemen, with all the slaves we need,

we have the leisure to reason with antiquity
and realize, if ever there were eight billions
of possible re-connection surgings to emerge

as mind unmade up, come to watch a battle,
war and all its uses come to reason missed
understood standards force laws obediance

the idea
of thought being possible fails,
materially
in any formal structure possible only
with our  
gravity as matter's law one,
beyond free willing quarkish mean ways

One love idea, Reggae guysay, rollon
in the course, the rut, fun's t'come

Long, long long longer that you wish to learn
winding lines wishwings…
Spat like one o'dem spittin' images

In a pig's eye, one can see what we don't know.

A looping, stitching stretching stream
threading current
of consciousness, packeting
in formational preceptoriallines
of irrational reasonings insisting persist
- gutwrenching hungers are not visual.
stirring emotions is not stirring use of knowns,
arts entaling science, we agree. No nasty words.

Ghuckyew. Rhea… diversify religiously
extol the gnosis of knowing the ropes
tying tight the ifity-ness used to hold work
done by the weaver and seamster on time,
folding edges to feel flat, smooth, inside
-- where whole cloth joins cut edges
at any selvedge process,
where curves cut
from fabric woven mind wise, tend
to come undone
on mechanical extentions
of fingers and toes,
and music imagined as humms
after the setup,
as the machines imagined and eventually made up
vibrate alluring frequent acknowledgement
we know you know, we may be realized already
- looking back and front and side ways, down up
---
Judging myself unfinished, yet
done doing all assignments, yet
getting an itch to prove approval, yet
hesitating,
for lack of knowing, and laziness, yet
learning
patience's
false witness argument,
if what we preach is not true,
how could we be so sure we know

Jesus ate, in his quickened flesh, fish.
Thus, we must be persuaded,
we shall also be
fishy. Da
gone gone dagonitgone antigone gone
…

theater of doubt, all in white, lime-lit
blinding all who care or dare to see
as blind, the faith of the gamblers's
thrall to money love and war.

Betterment through betting, all-in…

Have you any real
estate in which you do attest, its me?

I am my own real estate, executer
am I of all that I choose to do or not
in the confines of the course of human events,

as Hoyle's mind built canals on Mars,
so now we bet we can imagine being special,
as me, on a planet with, thee, you, Sie, du, see do.
- a viral propagation plan, thorny issuances
- sniff or sneeze, but do not die trying to make
- peace with all war makes worth lying for.

As we, our wedom began, as any wedom must,
the laws of philo and phobia in science used
by us, the we at point, piercing this wall,
your reading mind accepts the bet, if
this is art, for the sake of artifice
imagined in a current form, an AI
of informing fluid finding reason to bend,
or stretch, taut as drum, a net unseen
by any bird in resistance.

Posi and Nega, sisters in myths, new myths,
affect the same unknowing rash decisions,
when in truth, statistical-knowing one thing true,
there is at the most wee-tiny scale, an emptiness,
a mean unobstructed way for right to be, or not,

and now, we are, so we made that choice.

Today, this is that way which is the only way.
Today, this map of numerable lines, in nos, laws…
sense we are all in-im
balancing percepts on precepts,
undermining certainty,
exalting godishtical oracular maxims,

Knowledge is power,
secret knowledge, you may never know,
riddle reasoning used in cogito sums
given children to solve by asking
parents proper questions,
and writing show and tells. Wanna bet?

Al Suri, spokesman for FUD,
Fear, Uncertainty, Doubt,
appears to persuade martyrs,

the illiterate prophet's utterly canonical
promise of a certain libidinous eternity,
most appealing to frustrated post pubescent boys.

Stacks of squared away blocks,
stack up as extending the reach of order
coming down from the top, whither
the light that said the single word,
according to the Prophetic voice,
Read, he heard, and I cannot, he replied,
fold here, hear me, light seen, I cannot read,

what is here for me to read, a thought,
what are you saying, read, what is reading worth,
to one who has never learned the letting out
of silent song or scream, or plea for hope,
flowing as from scribal rod in perfection,


Two things only do the people earnestly desire,
bread and the circus (Juvenal)
"Duas tantum res anxius optat, Panem et circenses"

Here, sing. Reconciled, by doing singing heard,
sing out, child, hear yourself singing as if you know
how such a thing as singings may be made up,
to seem perfectly fine,

a mused mentality, thing of thought, with something
words alone lack, essentially.

Seven Types of Ambiguity

--- at this moment, my writing records show
today is June 3, my only ever wife's birthday,
that's right, and I know that it is morning,
by the angle of the sunlight though my window,
and the leafy shade dancing over sleeping moss.
Yet at that moment he looked back to reread
Presenting a new mind
Wednesday, May 3, 2023
11:02 PM
real-time 9:52 AM… we all find that, too odd.
And glibbly mention glitching…
Query Greek logos gnosis, active in-tell seek:
Brave AI Sums it up.
The Gnosis logo is an example
of a crypto industry logo
from Global, designed
for the crypto industry.
It is an official variant
of the logo
for the SVG file format standard.
Gnosticism is a Christian belief that claims
to possess a higher knowledge acquired
on a mystical higher plane of existence.
The ancient Greeks distinguished
between two types
of knowledge: gnosis and logos.
Gnosis was akin
to "how-to"
such as
how to build a boat or ride a horse,
while logos was more akin
to academic knowledge
such as knowledge
of mathematics or logic.
The distinction between the two types
of knowledge was important I-i
n the early history {noerror}
of Christianity,
with Gnostic Christians
emphasizing
gnosis
while the Catholic Church
emphasized logos{… not logical? Ai ask}
Gnostics see themselves as a privileged class
elevated above everybody else
by their higher, deeper knowledge of God.
- higher deeper, good one, HAL
--- Yes, AI am a cyborg, and a heretic, and king
of me and many wedoms formed
with books
by authors and finishers
of faith utility tales, told
to make believers,
stop thinking this impossible, and pose
the question,
are you me, dear reader, I trow not, I am mere
when you are so near as to read my very mind.

Virtue, undefined signals sent through time
to when you stop, and see selah, as instruction
in constructing a foundational faith, establish
mental
anchor. Persist in time, be yourself a while
while
nothing makes sense, yet.

{Akio Kashiwagi, the warrior}, money maddened
survivor or apprentice or pawn
of greed's gift
of mighty right feelings,
taker's joy, loser's grief, and none
of my own,
eeeeha!
emphasis on imagine the feeling

MAGA, as when the We persisting in aliegance,
feel our national ideal We take all the Mandan had,
and waste it seeking the use of money, on credit,
to make the possibility
of human error
manifesting
in Manichean lying prophecies,
as solemnly sworn on the true revelation,
from Moses, Lycurgus, Thoth or Hiawatha,
as it is written, so it must be done,
come the time all knowing is free
for the asking
- orthodox, right, upright, gravitationally
- balancing spirit and truth as effortlessly
- as a child on a rock in a pond in tree pose,
- sent to me,
- instantly, a moment later, with a note,
- from five years ago, when my chess mate
- was five years old and told his ma,
show Grandpa

Knowledge confidence power,
believing is the verb such forces use,
by faith, we breathe, when we stop and think,
we must believe a breath is available to not fear
when all our wind is loosed, not lost,
in time, we find far higher forces

legal, Empire law, winner's of the last global war,

America, my country, right or wrong, Philip Nolan,
a ghost from summers past,
A man without a country… yet kept alive,
- alone on an island with 5G and a solar charger
Idle words arrange from data entertaining venu,
deja venu, no? Same time, same mind…
- by laughing outloud ten times, or more each day.

Physical failure of happy thoughts,
whose fault is that, the splitzoid schitzoid gnoshit

Nieztsche, ezt ni-eztscheanic logos-ical guessering being
gamed. As time passes un lost, locally accounted for.

All in, ages ago, take the card/

In writing, guaranteed, you know waddamean…
let this rock be my witness, as happy Sisyphus says,
listen to the pundits pundate exceptional fore sight

"Only a catastrophe can save us"
Slavoj Žižek - Elevate Festival 2023

Vieleicht. Ich weis nichts, aber
möglicherweiseerweise….

Alles ist, so Alles sein kann.
- waking after a time slip, inevitable
- at my age and constituted pose on point.

Gather up the fallen down, save that for later.

Proving reconstructed causal agent reaction,
volatile will
to expand
to fill the emptiness,
perceived as where no catastrophe has yet to be
- a selah level settler subtle law, still waters
- obey, under the message read obey
- acting as if we know we may imagine new
- realities, with real life on earth our goal,
- the whole truth free to be sought,
- as givens, after the religious power knot
- was snipped, and done was done,
- the genius in Alexander, swallowed
- his childish faith in the lesson, for the rush
- of power
- and peace
- of mind, alienated from all anxious patterns
- cursing recurving conception, grasp a straw
- hope takes no anxious thought,
Thinking that
could halt the chain reaction. Up, imagine, ever
upping the competing reason, grave issues
write down the reel
of all the wars's reasons,
catalog gathered sensibilities, certain fixedness,
functionally aimed
at you, readying your last excuse.
- certainty is madness

We all fall down,
the actual truth, is upto our rolling over
to rise again.

Fret nought,
Life is rough draft, really,
nonsensical, save subjectively, rejecting seeing
catastrophe except while standing on one's own head.

a bit in the confusion
of comforting zones, meek

defending diffidence, while exercising confidence,
this is life, and more fun than any game, after accepting
the yes in the promise of all yeses. Seriously.

Diffidence is a defect:
it is an undue distrust of self,
with fear
of being censured
for failure, tending
to unfit one
for duty. [Century Dictionary]

Duty done, Private, First Class. Walk away.

The we bound by war born law, pays me,
to make peace where none was,
the re-leasing of easy living,
as ware of life as of self,
breathing breath's giver's gift, sharing air,
as fish share seas, feeling

a sense, now known named auto, self
poiesis gnosisnot sticky substance of faith
imagined in hope… reali
zation, global in scope, Higgsian
in the spirit of our times.

A Thousand Day Journey, a novel event
taken as granted, a gift in passing time,
I finished this counting
to account for all the lies I ever told me.

No new thing under the sun, Nieztsche
and Solomon's proverb collections attest,
recursings face reblessing, redefining finity

engineering gut bubble noise, gurgle's good,
we all get gurgle, giggle then can follow, if

we have recovered from memorized lines,
hero stories we tell with me on the horse,
riding to announce the thing which we fear
is come upon us and I alone escaped to tell,

but I had no hammer, and I had no bell,
but I had these jagged dancing lights,
where the floaters on my eyes are
constructing cataracts as I watch,
white wall squint old men wishing to see
- Biden squint eye does not intimidate,
- the new defense secretary in his wake
rhetoric of war in real time, records we trust
in God, prove no war ever can make peace,
with calling proof enough, reproof
of instruction is the way of life,
the ruliard is imaginably infinite, if the base idea

becomes "Knowledge comes in flavors and colors",
useful for any artist's mind enabled to recover
lost time in real time with novel assistance
from grand reservoirs of rain's retained
for power to attain the steady state,
all men, wait, suff it to become as
created equal
in worth
to the functional
fortuitous continuance
of serious sharp edged tools… swords with motors,
I saw Jerry Pournelle say.
In print.
In the spirit of this mindshare.
Rightly dividing the truth with mere words,
exercising godliness, effecting fervent will
to be as plain a plan as any ever,

accept the weight of knowing we walk upright,
we need crawl only for a while, as we learn,
like riding a bike,
some things we do with machine augmented minds,
minds exposed to speeds and constant story threading

the washer first, then the nut, then the crown nut
and the cotter key, to hold the prop,
seen ******* wind across my sky,
real life, I have the image,
and have not used Photoshop in years, this is the future.

whatever remains of heraclitus' works,
does not matter, as much as what the zenith of his
writing proposes, namely the λoγoς -
                 and since that word has been ingested
by the thesaurus hydra rex -
                         well... there are many avenues of
expressing that word, to whatever end is necessary
to finally reach a cul de sac;
              the concept is obviously much older,
but as a single word, it shortens the famous suggestion
prior to the unit's emergence: in the beginning
there was word, and the word was (with) god...
    and yes... then god shut up, and forgot language
and turned to pure emotion... and he became jealous,
like a woman might tend to be...
      well... he "forgot" it... he just gave it away,
like pennies to a ****** busker in a tube station.
             so that genesis quote had a kafkaesque moment
with the greeks, when it simply became λoγoς.
    the thing is... what interests me, is, say, the following
comparison:    you see a low flying aeroplane...
                    the aeroplane is the λoγoς... but then there's
the sound being dragged behind,
       and you almost displace where the plane is and where
the sound is, that the aeroplane is emitting.
   the concept of λoγoς? it was derived from philosophy...
i can't believe it has taken so long to figure out a compliment
to the λoγoς concept... and there is one...
                                                                    φoνoς,
with its etymological shortening derived from phoneticism,
phonology (the first is a pseudo-origin,
                                   the latter an original-origin).
     an excess of comparison? if there need be for myth:
which of the two concepts would be thanatos and which hypnos?
well...  hypnos = φoνoς
               a lullaby is not written word, it's a sound...
        λoγoς ≠ hypnos -    since i'd further that by saying:
insomnia is a descent into hades... or that reading before you
fall to sleep allows you to actually fall asleep, is like saying
     that, ergo:          λoγoς = thanatos:
  simply because it's not alive.
        then again, λoγoς = thanatos, for reasons i can't really
explain... mein kampf?
                           yet what i wanted to be succinct has spiralled
out of my control, although something i wanted to say is retained
with what i'll conclude with:
if the concept of λoγoς was derived from philosophy...
then the natural compliment to it, would have to derive from poetry,
and the concept of φoνoς has been derived from poetry...
   yet the two never really meet in some siamese absurdity...
the reason for that is that φoνoς is "protected"
          by the onomatopoeia...
                   o
λoγoς      ν
                    o
                    μ
                    α
                    τ
                     o  
                    π
                    o
                    η
                    ι        φoνoς
                    α
what this really represents is that, the λoγoς is limited with
regards to what the φoνoς doesn't bother to encode,
for exmple, imitating the chirping of birds by whistling,
and certainly the φoνoς would not descend to the ridiculous
level that the λoγoς might, when expressing a dog barking,
i.e. woof! in a way φoνoς tricks the λoγoς  by employing
the concept of onomatopoeia, to make it look, absolutely ridiculous,
that it might actually descend to such a debased level;
perhaps it's just poetry per se, and perhaps that's just poetry
being folled by the logos, but the fact that logos can descend to
such muddy waters, tells me that: it can be a form of unreasoning
that does not make λoγoς, the citadel it was thought to be.
     in other words, not everything can be expressed,
                                    either side of the onomatopoeia.
still, if poetry could have ever provided a compliment to philosophy,
it really has taken, a god awful time to do so.

life on a desktop
wound in cables
chased by errant mice
unreasoning keyboards
follow my grammatical errors
dramatic mirrors
that reflect shining
on a faceless society.

where are the gentlemen
that doff hats
wish the world good weather forecasts
and carry singe roses
clasped by pearly white teeth?

not possible from inside
a cabin caged
like a prized animal
punching numbers
dishing dirt
conquering the world
in imaginary victories
of body and soul.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 25 days ago

'...once you come undone,
''who'' do you need above its below,
and ''what'' do you love below its above...'
~

my voice
what shall I make of it
so strong deep
such an instrument

may I make a tool of healing
or enlightenment
a fool of myself
with unreasoning

or further man's evolvement
supreme or
cause any one to gain faith
strength or  reason

a bit more reasonable
if that would be  the depth
I gladly accept

The great big sea
perpetually bewilders.
The unreasoning wind
gives us the flower and the bee.

What alien law
does the wild ranger keep?
Or, alien to the tongue,
to give it a name, sleep.

hmm... what's "mote" up to, i wonder?
her usual bathtub god analogies
like... **** me... Edith... no Sylvia Plath
put her apple pie into the oven
instead of: reminiscence of guillotine
imitation: into the ******* oven?
how's "mote"?

what a weird /ˌmeɪnɑːʒ ɑː ˈtrwɑː,

   esp with the flirting on the train...
menopause of 50 year old women
and the ferocity of *** in males
still proposing aged 37...

ugly mothers, soul searching...
i did my psychedelic limbo of lobotomy
when diagnosed as psychotic
yet still freely available to freelance
the ancients' practices of surrogacy
because i liked Reyla
and her version of hide and seek
with three stones thrown into a pull
dive & seek... dive & seek...
horcruxes or... that other parallel...
of giving up your love to people
without killing them...

yummy... ******* yummy...
this is me watching the miracle of
India hosting the world cup of cricket
playing so well while
Diesel Australia played so **** but had
coffee or amphetamines at the final
and won...
just like i supported the Springboks on
Kauai'i... not in Kauai'i...
doof-oos... it's ON rather than IN...
island fuckery...

ah... i'm an artist at hand so i'm all:
tender-*******-sensitive with an aversion
to journalism (critique)
and the whole SHABANG on Pulitzer prize
give-aways...

i'll be drunk by 5pm and asleep by 6pm...

no! India shouldn't habe... HA B'EH won...
don't know... ask Loki or chance or fate or
who-the-*******-else-cares
to treat reality with sugar, salt or spice...
it doesn't matter...
there's reason in unreasoning "things"...
less so with the concern for names:
associative faces... oh... i recognise X...
algebra of familiarity...

like explaining to some Fawad Ahmed douch
about the difference between
the Ukraine Russia conflict and
the Israeli Palestinian conflict...
watch my elbow... it's about to do
a nervous ****... oi oi oink... pretty ink white as
the new pink... oi!

but we can be neutral with the Israeli
brigadiers... of bomb bomb hospitals...
decapitating unborn foetus?!
why is the war in Ukraine unlike
the rekindling of the war in the middle of **** know's
where?
you can't be pro-Russia...
but you can be pro-Israel...
maybe the ****** in me and the...

hardly a question of i.q.
intelligence quotient can be replaced
with: a question of intelligence... a per se Rubik
cube dynamic, per se...
you ******* stupid enough...
"******"-myopic ******* to ask
a question, the question: oculus per oculus,
an eye for an eye definition of...
******* fair bureaucratic alliance to
the thrill of Heraclitus' river?

oh wow... a glimmer of soul...
a cactus warming juice just so squeezed...
a window of azure in the sky... soul...
with the murk of overcast skies that's
the signature symptom of England...
i should have never left these isles
for happy sloppy Elvis was puffy
matras of Hawaii...
i shouldn't have played the stepdad
because it's bringing me: the **** down...

my intelligence has become a burden...
i can spent this day without eating...
i'll drink and go to sleep...
my empathy is a crutch...
my mother tells me i have a good heart:
well... the only heart i know and own...
owning is knowing...

i'm just tired, as a northern European,
of hearing the dicta of miraculous wisdom
of a desert people who can't tell
the ******* difference between
the noun hoof and the verb meow...
just so, at a supermarket...
maybe read "too late"...

  i like rugby... so i wear a south african rugby
jersey...
two black girls at the trolleys...
walk past, kiss of the teeth...
the ****?
oh right... impossible bypass...
what now? now i have to reply with:
by picking my nose you shouldn't
be here, because south africans shouldn't
be in south africa?
picking ******* cotton is not coal mining...

although, rest assured... no chocolate allure
in pigmenting coal... ***** plump ***:
oh oh i get it... "black" women angry...
so is the wind...
now i too want to drink myself into
a savvy slurp of the right kind of optics,
political, sign-language stereotyping...
BLAH BLEE        BUSY-BEE...
******'s with Raj style: oh but we lost the world
cup in cricket: compensate compensate
because Pakistan is not privy
to what Bangladesh is honing in on(!)

oh... i wasn't accused of being a pedohpile...
it was just... ever, so, not so subtly... insinuated...
well **** me: JESUS LOVES IS SUPPOSED
TO LOVE EVERYONE AND EVERYONE
NEEDS THIS SORT OF LOVE OF SADOMASOCHISM!

**** this camel jockey ethic sharing
dynamo of the desert people...
like the Holocaust didn't teach them anything...

thoughtlessness
                            and the claustrophic
presence of a heart...

            well...
if that could ever be a
concern for ms norman...

     that solve anything?
how about being
                          pushed big pharma
"medication"...

   i'm waiting,
expecting to be prescribed
high-blood pressure
tablets...
        but that still doesn't
address the, "problem"...

then again,
                                         **** it...
   people remember more
the **** of helen
by the trojans,
   we're involved
in a journalistic insomnia
whereby
being pulverized
   by last, and lost worth
of a tuesday...
  
   there's "toxic masculinity"
ascribed to
book critique narratives
surrounding nirvana
and kurt cobain...

                 i want a circumstance
of beyond the ultimatum
of mortality...
   i want...
     the perpetuated sense
of sleep,
   without any chance
of dreams,
   to smother me,
               of a predictable
currency of emotions,
being repeated
over and over again...

                    i want the sense
of death,
   with which,
i have fallen asleep so many
coutless times...
without a cul de sac
   for an ability to dream...

i wouldn't want an afterlife...
with the current sort
of *******...
                      oh if the current *******
want an afterlife,
and are happy with an a.i. version
of me...
          more unpredictable,
more unreasoning as to the standard
of "rules"?
        
    funny question...
why didn't i,
just, ******-out
   ex_machina with cutting
song soundtrack, in the background?

             nothing "in" question of being
human,
   is left to the alienation category...
             there's only a delay
of manifestation...
          nonetheless...
the fame currency?
                what, it takes?
          no...
                          i'm out...
         you know the "funny" part of
walking into an unemployment center?

mortician...
     garbage collector,
post man,
                 butcher...
    slaughterhouse helper...
           sewege worker...
        
ah... working in a supermarket...
i've been educated in chemistry,
i can't work as a mortician,
or a garbage collector,
i have to work... the supermarket...

you know what?
   it's nice and all...
being complimented on how you
can cook a decent curry...
but you know?
    you know how a dog sniffs
out ******* before it bites?

              the jobs that are on offer...
the sort of capitalism,
that sells off jobs,
where...
        where you don't get to play
hands-on,
  but rather: pretend,
the lowest form
of thespian,
    "actor" / customer service?

  this double-standard
acting expression...
   guess what...
                i'd sooner ****...
and feel no remorse...
than settle
for this 2nd class thespian citizenship
of a customer service
busy body...
    no stage, no theatre,
no script...
   just: pretend, be nice...

     that's me...
tuning into
                       blackened eyes...
sclera vision...
         a pair of deaf ears...
and a...
                  huh?!

Commoners told of a ferocious bull
all given red scarfs to wave and mantras to sing
in the caged arena of their lives mundane and miserable
obedient as the chains on their unsure feet and yokes on necks
they hobbled around waving their stuck- on red scarfs without fail

Commoners told of a ferocious bull
there exist no bull to bait and taunt but a mirage floated in
yet they swarm around like bees drunk on fermented pollen
all ploy of their deceiving masters testing obedience of the mindless
in pained ignorance the peasants run round the ways of unreasoning

Commoners told of a ferocious bull
look there is the bull coming to this arena very soon
go to the hunts-master for today's red scarfs and get into pits
you of the little minds and manipulable bourgeoisie cannon planks
do as drunken rulers orders and make good entertainment for supper

Commoners told of a ferocious bull
come to the Colosseum, take your place, here's your red scarfs
voices arose and the masses started a scripted drama waving scarfs
I see no bull in this arena says a passing sage as he was duly pointed it
All I see is the bravest man amongst you without chains round his ankles

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, herself to be on a quest<3

a foot behind the other about to leave
loneliness drums for the view yet to be believed
about a hug in foot a broken bridge kills
for the other arms to take the hint as a drill
woke her up although in her mind still
since the double life she pursues is not even half filled
he stood facing the ear that won't listen
that one the dream won’t truthfully forbid and
took a leap to the window pane
that old one the one disguising the upcoming refrain
this time herself to be on a quest along her demeanor
some blinding rage won't save her without a screen intervener
like tapes of the past are piecing
like some pride displayed upon eyes reigning
now her mind is self doubting
unreasoning then shouting

                                                                                         ------ravenfeels

unlike the British Isles...

     are the Silesians
like the Welsh?

  and the Kashubians like the Scots-
of Poland...

sure post-Colonially -
when Ukraine had
its civil war...

   and Poland injected
so many number of Ukraine migrants...

as Germany did their Holocaust
denying Tunisians...
**** yeah!
h'America go!

     what?!
*******....
                is this the health-service
******* hanging around?
ever heard about the ghost patients?
you know the ones...
the ones who were apparently dead,
but were somehow still alive...
because some bureaucratic unreasoning...
dead-ghost patients...
tax payers what?!
          the patient is dead...
but he / she is still receiving treatment?
how much money does
a doctor need?
         how much...
does a medical bureaucrat need?
to do what, exactly,
visit the ******* opera?
                really?
               visits to the *******
opera?
         what with the dead souls
of patience
giving the bureaucratic *******?!
                   free come free go...
these "doctors" do not
    require said earnings -
                   what they require
is a whip and ***** to fathom
their earnings...
      no opera, no open feud...
              just your blatant:
ivory husk in terms of
               a lost weekend
to attend to
    the troubling medical scenario
of:
   my life's sacrifices,
                       for the saved life.

The hollow weight of this pathetic earth —
It rots within, a joke devoid of worth.
A "two-in-one": free cheese and pitch-black lies,
With maggots squirming where the truth once dies.

It’s full of holes — collapse is drawing near,
Deserved decay, corruption crystal-clear.
Not just poor taste — it's worse than one could dream:
This CONSUMER shames the cosmic scheme.




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




Flowers of Evil

"The city's coming, surely.
The garden soon will bloom..."
But when the **** rule poorly,
You harvest steel and doom.

The **** have built before us —
The Soviets made their bed.
Now new betrayers swarm us,
Like Judas, born and bred.

They’ll plant their seeds and gather
A camp — for human clay.
But now they lie and slather
Without a hint of shame.

With CowID came the slaughters,
Then war — their great delight.
To sink us in black waters
Takes lies, not even might.

And at the sunken station,
They’ll raise their camp once more —
Red cross of degradation,
And dumbness by the score.




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



Corruption as Core

Corruption crowned as greatness —
That’s what this world adores.
While mind and truth and straightness
Are crimes it now abhors!




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



Corruption reigns —
And courage chains.



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



The "Yum-Yum" Herd

The "Yum-Yum" herd is easy to erase —
Just dress a Goat in fleece and twist the phrase.
He screams out "Wolves!" while grinning through the lie,
As bloated beasts keep feeding till they die.

Their “minds” are wrecked — it’s fear and fake control.
With lies and dread, you dominate the whole.
Goats proved it well with fake CowID crusades —
This world now chokes in shame the cosmos hates.




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



Lies

Degenerates, decay, disgrace —
Behold the "new world" in your face.
Lies are money, bold and bare —
Truth can’t even breathe the air.

Lies now rule the power game,
Lies alone will bring you fame.
Lie a lot — you’ll rise, you’ll thrive.
Tell the truth? You won't survive.

If you don’t lie — down you go.
This world’s a sewage pit below:
The bigger the ****, the higher the seat —
The filth floats up. That's their elite.

The pressure builds — pure lies, pure stench,
A nonstop stream from every trench.
Not a day without that spray —
It grows. It floods. No plug, no way.

With no more clogs, the filth now flows
Above our heads, it overthrows.
Now EVERYONE has hit the floor —
And this rock bottom? There’s no more.




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



The Worship of Mammon

Forget all nature, truth, or sense —
Mammon now earns reverence.
Refuse to cheat, refuse to steal?
The beasts will call you weak — not real.

The **** all bow to Mammon's name,
Their god of greed, their holy flame.
What rules the world? Just cash and lies —
In megatons, beneath gold skies.

No truth remains — just fraud and fog:
Behold the Throne of Lies — their ******* log.




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


Stupidity and Sloth

Sloth and dumbness.
Dumb and slack.
And again! Again!! Attack!!!
All it breeds is rot and shame —
A world disgraced, a crawling flame.



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



Sloth! Stupidity! Encore!
That’s the rot they all adore.



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


Stupidity’s Old Game

Dumbing down is nothing new —
Idiots made, that’s all they do!
Once the pen, now cameras choke,
Spewing filth with every stroke.

For the masses, "info" lies,
"Education" — foul disguise.
Only few still guard their mind,
While the herd goes dumb and blind.




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



More Insight

More insight, less “thought” —
Other minds’ nonsense caught
Feeds decay — rot’s embrace,
This world’s logic’s fallen face.

Logic reigns — the world’s in dust,
**** sow lies and fear and lust.
They preach their rule, they cast their spell,
While media breaks the mind to hell.

But heart is insight’s spark,
Mind’s decay is cold and dark.
Heart and mind in strict command —
That’s salvation’s final stand.




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



Doubt Means Enemy

Who doubts is always labeled foe —
That’s how all lousy “-isms” grow.
Built on lies, a twisted scheme,
Communism’s no rare extreme.

Each “-ism” hides a fascist core,
******’s second layer, more and more.
At base it’s pure idiocy —
Human ****, a travesty.

It’s all around, the bottom line,
And soon we’ll burn this cursed spine.
But not by “-ism” shall it end —
Some other fate will break and mend.




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



The Earth’s Disgrace

Man who babbles,
Wildly patient,
Is he truly wise?
Among the evil,
Dull and complacent...
He’s the Earth’s disgrace — no lies!




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



The Weight of False Knowledge

The weight of learned lies drags down,
Or pulls you to a sinking ground.
But once you ditch that nonsense whole,
You’ll find relief for body, soul.

That ******* haunts — a second pit,
Where sharpness dies, where senses quit.
By day and night it weighs you down,
A plague of “sciences” that drown.

These ticks have latched, they cling and ****,
So cleanse yourself — get free, get struck
By truth instead — break off those chains,
And leave behind their pointless pains.




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



The Zoo

From birth you get your "gifts" in heaps,
All useless, like dead men’s keeps.
Consciousness lost, a vacant shell —
For many, fools who sink and dwell.

The mass is dumb, the schizoid’s might,
A fascist stronghold, ruling blight.
They pour their filth with force extreme,
A torrent drowning every dream.

This pressure sweeps the soul away,
A sentence passed we bear today.
From birth you got these "gifts" galore —
Throw them out! They’re zoo fodder, poor.




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



The Global Pleasure Grinder

They grind their taste buds day and night —
The “elite” in sellout’s spite.
Hours spent in fancy halls,
Is this elite, or just their thralls?

The world’s drowned deep in murky slime,
That rotten realm drags us in time.
Honest, brave — a rarity,
But Grinding Pleasure’s law we see.




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



Dumb Boxer in a False Fury

In welterweight, a dumb brute fights —
“Average” heights provoke his sights.
His vision’s clouded, lost in haze,
From many blows that blur his gaze.

The ring’s soaked deep in raging lies,
You didn’t walk — you fought for prize.
Evil set the trap in youth,
Hooked you in with stolen truth.

Run off the ring before they strike,
An uppercut, a swinging pike.
Lies punch hard, they never quit —
Total falsehood’s brutal hit.




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



Average Temperature in the Asylum

The fever’s rising through the ward —
From here comes pain you can’t afford.
A nightmare haunts us all in sleep,
But waking’s hell — too dark, too deep.

Is this a mental ward? It snores,
Farts stink, it breathes foul stench outdoors.
A madhouse? No — it’s no delusion,
Call it what’s true: a place of Ruin.




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



Tedious,
Nasty, vile.
Is it hard?
No — just hostile.
Dull and poor,
Sickening, sore.
How wretched all,
So base, so small...
No god here?
Is He dead?
Or never near?
Or mad instead?
Evil reigns —
The final thread.



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



Europe

Is it rotting, burning bright,
Scorched beneath the furious light?
Few can grasp the whole truth clear —
Dulling minds grow year by year.

Once, kids painted suns in red,
Yellow rays above their head.
Now the sun’s a pale white ghost —
Last days come for all the lost.

And the dead here crowd the skies,
Chaos calls — to dust, all flies.
Those alive, with souls not mice,
Soon will stand before the vice.

After death, a rising flame —
New world where the Spirit claims.
Before the end, resist they must —
This alone remains in trust.



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



Ambitions, "Honor"

Ambitions, “honor,”
Desires, striving,
Positions, pride—
Claims colliding.

Around, there’s empty space—
Hands drop down low.
But not just giving place—
They break from boredom’s blow.

There’s only one way through,
One feat to own:
Deceive your fate,
Keep moving on.




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



Analyzing Your Failures

To analyze your fails is key—
Only then can flight begin.
In this bleak, corrupt debris,
Fools repeat the same old sin.

They step again on traps well-known,
So sort your own, and others’ too.
Or else your sharpness turns to stone—
Without it, madness breaks through.

The mind becomes a plague instead,
Deceived on every side and bent,
Fear drives beasts to wars they dread,
Dumb sheep to slaughter, blindly sent.




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



Maximum Intensity

The plague of this wretched world
Will **** — no chance, always so:
Your consciousness raw and uncurled,
Intensity almost too low.

Intensity plus reason’s strain,
Years long, all else just a haze —
The only way to break the chain:
Beneath the crust, the horror stays.

Only few can bear this weight;
Chance is fickle, many fall—
Like seabirds lost to oil’s fate,
Trapped within the toxic sprawl.

The plague of this broken sphere
Spreads like oil across the ground.
Free cheese from oil they engineer—
We’re taught to suffer, chained and bound.

Evil trains us from the start,
Calling it good as it grows.
Intensity’s the sole true art
To keep us from becoming those.




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



Another Road to Another "Bright Future"

Another road
To "future"—so hollow!
Got a headache?
A quick escape to follow!

The herd, they’ll bait —
That’s how they control.
A fool like a mule,
With blinders on patrol.

A veil across the eyes,
A carrot just ahead.
The future’s a lie —
New blinders instead.




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



*******

Annoying filth of a mad, insane world —
“Shield yourself,” or in **** you’ll drown and twirl.
Your mind may be lonely, cold, and bare,
But in that crap you’re a louse or parasite rare.



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


Crapworld

Shield — or drown in filth and lies.
Stay sane — or be the bugs they prize.



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



The ****** of Mind

"Much learning does not teach understanding."
— Heraclitus


It doesn’t teach — it kills instead,
Chokes reason’s roots inside your head.
They cram your memory by force
To breed a slave’s insane discourse.

The overload, combined with lies
(Where evil's "knowledge" always hides),
Will blur what’s simple, clear, and true —
Then fear will break the rest of you.




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



Herd Instinct

The arrogance of fools so bold,
Unbridled greed you cannot quell,
With blind faith and hearts grown cold,
And cowardice — the herd’s own hell.




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



The Proper Little World

(Based on Bertrand Russell's quote: “To live right means hypocrisy; to think right — stupidity.”)

"Proper" means obeying
Rules that rot the mind —
Templates for betraying
Truth you've left behind.

"Motherland" compels you,
Masked in noble cause,
To suppress what's real in you
By its savage laws.

Soulless, dull compliance,
Dream, consume, obey —
Bow to those in triumph
Wallowing in decay.

Each year grows more twisted,
Lies more bold and loud.
That world — rule-enlisted —
Will die without a shroud.




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



How Long Will We Moo “How Long!”
(While swallowing filth with a grin…)

How long will we moo out “How long!”
Yet swallow this vile little game?
In this pathetic life-singalong,
Only Death will untangle the shame.

She’ll draw the last line, mark the coward,
The soul that stayed true — and the fraud.
The end’s not far off: life’s devoured
By madness… The flames now applaud.

For the Sun — growing wilder, more searing —
Will burn what was bright to the bone.
Just look out the window: it’s clearing…
By morning, you’ll see what’s been shown.




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



How long, you cattle, will you moo —
Yet lick the boots that trample you?



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



“Cognitive” Onanism

So much clutter, distraction, deceit —
A circus of facts, all devoid of the core.
Where cretinous chatter and buzzwords compete,
They fog up the mind ever more.

Fake science keeps silence where truth should ignite:
You are spirit — a flame, not a shell.
But smothered in trivia, buried in blight,
The essence gets lost in their hell.



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



They teach you the fog, not the flame —
Forget who you are. That’s their game.



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



"Upbringing" — a pile of habits,
Rituals wrapped in moral jackets.
In this rotten world, to dare
Just means bumps and blank despair.



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



Dare to rise? You’ll just get bruised —
That's how slaves are mass-produced.




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



Gutta-percha men,
Involution served on plates,
Slugs devour filth and lies,
Chanting "Allah’s will dictates."

“Submit, believe in God,
And curb your restless mind —
All answers lie within the books,”
A dish from Hell defined.




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



Prince of This World

A hot-dog god,
A king "two in one,"
Harsh and cold,
The madhouse’s son.

The madhouse devours —
**** and lies.
— Like cattle, folks? —
Multiply fear, despise.

He’s master of lies,
In masks, he’s skilled.
To serve him is
Shame — a cursed ****.

The cursed **** comes —
Grab the cash flow!
— How to be cattle? —
Accept the lies, the woe.




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



Doclets — Mengele Nervously Smokes

Here’s the CowID **** —
No shame runs deeper.
Fake AIDS warm-up —
Tolerance to the creeper.

Next come the pests,
All kinds of plagues,
They’ll take it all — CowID
Seems bliss in their cages.




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



The Poet Sometimes Raves

The poet sometimes runs with nonsense —
The rhyme leads far off track.
If choking in the stench around you,
A touch of madness won’t crack.

In madness, all the world’s absurd,
When total idiot’s reign
Becomes the norm, and wicked times
Are measured by Satan’s stain.



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



“A Hard Nut of Knowledge”?

A schnitzel of "knowledge," laced with lies,
You eat the poison deep inside —
You're just a pawn where hatred flies,
Where vile beasts breed and multiply.

The mind’s a nut that takes a blow,
From heavy lies it cracks and breaks.
The more you “know,” the more you owe —
For love’s a thing your heart forsakes.

Simplicity with peasant’s mind,
And vision born within the heart —
Unlike the “knowledge” of the blind,
Is what makes love a true art.




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



Total Madness and the Poet

To die a poet—
No greater bliss,
Than not to bow
To all the abyss,
To leave a mark
With furious fire,
Though nerves may snap,
And earth conspire—
If burden not,
Then truth was sired!



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



The Pit

If the Creator’s plan for you
Is just a pit to bear,
Enduring evil’s nothing new—
It’s death of spirit there.

It cuts down all who climb the peak,
As ever has been so—
No contrast now, the truth is bleak:
“Up top” is just pure woe.



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



Victory of the ****

Thanks to comrade Gates, they say,
For childhood “bright” and free—
The computer took the throne today,
For plebs, a tool to be.

Before, a tool, but now it’s just
One endless app to scroll.
You live like in a desert dust,
Where lifeless breezes roll.

Doubtful versions sweep away
All sense with stupid fights.
They turn us all to fools each day,
Only “Classmates” hold tight.

True talks are rare—your neighbor’s face
Unknown in concrete cells.
Consciousness lost, the ****’s embrace
Strikes hard; it casts its spells.

The last of spirit, mind, and light
Shrinks down, then fades unseen.
Only nonsense reaches sight—
The **** has won, obscene.




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



So-Called "Culture"

A stake of aspen in pseudo-culture’s chest,
Drive it deep and walk on light, at best:
A foolish loser buys the shallow fake—
That “culture” stands on fools who take.

True Spirit’s daring, reaching for the Light,
The soul’s own pulse, its genuine fight.
But in that broke, pretend charade,
No answer lives—just empty parade.




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



Themes

Memes serve up their shallow themes —
A challenge to dull all minds, it seems:
With nonsense, they decay the wise,
In memes, the spawn of lies arise.

Expose the false, the half-truth’s shade,
Bring light where darkness tries to fade.
Or we’ll be lost — no time to stall,
Strike down the lies — or lose it all!




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



Pol ***, ******, and Putler

Pol ***’s sweat earned him a role—
A freakish camp to rule the whole,
A country sized like prison walls,
Where terror grips and silence falls.

No need for camps — it’s all the same:
Wherever rage fuels fiendish game,
They spill the blood, the leader’s throne—
Don’t touch the smartest one alone!

The master helm who leads ahead,
Crushing all who dare to tread.
All dissenters — dealt away,
Lost beneath the shadow’s sway.

And Putler, double-faced and sly,
A runt before the great gone by.
He topped even ******’s hell,
Built a nightmare none can quell.




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



The Boredom of the Global Herd

Boredom’s not a beauty’s face—
It’s a sign of drained-out grace.
When you’re penned like common stock,
And that pen’s a messy block,

You can fade away, run dry
In anything — they’ll **** you dry.
All your strength the beasts will drain,
Then beat you down to break your strain.




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



Cheaters and Murra

The ******* deal the crooked hands —
Cheaters always hold command.
They must win, no room for shame,
This world’s a ruthless, ***** game.

If you’re not a cheat, you’re low,
But what’s “top”? Just scraps that flow—
Like a sludge pit, stinking, vile.
“Two-in-one” spray fools with style—
Thousands bask in foul perfume,
Calling stench a scent’s costume.

Propaganda’s lying howl?
No—it’s news, a sickly growl.
Murra rots in every crack—
That’s your “progress,” face the fact!
Cast out doubt in cheats’ domain—
And they’ll lie with brazen strain...




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



We Are Ours, We Build the New... Madness

"We are ours, we build a new world..."
The anthem cries, “International!”


The impossible becomes real,
While what’s real’s a crazy deal:
Hard to grasp, but clear as gas—
Total lies that poison fast.

In this killer’s suffocating grip,
Truth and mind begin to slip.
A half-dead soul must face the crowd—
The New Madness shouts aloud:
New #******* End, fierce and proud...




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



The Race’s End

Monotony of shallow thrills,
The ****** chase for cash and fame—
The **** who lose the roots and wills,
Forget the heart, obey the brain.

The mind, once servant, breaks its chains,
And falls to ruin, lost, abused.
Forgetfulness in lies remains—
The fate of generations fused.

A rotten world, caught in the race,
The finish line—a deathly prize.
Blind liars mix the peak and base,
Confused beneath deceivers’ lies.




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



The Eternal and the Human

Too little of the ETERNAL —
Too much of just the human.
This gnome’s a fleeting signal,
A joke, a mere buffoon.

His mind is small and empty —
Books shallow, plain and cheap;
Lies flood the world aplenty,
Where souls are lost, not deep.

But if the soul’s not vanished —
Through pain breaks into Light,
Through lies and rot, unbanished —
***** doubts! Embrace the fight!




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



A Clamp for Fools

A clamp? — just a clip!
Truth? — a lie so thick!
All’s absurd:
Malice, fear, a ***** trick.

Lies that bind? —
How’s that fit?
Fear turns souls
To creatures unfit.

Lies on fear —
The whole **** clamp:
Russia’s crushed,
In dust and stamp.



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



All the Content of "Normal" Mind Is Clinical Madness

Clinical madness —
The core of "mind" they say.
What’s the real answer? —
Cast false knowledge away,
And journey inward —
Toward the Spirit’s bright light.
No other path here —
None left in sight.



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



A tough and fearsome task it is —
Not to be the beast that sways and squats.
If you’re a bee that flits on roses,
Those roses face eternal threats and losses.

The roses trampled — that’s no surprise:
The fragile, pure here doomed to die.
Grow thicker skin, let tusks arise —
Be the world’s elephant, strong and wise.




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



******-Up State

Tubercular thoughts decay,
Words spew out like *****’s spray:
Around no humans — just mere sums,
And in your head, the nonsense drums.

From vile, total lies you choke,
No other choice but silent smoke.
If you’re smart, bold, true, and free —
Don’t lose your mind in misery.

‘Cause freaking out is way too late —
The world’s a wreck, it’s lost its fate.
On the horizon, grim and tense,
******-up state raises its hand immense...



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


People?

Look around. Are those all humans?
Or just Satan’s icon pack?
Is that food or demon’s cumin —
Hell’s meat platter? Dreams go black.

Darkness, madness — that’s their "thinking",
Or is Purest Mind in there?
Are they sheep for slaughter, shrinking?
Or are humans really where

Shame is branded as “freedom,”
Truth replaced with crafted lies,
Mutant freaks that serve the system
Guard “Constitutions” in disguise.

Freedom is the space for making,
For the Pure-Souled to create.
Tyranny, though, strips and breaks 'em —
Turns them all to meat for plate.

Light is scarce. The Dark is swelling —
It’s a death mark for the Soul.
Breeds are raised through this dark spelling:
Dead ones wrapped in breathing role.

They have fouled and ***** the Planet,
Murdered Nature, left a stain.
Only corpses hear the sonnets
Of the Lie — and most of it is death for brains.




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



Longing

Guts in bowls — the cats are glad.
Is that cure for feeling bad?
Don’t you dare suppress the gloom —
Only fools make grief their plume.

Aren’t you homesick down in Hell
With the crazed who think they’re well?
Few exceptions, few awake.
Madness here is no mistake.

Genocide, a centuries' art —
Mass-producing fools by heart.
Better call it: Slavery’s spawn,
Built on madness, bred since dawn.

That’s the scheme the beasts defend:
Dumb and silent to the end.
Counting chance, the poor blind throng
Sinks in numbness all along.

Grief and lies — how not to feel?
Guts in bowls — the feline meal —
Even cats have smarter wit
Than a SOLD-OUT IDIOT.



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



Foam — then fade:
Dull was the sire.
All betrayed —
The world’s a pyre...



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



EU — the Union of the Gut
Beer bellies sag, the minds are shut.
You fly right in — they weigh your worth:
Just raw supply, not soul or birth.

The “people” — cattle, bought and sold,
Their lives reduced to profit mold.
Above it all, the lying glaze —
Believe it once — you're lost for days.




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



Rotten lies, half-truths, and fiction —
That’s the mix of their “science” game.
End result? A fool’s submission
To the yoke of ****** for fame.



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




Weird young fellow...
Dumb as wood.
Brain is jello,
Spirit — no good.



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



Selling ******

They sell themselves without a fight —
So cheap, those filthy, crawling swine...
They think that death is out of sight,
And ******* seems to suit them fine.

They trade and stab without regret,
As if betrayal never ends.
But Human burns at sunset —
And Bedlam’s fire ascends.




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




Stop Your Hiding — Face the Hell
All around — it reeks, it fell.
Hourly lies through every screen —
End of this pathetic scene.

But your Soul is not for loss —
So rise up and bear your cross!
Only hear your inner flame —
All outside is filth and shame.




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



The Call of Poetry — a Fearsome Might.
If filth and comfort seem all right —
Then don’t you dare into those deeps:
The Path of Poetry is where Sorrow weeps.

Sorrow is ABSOLUTE — the rest is jest.
Stop bowing down to brute unrest.
Just DIE before you kneel to **** —
Just DON’T YOU LIE — Hell burns for some.




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



Stood by you? Not one...
What is it you seek?
Nothing. None. I'm done —
No more need to speak.

Nothing's left to crave —
I have walked through Hell.
Did that forge a knave?
No — I wrote it well.




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




I couldn’t care for this brave “horde” —
These fools who’d sell their souls for fraud,
Who treat betrayal as a sword,
And worship lies as some new god.

Go grab this “life” — go ****** your fate!
You’ll grasp a void. Your mind? — too late.
This path leads straight to what they crave:
A shiny car — to be their grave.




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



Angry Bear

That one? A “president” — a drunk, insane?
The Kremlin’s all just evil waste and stain.
If that’s the case — then we’re all doomed, no doubt...
The end is near, and there’s no way out.



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



“Unreasoning the Reasoned”

Un-reason those who thought they knew,
Break the spell of all this slime —
The nonsense born from lies anew,
Deceit of traitors, cruel crime.

A web of traps and staged deceit,
This world’s a scripted, staged charade.
The soul’s forever under heat,
While Satan’s half-god in the shade.

He writes the plot; the directors — ****,
Monsters hard to find or name.
The whole performance — deafening drum:
One trick — to scare, to lie, to maim.




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



“Love-Filled” Hypocrites

“Love abounds” — but fools surround,
And Darkness holds the world in chains.
Yet smiles so sweet, with grace profound,
Pour oil and tears to mask their stains.



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



The World’s Disappearance in Nightmare

"The waking share one common world,
The sleepers turn to their own fold."
— Heraclitus


The world dissolves — few stand awake,
While “sweet” dreams twist into a snare.
A nightmare traps the soul to break —
Its fallen fate, a fool’s despair.




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



Don’t Trust Your Eyes — The Pattern’s Blurred

Don’t trust your eyes — the mold has blurred
Your view of this dumb, dumb world absurd.
No courage, no sharp intuition —
Just march along to Stagnation’s prison.

A world of fools, a stagnant land,
Where spirit’s mocked by empty hands.
A fool’s small step can’t grasp the core,
No strength enough to seek for more.

Mind ruled by Spirit, life creates —
That’s how decay you’ll truly break.
Forget the stagnation’s curse,
And lies that spread their evil worse.

Assimilation’s reached its peak —
In fools, the chains they gladly seek.
Muzzles on through CowID years,
This world’s a joke — poor wretched peers.




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



“Evolution” of Fools

We don’t give **** — there’s plenty here,
Of sick fools clogged with empty cheer.
We’ll listen close if lies persist,
Relentless lies we can’t resist.

We’ll bow to lies, the box controls,
Feeding us junk, illusions’ roles.
Forever praise new petty tyrants,
In creatures rife with flaws, defiant.

We won’t perceive the chains we wear —
Our gaze on cash, the only care.
Gripped only by the lure of gold,
Buying babes and rides to hold.

No room for fools, they’re cast away —
New “selection” rules the play:
Fool turns cattle — that’s the way,
The age of dumb has its own sway.




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



So-called "Dictatorship of the Proletariat"?

Control and power by the masses —
Duller myth no one surpasses.
Dictatorship of lies insane,
Hidden plague, a filthy stain.

Like typhus, it infects the mind,
Lies disguised, the base you'll find.
Fools swoon fast on fairy tales,
While second depths command the hails.

Pol *** once was “communist.”
Before him ******’s iron fist.
Now the double-faced Putler’s here,
Teaching fools to bow and sneer.

A lesson steeped in lies supreme,
No one learns from past’s harsh scheme.
The freak disturbs the crowds anew,
With poisoned ideas — always through.




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



The Price of Freedom

The price of freedom — cast aside
All else with courage, cast and wide.
No coin in pocket? Let it be,
But time remains for Path and Deed.

The Path is knowledge, Deed — the fire,
A creative, fierce desire.
All else is folly, vain and cold,
A twisted goal by liars told.



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



Not Quite a Poem

Not quite a poem —
The rage won’t cease:
A fleeting flash,
A tense release —

And then — prepared.
A simple grind...
The “catch”?
Just “GRAB AND GRIND!!!”



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



“Yes” and “No”...

“Yes,” if madness rules the world,
And “normal” means the curse.
“No” will leave a weaker swirl —
If sane, you might disperse,

Walk down that wasted road —
Where sorrow’s sown today,
Hell reaps its fiery load.
Don’t curse the futile way:

If “benefit” feeds Hell’s fire,
The **** will cheer success.



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



In Hell’s Dark

“Sometimes the night’s too dark to see.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec


A blind mole crawls the tunnels deep,
Collecting tribute from the field.
In darkness, with fools just as steep,
You find the lies that Hell concealed.



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



Heights and Depths

“The higher we ascend, the small
And worthless seem to those who fall.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche’s thought to all.


To fly’s a snare in fools’ dull eyes:
If clear you think — the enemy’s guise.
The Artist’s mad amid the arts,
The Spirit’s Path — a yoke for hearts.




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



Self Inquiry

"Examine all, let reason lead,"
— Pythagoras spoke long ago indeed.


Explore it all, but under Spirit’s reign,
Let Reason hold the foremost claim.
To dig too deep in “knowledge” — foolish game,
For lies abound, and all is not the same.

The rulers know the art of lies,
So falsehoods spread, and truth soon dies.
They twist the sciences with cash and might,
Commanding falsehoods, veiling light.




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



The hamster and the mole both think,
The falcon lost, a sneaky link,
That life on Earth’s not all that bad,
While birds above just lie, so sad.




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




Spineless fools in clouds of madness,
Worldly nonsense, pale and stark —
This is monsters’ cruel gladness,
Brains and spirit fade to dark.

Few remain with backbone’s fire,
Fewer still with spirit’s core,
World won’t be what once inspired —
Soon it rots forevermore.




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



Synergy of Sufferers

"Shared misfortunes bear more patience than those endured alone."
— Niccolò Machiavelli


The sufferers grow in number,
When Evil's faced as one.
Till pain becomes all tender,
And ******* deeds are done.




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



Once so much, now so little —
Nonsense fades, a vanishing riddle.
What’s not nonsense, time will show,
Only years can let us know.

For us? Just few remain
“Fit for duty,” birds in pain —
Like the Red Book’s vanished kind,
Knowing pain, the thoughtful mind.

They know all’s just nonsense here:
Not humans now, but herds appear.
Among them few feel out of place,
Only minds that dare embrace.

To believe and still create
In this *******, cursed fate.
Rot grows like a tightening ball —
Soon this rotten madhouse falls.

Can’t endure this vile breath,
Better much to choose Death.




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



Tall tales gather all the likes —
Killing minds with twisted spikes.
New fascism steps in stride,
Breaking souls with fear inside.



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



Putler’s **** —
The reign of fake CowID’s done.
Now war rages — fools still buy
Every smoke-screen, every lie.

The source was called "The Butts,"
Long dead — yet the second batch trusts
Total lies once more, and swings
Wide the doors for fascist kings...




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




Karachun, old grump, to you won’t come —
Too many moons have passed, it's done.
Where is that spiteful little fiend?
Only boredom now is seen...



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



A minefield lies within the mind —
Deceitful charges placed all round.
The chances not to step — so slim,
The schematics tightly wound.

Only **** could dare to make
These traps that lie beneath the ground.
The herd grazes dumb and fake,
Among the grass, uncut, unbound.

The grass hides every single mine —
A “peaceful” pasture, so it seems.
Painted scenes with oil and line,
As if it’s not a war of dreams...




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



Comparison of Greco-Roman Wrestling and Marathon

Teens’ pillow fight — just warm-up, a test,
Before the marathon’s true quest.
I’ve faced them both — it’s not a lark,
To run that race is hell and dark!



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



Cogs and Mechanism

A tiny ***** is tightly turned—
You’ll never loosen what’s well burned:
It feels no pain, no woe, no loss—
The mechanism wins, the boss.



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



Mountain Practice
(an ironic verse)

From burrow up the hill you crawl,
Seek truth and light beyond the wall.
Tremble only before the bright—
The hamster’s lost, no sign of sight.

That burrow’s home to that small beast,
Whose lies and madness never ceased.
Beaten down by endless lies,
A swamp of falsehoods, dark disguise.




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



The Privileged

The privileged — what a joke:
They boast, but what’s their claim?
Their wealth, their endless bloat —
Few have a worthy aim.

Daddy’s sons are mostly ****,
As usual, every time.
In this world, the subtle hum
Is trapped in endless grime.

The brazen always climb
Right up to highest place.
The privileged only dream,
A hollow rotten case.

There’s always exceptions, sure,
But these aren’t what I write.
When rot is all you endure,
The top’s to blame outright.



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




Step by Step. To the Reichstag
Or will you fall into the abyss?
Arm yourself with fearless grit:
If not the pit — you’re sure to miss!

To live small-world is suicide.
To die — and rise again, there’s chance.
Forget all speeches, pomp, and pride —
In Bedlam, only Honor stands!

Death will rank us all in lines.
Reverse the order, watch it clear:
Those who swim in lies and fat —
Are last, far off, in utter fear.

A stranger shows up in the distance,
With a name that cuts like steel:
“F#ckup” — world-wide consequence.
This small world’s doom is real.




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



Super Sport

Bullshitters rule the football game,
Less cash, less players, fans the same.
Shots of lies suppress the fools —
In this sport, propaganda rules.

Top league filled with perfect liars,
Politicians—first-class buyers.
Not a gang, but highest tier,
Goals scored well, the crowd will cheer.

The rigged machine runs like a clock,
Now more than ever, it’s a shock:
Everywhere dull fascists rise —
This sport’s just lies behind the guise.




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



Mass-Produced Prison

Mass-market prison, trap of waste—
Consumers stuck in **** misplaced.
Can’t pull them off, no quick escape,
Only root them out, reshape.




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



The Angry Bear and the Russian Asylum

The Angry Bear left marks behind —
Shameful traces, raw, unkind.
Spewed such wild, insane disgrace,
That the whole Asylum stared in face.




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



Partly Not Partly...

Partly it’s a blessing,
That it’s not all a blessing—
Partly… Not a curse, confessing—
This world’s a Hell’s own dressing.

Will it choke or will it swallow?
Choke it will, not partly, hollow—
Whole and full, then it will follow,
A new world born, new joys to wallow.




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



Solar Apocalypse

"Children of the underground" —
The future’s dark for those who’ve found
A chance to save their fading breath.
That “captain” just spins nonsense,
Spewing cow farts, dense pretense,
Everywhere the CEO’s death.

These tales are old, the lies abound,
Your head will swell, the dumb surround.
This widespread plague of empty minds
Leaves all in shock, it binds and blinds.

And CowID’s the first test—
For those who to the cities rest—
Below, like tags on herds confined,
Masks lock them all, enslaved, aligned.




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



"Enjoy!" — a common phrase before a meal...

Even cats without affection
Won't embrace their food’s connection.
A restaurant, like fairy tales,
For two-legged beasts with tails.

Who’s the animal? Think twice,
Scrape off pride and all the vice:
Nonsense, lies like swirling smoke—
This is what the truth provokes.

The final verdict’s clear and crude,
But we won’t name it — rude,
“Man like god”? A cursed fraud —
The Horned God, foul and flawed.




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



Drowning in Lies

They push —
We sink.
They push Lies —
Sick of all these stinking kinks...




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



The Suckers

Lies? Well, then turn on patience...
And multiply your tolerance?
If ******* wins the fight,
You’re lost — no chance in sight.




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



Sellouts

Why do you cling to those corrupt freaks —
Honor, dignity? Like, who needs that, geeks?
Scary as hell — these sellout clowns, no tricks.
They tear apart what’s fragile, thin as sticks!

Thin the *******, thin the minds, so weak —
Primitive fools, but still, try books you seek.
“All subtle” — in the ****’s stale, crooked schemes,
But dissonance still rings loud through their dreams.




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



They ****** Us All

They ****** us ALL —
That’s how this world is.
Keep grinding, “Emelya,” —
Wretched, poor, and helpless.

Chew your grub,
You VILE beast —
You’ll find a noose,
A flea sold out, at least!..




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



Truth and Fiends

How many fiends? —
Too **** many!
Roasting lies? —
No place to carry.

Enough to wait
For that tight space —
Time to ****
Those beasts with grace!

Not by force,
But all the same —
Few chances left
To become the same.

Just Truth,
Harsh and raw!
A burden, yes —
That’s what it’s for.