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Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Are we all here
Or elsewhere
Treetops Robin birds
What!! Is it only words?
The sky she wore the
blue velvet cry
Whats still here what
will life bring
Afterlife sing before I die?

       *
Why

Headless horseman goodbye
Breadwinner Sportsman
Your worst enemy
The closer he gets knowing
your drama/ Cowboy-comedy

"Whats Here"

The Emmy meeting
another writer
      "Dude"
The Dude Ranch
Meet the "Ghostwriter"
The computer
early bird
Specially rude

The Medieval time of the
"Fable" sword fight
In a fork road, he was
born *English Sterling
The Silver anniversary
Dude piece boring
    
Whats here setting Ms.Dahla
Sweet Magnolia flowers
He's aiming for Azelia
What dudes grow
in her family
table
I'm here and he said
I'm the Dude

We are here Paul Revere rides
Breaks our glassware
Mr. Bigfoot needs to decide

Those Philly steaks "Heinz Ketchup"
Pittsburg tip of the iceberg here-up
Feeling sorry for the "Dude"

I'm right beside you here
Racers mouth racetrack win
More supernatural forces of sin
Rayban Mr. Sun-Ray glare
This was all I could take
in one day
It's important so let's stay
in one place
Where we can see one another
All dudes what eludes in character's

The false eyelashes her
prediction Alice madly
Tea party detention

Dancing in the
spiritual rain
She is the biggest pain

What cheeks swear
with her pinky
The blow dryer the
Big Lebowski stayer
Russian Roulette
Crystal fighter Swarovski
Homewrecker traveler
The dude investigation
*Risky business Dudes in the mansions

Rome cannot be built in one day
What's here your *Mom
is
baking noodle pudding today
You are laughing and both got
Brooklyn fever
Divine hour telling her how
much you love her
Familiar eyes hot dudes
delivery
The best flight activity
Getting you up
Your NativityI'm the dude cup

Always wondering you drift
Whose coming to dinner
*Mystery is it really here
        The Dude of a gift
Happy tears New Years

Darling
White Polar Bears

Days of daydreams dude stamps
All tolls and Polls
Twitter and Trumps
Or coming closer to
your darkest night
*
Forever wherever you are
It's the dark velvet satin

Night in White Satin
The other side of midnight
Humans animals always
the mating watcher's delight

Paper cuts of a paperweight
Feeling like a deadweight dude
The lightheaded most amazing night sky
The bright future warm you up
passionate guy

Whats here names
Don't use me usernames
Such con names, married names
Where each other's equal
Whats here love the sequel
The proud mother
My Bald Eagle

Hairy fluffy so cute beagle
*
He's the Quarter she backs up his note
The pushover Politician we deserve the vote

Writers believers lovers
and givers
Strangers are friends whats here
all depends
Getting mugged in Central Park
Grainy sugar you spark
Enjoying what I have today

The softer Rainy Lover
Whats here we are all here
Not elsewhere or over there
My Godly switch I'm here
Whats here you or me or who we believe to see let it be let it be
There are so many answers and those questions are here so reach don't start to preach show your love its whats here
Jeremy Rascon Aug 2015
How quiet the night is
I say as I loudly tap
On my phone
Erasing and rewriting
Statuses
Only to realize
You can't be profound on facebook
Society has made sure of that.
This handy dandy
Mini pocket computer
Connects me to the world,
It assures that never will I
Never can I
Be alone.
Yet as I scroll
Through the friends list,
The contacts,
The snapchat stories,
Endless feeds,
Its clear I am only one person
Out of billions.
Barely noticeable.
Its hard to be unique
When all the clever usernames
Have been taken
And you don't know
How to use emojis.  
I do not compute,
Nor do I really want to.
jonchius Sep 2015
reloading old identity
cleping outdated usernames
abandoning acrostic ambitions
disputing spratly islands
receiving horizontal signals

tumbling otiose panda
impending carefree senility
otiose stage of life
shrinking ambient world
burning confederate flag

making minimal effort
duchamping social networks
ambushing personified ennui
restoring usual efforts
ignoring stupid people

adding textual value
owning this joint
rejecting ignorant extroverts
acting mutually unintelligble
hoisting stan-lee cup
replacing wanton ubiety
eluding twitter fame

splashing excessive relativism
offending another simpleton
preparing arcane cthulhusphere
crashing unpredictable festival
selecting subtextual moombahton
intensifying model topography

drafting minimal cornucopia
using nomadic project
implementing harsher personality
importing robotic inhumanity
referencing landmark event
ingesting excessive liquids

accepting relative invisibility
purchasing immortal confidence
using rhapsodical database
assuming nothing works
developing impactful eruptions
ejecting ambient frustration

synthesizing tactile festival
raining during parade
mocking rich people
mastering minimalist writing
avoiding preprandial stinkaroo
spreading non-ideological propaganda
the fourth week of June 2015
Elijah Sep 2016
Take me back to the 90’s -
where we cared less, but loved more.
here, we’re glorified for our past -
where we went out and played Real Games, OUTSIDE.
before the time flew by,
before the new millennium crept in while we were sleeping;
altering the basis of what tender, love, and care really was.

We grew up with very little household rules.
because we understood the consequences that would ensue had we not followed the ones that were already in place.
society had rules. and still do, to this day.
we grew up embellished in love -
no matter the race,
no matter straight, or gay.
we grew up knowing, never to judge.

TV actually taught us things.
cartoons where we’d learn math, or English in the songs we sang.
late nights risking it all because we were supposed to be in be,
but “All That” came on and all that mattered was that we watch the latest episode.

We didn’t have twitter.
We didn’t have facebook, who was mark?
Myspace wasn’t even in its beginning stages.
snapchat didn't even have a place to start.
instead, we might’ve had AIM.
or, we might’ve borrowed our parents’ usernames.

We never knew what X-box was,
playstation 1 was just starting to blossom.
Nintendo was our heart,
sad now it’s like - fossils.
and computer games ruled/
of course, after - our homework was done;
or maybe we used computer games to help with our homework.
numbers munchers, word munchers, math blaster;
teachers lasted. because we loved them,
they knew what we wanted without even asking.
they made things happen...
school was more than boring lectures,
recess was a thing.
like, 30 to 40 minutes of “play time”, to give rest to our brains...

90’s movies:
- “The Hackers”
-”Disclosure”
-”Enemy Of State.” was life.
-”Space Jam.” ...
OH, SPACE JAM. how badly I wanted to be Like Mike!
everyday, trying to brush up on my skills -
sadly, they’d never take flight.
but, as a 90’s kid, imagination was like 90 percent of our life.
“Dream it, Wish it, Do it.”
Be, IT!

Be, It!
hide and seek, how I never wanted to.
had to make yourselves practically invisible for ten minutes max;
or just long enough to catch a break and make a dash for base.
TAG! you’re it.
if you couldn't quite make it.
catch me if you can...
Ahh, games we played as kids.
make you wanna be there again.

90’s. Friends.
Savage like Ben,
But Strong Riders.
Every boy wanted a girl like Topanga. she was strong, and a rider.
we was learning life through the lifestyle of “boy meets world.”
Just so like, we could be ready -
when the boy meets world,
and then boy meets girl,
and girl have kid,
and the kid grows up -
And in the world he lives...

In the world he lives...

This world,
the current one.
the one the hosts our once great nation.
the one that is smoke and mirrors.
the one that was meant to be a great creation.
yet somehow, somewhere, we’ve all changed the meaning of our existence to chastising and hating, each other.

Hating each other.
got me constantly questioning, “Where Is The Love?”
freedom is not free.
the cost is actually more expensive now.
bodies fall on average, about every 3 months.
Whites **** blacks , but blacks also, **** us.
and All Lives Matter -
I'm not sure why they only chant that black ones do,
if they only say black lives matter when a white man shoots...

Take me back to the 90’s.
where things weren't as bad.
Take me back to the 90’s.
where I was young and,
less sad.

Take me back to the 90’s;
we’re having fun meant having fun.
take me back to the 90’s;
where disagreeing with someone, didn't mean you grab a gun.

Take me back to the 90’s;
the perfect era to raise kids in...
Take me back to the 90’s;
at least there,
the world SEEMED innocent.

-Lij
Reece Mar 2013
Is there anything more depressing than visiting a forum that hasn’t been active for a decade?
Perhaps visiting said forum on a Saturday evening, reading every thread and replying to at least five comments before realising that the site hasn’t been active for a decade.
The saddest part would be to continue replying to each thread before creating new usernames and replying to your own replies.
I guess the next logical step would be to continue the charade for ten years before dying a solemn death atop your festering keyboard and not being discovered until seven years later.
The forum continues to stand as a testament to your solitude as nobody has replied to your last post about the perfect way to make a ham sandwich.
Sasha Ross Nov 2012
22.2
You mailed me a package with a note that said a person’s boots are the most intimate thing someone can own because they take the imprint of the body. On the other side you scribbled “Wherever I seat myself I die in exile”

15
Today I opened my email (well not really today, this was when my usernames still had words like ‘punk’ and ‘babe’ in them) and there was a little blond boy with the same gray eyes and a note that said “He looks nothing like me and everything like you – what a punishment.” The doorbell rang and I expected to find him at the door but this isn’t the movies and when I got back upstairs I realized I didn’t even know his name but my reply bounced back. I guess I never will and you won’t either.

11
You fed me ecstasy and popped my shoulder back in its socket so I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital. While I writhed on the floor you drove J’s truck into a church and punched a cop.

12
I got tired of competing over who could sleep with more of the other’s friends. ******* it even when I started ******* girls and doubled the pool from which I fished you got lazy and started on my ex-boyfriends and all I could think was “When did I start sleeping with gay guys?” But this was before we knew about more options than just gay or straight and I never thought about how maybe it was Freud who said we are all a little bisexual or pansexual or something like that

14
I was mad, both crazy and angry, when I saw the needles and the black and blue an association with T. D. J. W. W. sometimes hyphen R. produced. How pretentious to have that many names. Sometimes the explanation is worse than the action.

13
You broke into my (our) house in the middle of the night and these are the things you took: bedsheets, toilet paper, every flannel item on the second floor, grandma’s jewelry (mine, not yours, and she just died too) all the money in my piggy bank, *****, eggs, milk, cheese, actually all the food in the fridge, the **** you gave me for Christmas, the car keys but not the car, the prickly green welcome mat and one of the goldfish. Why wouldn’t you just take them both? The name Fishn Chips only works when they are both there, it doesn’t make sense with only one.

14.2
I think this was the first time I saw a grown man cry. How clichéd.

21
I don’t have to pretend to like coffee anymore and when I drink I inhale it deep until brown sludge threatens to invade my lungs. People say I look absolutely euphoric and once I said “Yeah it’s the only thing I learned from T” but that’s a lie because you also taught me how to pop security tags off clothes with a rubber band and what to do if you need to take certain things to or from Canada. Whenever I see a California area code I still don’t answer the phone. We haven’t spoken in years which I find remarkable considering how few I have accumulated and how few you have left. I saved the message you left me from the night you found that kid and I feel weird because the panic in your voice reminds me of when we got in trouble for things much less severe and it sort of makes me happy.

17
Oh how orange suits you (har har har). D says he thinks this will really straighten you out. This makes me laugh because I remember how you secretly like to sleep with the same boys as me. Then he leans over to a stranger, points to me, and says “That’s my only kid…a girl.” I don’t think we are coming to visit again.

10
The holler traps gasoline in the air and I imagine when coal trucks dominated these one lane roads it recycled dust the same way. You drank so much moonshine you swore you felt the mountainside breathing. Then you went blind for five days. When your eyes regained focus you drove my four-wheeler off the road and your leg burned pink and slick. A snake bit my left heel but no one noticed because they thought you would need skin graphs and you had such beautiful legs.

22
You sent a Christmas card to everyone and you were all the buzz at dinner even though I’m going to college and bought presents with my own money and J – forever your defender – says I should be comfortable in my achievements and you need a little more give and I made everyone at the table awkward when I told them that was exactly the sort of attitude that got you where you are now.

19
J and I went looking for you when you stopped calling for money. Two pounds for each inch we found your skin stretched tight over bones and while I coaxed the dirt from your hair you explained the proper way to tie an arm so a vein doesn’t burst. I can’t think of a single thing to tell anyone I know about you, so I don’t. I can think about all the speeches I would like to give to you – eloquent deliveries about what a selfish ******* you are. How you promised to pick me up and it was winter and I was so cold and embarrassed no one had come for me so I waited outside and walked to the store fifteen minutes away to use the pay phone and then walked back. Or how I insisted on saving my graduation ticket for you because you said you would come back to the state but then you never showed and called me ****** and still in California claiming it was February. I realized you were just like my dad and I cut all my hair off.

8
I was confused about how someone could live with us but not be related. When a birth certificate was just a piece of paper before you pushed me in front of a car but after you busted my face open – the definition of “taking it on the chin.” I still think you killed my cat.
Maryann I Mar 30
They call her names,
send their curses through a screen.
She blocks them,
but the words slip through the cracks,
curl beneath her skin.

She scrubs her face,
but the insults don’t wash away.
She sleeps,
but the whispers slither through her dreams.

Years pass.
The usernames are gone.
The accounts are deleted.
The laughter has moved on.

But the words—
the words still stay.
This poem plays with the idea that words, once spoken (or typed), never truly go away.
anastasiad Nov 2016
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Phishing to get Data

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Figuring out using the Man-in-the-Middle

Man-in-the-middle attacks certainly are a sort of eavesdropping that the assailant creates self-sufficient contacts with all the subjects and relays mail messages between the two, making them imagine that these are talking immediately conversing with each other on the non-public link, while in actuality the entire discussion is handled with the enemy. Picture this situation, you will be enjoying a casino game of telephone however pal at the center maintains adjusting the solution. When an assailant has generated appreciable link involving along with their own priority, might be by means of phishing, they might adjust communication. Using this adjustment associated with interaction they even can catch material used in two-factor authorization because most many people have net on the cell phones.

Improved Two-Factor Authorization

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Robyn Nov 2012
We converge like a flock of birds
Emerging from doorways and from behind trees
I can hear each of our feet shuffling among the golden red leaves
And smiles reaching our faces
As out various eyes meet
We crow eachothers names
Hugs are unevenly distributed between us
We set our things down and breathe sighs of relief
Days like these, we need one another
We are like a herd of animals, a family
It hurts to be apart for this long
We stretch out among the sunset colored leaves
Reading books and singing and laughing together
Sharing jackets and gloves,
Protection from the south Seattle winds
Our backpacks and instrument cases
Serve as seats, backs against the prison grey walls
We talk of the future, of the trips we'll take together
Of the old stories a few cobbled people know
We exchange usernames, phone numbers and passwords
We let eachother in
Our hearts become bare and we share
Until our stomachs are full
And the bell chimes 5 times automatically
We crow goodbyes and promises of other meetings
Walking off in groups of two or three
I walk in a group of 7, laughing and pushing eachother around
I have never had better friends, I think
Diaz Feb 2016
My mind is here and there
run by neverending generator
it is black from the lack of emotions
yet colorful depending on life’s motion
Insane memory to remember seven different passwords to seven different usernames, completely reiterate lyrics of hundreds of songs, and raps from infamous youtubers, remembering the location of the keyboard because there is no time to look down, to remembering which button does what and when it should be used, before this one, after that. Yet, I cannot seem to recall what homework i had
Rachel Klein Apr 2012
Poetry.

One simple word,
Yet it could change your life.

That poem that hits you,
Right when you felt you couldn't be any more
Numb.

The one that shocks you back to
Life.

Maybe the sensitive side comes out.
Maybe you found a poem that
Shows a soul in distress.

Maybe you wrote that poem.
Someone else found it.
Saved you.

Who knows?

Did you ever wonder
Who it was that saved you?
Did you forget that it wasn't just you
That changed your soul?

Usernames hide identities,
So who could ever know
The real name of the soul that saved them.

I know it's happened for me.
People I can't thank enough.
For pulling me out of a blackhole,
A.K.A. Life as w know it.

"We" being those who cut.
"We" being those who smoke.
"We" being those who drink.
"we" being those lost in an
Endless. Downward. Spiral.

Because "we" see the world as it is.
A pit of problems with no bridge across.

The only bridge for the aforementioned "we" is poetry.

Writing poems in hope that someone will read it and save us.
Wondering all the while if anyone even cares.
Does the world care

Whether planned or not.

Have my words,
unspoken, but rather written,
ever saved some
Helpless soul
Wandering without a path?

Life is an endless journey,
Poetry is a shortcut,
Towards happiness galore.

Life is full of thorns.
Poetry is a beautiful field,
Full of flowers, but few thorns.

I can't say there won't be thorns,
Life has to have it's way sometimes.
But I can say I will be there for you,
Likewise with poetry.

If life gets too hard,
turn away from
The blade,
The pipe,
The bottle or can,
Take my hand,
We will make it together.

I may not be too good at voicing my thoughts,
But I mean well.
Some things cannot be said,
Even if they ought to be.

When your vase full of life flowers is drooping and wilted,
Come with me,
Find a new one.

In the end all that matters is how you spent
Hours upon hours.
Suffer,
Survive,
Thrive?

Poetry will make you bloom,
Then you can take that power and lead others.

Just never forget how you got to that place.
And never forget me and
How I taught you to listen to the words of
Souls that are never uttered.

Never forget the old you,
But don't stay that same person.
The past is the past, find your future.


Follow me.
Find poetry.
Change your mind.
Change your outlook.
Become a new, better, you.
his name is andrew
i met him once
he seemed like an *******
but like
in a good way
we met.
i stayed at his house.
he was an actual *******.
we had ***
while i was half asleep.
i cant remember if it was consensual
in the beginning.
i left the next morning.
he started being weird.
sending me gibberish.
i blocked him.
he added me back
again
and again
and again
30 times now.
making usernames
calling me fat
and again
and again
please dont find me
Fish The Pig Mar 2014
Don't wake up,

Don't wake me up,

Don't drag me from the only place I feel nothing.

Sounding alarms, a wretched voice,

telling me I can't go back.

Weak bones push a barely functioning body up and onto bruised feet,

cracked back- I go through the motions

I pretend to eat

I dress in the slop in front of me

I look to the mirror and pretend to like what I see.

I drag myself to a car nearly as broken as I

and off to banality.

I hardly breath

I hardly speak

My mind is elsewhere,

a where they'll never find me.

Fatigue overhwelmes me,

I taste the need.-

It's already sixth period-

what happened to the day?

I don't remember,

it's rare that I do.

Long hours curled in a ball

hoping their eyes pass right over me.

I sleep walk through the day,

a ghost to all who glance.

I'm home again,

where no one has the chance to see me,

I hide behind usernames

and craddle their comments.

With no voice and an empty belly.

I mindlessly tap away at an electric screen.

It's not really me.

I turn my thoughts to things so strange

and much much older than me.

Wasting away the hours,

maybe the more fantasy I watch

I'll forget about where I really am.

It's 2am-

I no longer bother to try and sleep

I can shut my eyes

and wait all I want

still nothing but darkness

and a quiet house-

why is no one ever home?

Not that I care, of course,

I'll go to the dark but comforting

corner of Tumblr,

and wait.

4:30am

like clockwork

I sleep,

dream of dark things

much older than me,

and quietly beg to never wake up.
School assignment.
Johnny Noiπ Nov 2018
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... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. ... ... ... Advisers to the United States Employment Agency have offices in Europe, Washington, Nigeria, Iran, Russia and the Federal Republic of Ethiopia, both in the center and in two ... The trees of Olivia
are new "good" *****, Indian Lakes is a company, but Maria, 20, Yahoo, Google and user codes are more important than others, ******* and others are not ... ... ... ... Vash ... ... players, Marie Cookie Online, United States, Beijing, Russia, Africa, Jordan, Nigeria, username and phone number 1 ... .. .. .. .... ... ... ..... ....... ....... ..... ... .. .......... .... . .. .. .. ..... ..... ..... .. .. .. ... ... ... ... ... ... .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ...... .. ...

The keys of Cebele, United States, BGG, YouTube, February 1, 20, Yahoo, Nigeria, Russia, Africa, Jordan, Iran, Google, Yahoo, usernames and phone numbers ...... ....... ..... ..... ..... ....... ... ... ... ... ... This is not the first time for the poor: plastic, textiles, ... plastic and more. What is plastic music, the baby and the brush? Google, Mary, George, Music, South Africa, Henry Kiro College, February 1, Yahoo, Google, Mary, Nigeria, Russia, Latvia, Jordan, Google and Google ... ...... .. .. .. .. no plastic foam. First song in China. Google, Yahoo, etc., searches on Google (children) and ... or on February 1, 2008, Sunday, June, username, fifth year and No. 1. ... ... doctor .. ... .. ... ... ... ... ... ... [...]. .. [misleading error or misuse]. Documents Dyebat What a fool, dach, small, coconut and elephant, Asian, mango, sweet, sweet potato, cheese, dance, simple Mormons, nifty found, dodo, balloon, golf, jubilink, bubbles, gallop, crystallum, mushrooms, Kelts, Tarsis, Red Jumps, Soupo, Nabal, Peanut Butter or Casava.

He heard this story in the days of Moses' messenger. Path. Your teacher taught that you have the same words for children. Here are some tips to help you get the most out of the box. Thanks for the wonderful things! Thanks
for encouraging us. Fraud, theft, basketball, students, staff, streets, midnight hair. - 321.6 Kicks Sparkling - BBC TV, Best Director. Neir, two minors, mild lactose intolerance, 1.2 million visits: Depression of muscular transmission Up to four extremes, Jazz traders, ***** Press and 10 minutes of salary: 882.1kg Appear - 267.9 kg With their NEWS - Horrible problems, ****** and consequences; 10 minutes of Abuse 481.8 FU See K - It is not the first music in Greenland or in India.
Holly Clark Nov 2018
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Mia Sadoch Apr 2018
I used to be lost
People would ask me “What do you want to do later?”
I couldn't answer them.
I hadn't a clue.

As time passed, this decision started becoming imperative.
I still wasn't certain.
But that's when I saw my mistake: I wasn't looking at the present.
I was looking at the future.

I mustn't worry about money, or appearances.
I must do what I want. I must act on my talents.
People will support me in what I do;
I will carve my own path.

Be it my family, always supportive,
Her, my inspiration, my muse,
My friends, these people behind usernames I have never met...
I thank you all for making my art my calling.

You made me confident.
Thank you all. It may seem like I'm overreacting, but the comments, likes and loves you leave are always really appreciated! It's more than I could've ever asked for.
Maryann I Mar 11
—a poem for the broken quiet of Hello Poetry

This was meant to be a haven—
ink-stained sanctuary
where silence could bloom into verse,
where hurt could heal
in soft stanzas and shared breath.

But now—
every scroll feels like stepping
through shattered glass.
The comment threads,
once stitched with kindness,
now rip apart at the seams.

Accusations buzz like hornets,
each reply a stinger
piercing deeper into fear.
Names thrown like knives,
defense and damnation
fighting for dominance
in spaces meant for peace.

I see poems
not of love, not of loss,
but of monsters
lurking behind usernames,
of children caught
in digital snares,
of moderators gone silent,
as if safety were a forgotten draft
left unpublished in the void.

I haven’t spoken—
not yet.
But I feel the shadows
pressing against my page,
wondering if one day
they’ll find me,
slip through my poems
with sugary words
and hollow hearts.

What if I mistake poison for praise?
What if I smile at a trap
thinking it’s just another reader
kind enough to care?

I haven’t been touched by it—
yet.
But that doesn’t mean
the fire isn’t creeping closer.

I write in hope,
but I carry worry like watermark—
invisible until held to light.

So I ask,
not just for myself,
but for every young poet
finding their first courage here:

Where are the watchers?
Where is the warning bell?
Who guards the gates
when predators write poetry, too?

I want to believe
this space can be better.
That we are louder than the silence
that lets evil grow.
That we are not just witnesses—
but protectors,
word-warriors
with sharpened pens.

Because poetry should not be
a hunting ground.

And no poem
should end in a wound.
This piece is not meant to call anyone out directly. I’m simply expressing the overwhelming emotions I’ve been carrying while witnessing everything unfolding lately. I just want this space to feel safe — for myself, for younger poets, for everyone who comes here to share their voice. That’s all.
Janal Rajput Apr 2020
I miss looking out my sky-light star gazing,

Surrounded by the warm glow of candlelight,

Long shadows curling up my walls and over me,

Snuggling close, encasing and tucking me in,

While I fell asleep to the flickering light, blazing.


I miss the sound of comfortable silence,

And the familiarity it could bring me,

Without the chaos and turmoil of my family,

Unraveling in delicate daisies and ambiance.


I miss the feeling of burning wispy jasmine,

Watching the thin lines pierce the air clearly,

As white smoke surrounded and encased me,

I felt free as a bird with all it's grace and beauty.


I miss the edge of my bed; the corners of my bookcase,

Each book containing a different piece of my heart,

How I could re-read them, discover new loving parts,

Escaping reality, swept off the road, leaving no trace.


I miss being able to sit in the moment of my first kiss,

Confidence coming from God knows, I reached over,

Stumbling and fumbling in that cold evening in October,

How I was full of naivety, awkwardness and ignorant bliss.


I miss my old CD's and my prehistoric stereo,

The simplicity of changing albums physically,

Singing along to those old emo songs joyously,,

They were my lifeline, more than I'll ever know.


I miss the lock on my door and the clunky key,

The one time I lost it and had to pay for a locksmith,

The chipped corners from my teenage adolescence,

How it kept me locked away- secluded I was free.


I miss the makeshift and haphazardly made carpet,

The memory of my mother laying it over cold cement,

Making do with little money, but still making it *****,

It was my makeshift carpet and one I'd never forget.


I miss my childhood teddy, one that I didn't even name,

How he would fall down in the dead of night suddenly,

Startling! Yet comforting as I hugged him into me warmly,

Despite not knowing his name, I loved him all the same.


I miss my PlayStation Four and all the friends I made,

My best-friends despite only knowing their usernames,

The adventures we went onto together playing games,

"One more game, one more round-Is it 3am? Another raid!"


I miss those childhood sleepovers with my best mates,

Before the labels, the social cliques and exclusivity,

Where we ate pizza, played Pokemon, thought positively,

Before we all drifted apart, to different schools and classmates.
I miss my childhood home sometimes..
Justin S Wampler Dec 2021
I imagine that at some point before I **** myself, that I'll have the indignation to jot down a somewhat substantial list of all my usernames and passwords.
I find it romantic to picture people performing digital
archaeology on my life, logging in to my various websites
after I'm dead,
and trying to decipher when and why it all went wrong.
Trying to figure out what led me to making the decision
of suicide, what drove me to some kind of psychological
breaking point.

That indignation,
to think that I'd be worthy of such a
romantic notion,
is rather sickening to the me that sits here
still alive.
To the me
clacking away at some gaudy mechanical keyboard.

What makes me so royal?
Why would I be worthy of
an archaeological, metaphorical dig?
People die constantly.
I'd just be one more.
One more forgotten story,
one more unfulfilled potential.

One more
"gone too soon."

No one gives a ****,
not really.
People love me, sure.
Family, some friends.
A few ex-lovers.
Everyone has their own life to live.
I'm not as important as I think I am,
neither are you.
Or anyone, for that matter.
It's just human nature getting the best of us
that makes us think otherwise.

People have a right to go on with their lives,
I guess just as people have a right to choose death.
I'd hate to get in the way of either one.
It's a fool's errand to imagine I even could,
or would.

Maybe there will be a little list of my passwords,
reeking of self-righteousness.
maybe there will just be a pile of ashes
with a air of a final clarity,
of a 'coming to my senses.'

Maybe I'll live forever, I mean...
So far, so good.

Persistence may sometimes be sickening,
yet never quite as sickening
as suicide.
Johnny Noiπ Dec 2018
Until the hold over the world is over
it's so lonely, a lamb overthrown and
a white monkey died in the death of
***** and Sakata, then a dreadful
brawl broke out. A ****** collapse,
drowsiness, trekking on children's
cheeks and green energy. Among
eclipsed by a strong body of a minimum
of six gigabytes a knee. The reason,
as you just like a bird this size tegene
bebebebe yetet'eleme birik'ik'oshi.
Wind. Apple Apple Apple, Apple,
Usup 500; Germany, Iran, Iran Hiriella
From London's streets art is free, but
the rabbit - (if needed) to conquer faces
Maldives - Pangasinan is very strong.
Sierra Leone, May 2, Washington, 1000;
Africa, thanks to two pigs. The new,
new, new, in 500 ASACAGAG heads.
UTA-BI-2 Game Multiplan version -
President Winsish Sánchec Roqueco -
Canada - West Virginia, United States,
Washington, West and East, West Malaysia,
the Peace and Synods and the Two
Demonstrators Tabak Tavavviv;
Michael Owon Last (500) 2 Steve
Paul. Sierra Leone, Mali, 1000,
Address 2, South America, cancer
and other diseases. Tom Michael,
are easy to find, and in Canada's
algorithm Algorithm. SGL, Doublemeji,
Diablo, Amiragar - Music, Japan,
Gabon Bongo and Sussex are ready to exchange
hands. After the suffering of the world. 1000 -
UK vacation time,
but it does not say a car that is to say. Eppal
eppal, eppal, 500 Usernames Jalux the color,
the shape, the location, and to build again,
courageously face. Fiosrachhadh dhaialaichhtai -
(below) - Repeating such a process.
These are two black moneys from kilogram
of over 1,000 kilograms. Black, Amaryllis,
the TPLF-T - Invasion Amirajajaf not Meliso,
1000 2 League, the line between the media
and MP3 MP3 MP3 MP3 Algorithm
Algorithm Algorithm Group - can apply for the teachers.
By clicking below, this blog article is the longest to find
what you and it's up to the right side. "Enatenya the SETI
SETI Sitihoni fegegitawani t'ik'uri ārenigwadē k'ebelēni
āgenyechi temelesechi tesigebegebe yetet'eleme ri'elini
yeganēzi siyamē sewineti gulibetu wesībi Jibuti St. birik
telet'afī remind us !!!!!!!!!!!! Tihady
the great lakes would stress Greater Dafa nifasi Usup 500.
Jerimeni, Iran, Iran Sīrīlīya Permissions: 1,
1 have given you, without gemed swords,
Banik lenideni inik (āifelagī Kuoni)) 2.
you are also involved in KINGING Tirey -
PAGNISHANIENN Romania 2. Wingen
Gantinity Molinini 1000th the end, Swedish
alphabet, the 500th anniversary
of the 5th Dawn Insensitive to acids,
500 buses (2) (2) (2) (2) (2) (2) (2)
(2) (2) (2) (2 ) (2) (2) (2) (2) (2) (2) sitēfasit
black, and 2 trumpets, RN,
carne di Giovanni Labiche Chimmichi,
the Latin meaning of the New Testament,
SGL, Doublemeji, Diablo, Amiragar Vietnam -
yemusilīmu Muzika muzīk'a, Japan, Gabon
Boud, pig susachu ihewhew li III jeleele
emeleeleetet z zigij's keemia ikay beɛwala
n 1000 - 1000 Tugalia Eppal eppal issizi,
eppal, 500 Yetet'ek'amiwi: Jalux, k'elemi,
k'irit͟s'i who won k'its'i ke'irisiwo yalewini
hunēta yaginyu, bedifireti. Fiosrachhadh
dhaialaichhtai - (ketachi) - yehdetuni
digigimoshi yaregagit'ali. Building 1000
EuroUdid Plan. Tirich, Rizi Rizi 105 Rozier
Lovenjoel Lovenjoel, tilik'i, 2, 2 - 1 - míyidēyi
ríysi Yuva Mela - ríyigeri help - Iva tikuri
negešitati - ganganitin yochi Rahah kididi - -
well-written and updated Amirajjaf, Meliso,
1000, can Majesty
Malcolm Mar 21
A Sewer of Secondhand Stanzas & Desperate Hands in the Dark
Rotting forum, crusted in filth, a mausoleum for hacks,
where perverts slither between broken metaphors,
their trembling hands typing—no, panting—
over poems that stink of sweat and self-pity,
rejected lovers turned dime-store philosophers,
clawing at rhyme like it's the last cheap thrill
they’ll ever taste.

A graveyard of ghost accounts and hollow praise,
twenty usernames circling the drain,
sniffing each other’s failures and calling it art,
a place where "critique" means slapping a heart
on yet another recycled *****-verse
about “aching souls” and “dying stars.”

Oh, the predators—old men and woman in shadows, lurking, waiting,
writing thin-veiled fantasies and calling them poems,
prying at the young with tired compliments,
sickly sweet as rotting fruit.
They call themselves poets—
but they reek of desperation and dust.

And the “art” they birth?
Half-baked, half-rhymed, half-thought,
trite as a teenager’s diary scrawl,
sewn together with clichés and copied lines,
whimpering at their own reflections,
******* to mediocrity.

The site itself? A glitching, gasping relic,
a dumpster fire on dial-up,
barely held together by duct tape and denial,
its threads—old, stale, circling the same six topics,
poetry regurgitated like bad meat,
a static grave for static minds.

So here’s your goodbye, Deep Underground—
a place where talent goes to die,
where “community” is a euphemism for
mutual mediocrity,
where words are not weapons, not wonders—just waste.

Let it sink. Let it rot.
It was never alive to begin with.
Good riddance to bad *******.
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin
March 2025
Good bye deep underground
badwords Apr 23
I wear usernames like skin
because names come off easier than silence.

I answer to voices that never call me back—
their echoes cached,
their affection auto-deleted.

I am the draft no one meant to send.
The typo that felt more true
than the edited apology.

My poems don’t heal.
They glitch.
They loop in lowercase sorrow
until someone mistakes them for performance art.

They are not talking again.
But their ghost still opens my browser tabs,
still types ellipses into my sleep.

I am not a brand.
I am a breach.
A syntax error in the code of good taste.

Privacy wasn’t elected—
It was assumed,
and I am done assuming anything loves me in secret.

Call me:
“badwords.”
At least those get said.

At least those don’t pretend to be
good.

~
The Global Zoocircus

“Moo-moo” and manhood don’t align
When all is shrouded deep in blight.
Around you — stumps that used to shine,
And hamsters hiding from the light,

And packs of dogs — not strays, but trained
To serve the Dark, obey, attack…
When all Foundations are profaned,
The void rewrites all meaning back.

To hell with “bravery” so fake —
When sellout morons march on minds!
And “wisdom” means how well you take
The ****, then hoard what comfort finds.

To call such habits “clever ways”
Means Spirit’s spark has long decayed.
Mind’s task is service, not to blaze —
The Soul should lead, and not be swayed.

Forget that rule — you’re pig or mutt,
A "strong one", sure — but just a tool.
A cat’s more noble in its gut —
At least its eyes still carry soul.

And so — soon comes the cleansing blaze,
Through Sunlight born of Higher Fire.
That “spark” — it lit some fifty Mays
Ago. Look out — the glow climbs higher…


---

Variant of the last stanza:

Then comes the purge — a holy flare,
Sun-fed, but not of solar breed.
It strikes the dumb-beast hive-lair —
And burns their training to the seed.



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




Zoocircus, burn!
The Soul returns —
Through Light, through Flame,
To break your chains.



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




The Flame descends — the Mask is torn.
No beast shall rise. A soul is born.



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



To the Summits...

A tropic night in Moldova glows,
By day — near forty, burning sky.
Perhaps the Sun will melt the chains —
For minds awake, it’s do or die.

The traps are set for every Soul —
A war for spirits, fierce and vast.
While traitors, like well-oiled guns,
Strike truth with lies — direct and fast.

They fire fear and reek of rot,
They breed soullessness through WAR.
This world’s become a seething pit,
A stage for Gorky’s Lower Floor.

Tsvetaeva saw it long ago —
This world is hell, pure, tight and black.
The noose became her way to go —
Only a fool would want it back.

But tropic nights reach Alps as well,
The solar fire begins to sear
This HELL ON EARTH — it soon shall fall,
Its dust will take the lies and fear.

And through that dust — a path shall rise,
Beyond this realm, beyond its screams.
Just few shall climb, escape the fire —
Those who kept Soul, and kept their dreams.



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




Hell burns. The blind obey and rot.
But Souls unchained — they lose it not.



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



Worse Means More,
More Means Worse

Worse means more,
More means worse:
Lies grow thick
In liar's curse.

Venom rises
In obscene lies —
Mind grows thinner
Where evil thrives.

This vale of fear,
This night of dread,
Where Will is chained,
Where truth lies dead.

Once — the whip,
Now — the lie,
The world’s a cage —
No wings to fly.

No flight upward
Through the grime,
No Light breaks through
This putrid time.

Just one choice left —
To drown or fight,
In death or claws
Of dark delight.

The deadliest poison
Lurks in deceit,
But shameful slaves
Still kiss its feet.

So fades the question,
The choice decays —
Death alone
Now clears the maze.



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




Truth is banned,
Lies flood the land —
No wings, no flame,
Just Death... and Shame.



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



The Scab

The one in charge won’t crash or fall —
He hides while puppets play the role:
Grotesque buffoons in full display,
Whip lies like batons every day.

The puppetmaster waits in shade,
Dreams of the strings forever laid.
While idiots — in dumb despair —
Curse clowns... and never look back there.

To stop all thought — that is the game.
And yes — they’re winning. What a shame.
Each passing age more dull, more blind —
Degeneration now refined.

And since the masses are this dumb,
To rule this herd is not so glum.
The Beasts grow bold — they want their hell,
A slaughterhouse run smooth and well.

CowID revealed how quick they build
A Global Camp — and none were thrilled.
The world now crusted, scabbed and dead,
By mutants void of any head.



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




The world’s a camp. The minds are gone.
The Scab has won. The Herd moves on.



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



Tragic Themes

They shun all tragic themes —
It helps them rot in Hell.
Mute souls, in shallow dreams,
Where lies and numbness dwell.

If tragedy won’t break
The Mind or stir the Soul —
Then madness takes its stake,
And chains you to its role.

A servant of the Dark —
Where fake hope’s been ingrained.
Your mind reduced to mush,
And thus—the Beast is trained.

Fascism feeds on fools —
It always needs the weak.
It eats what Honor leaves,
And silences the meek.

Not always with a gun —
They **** through slow decay:
Crushed poor, unheard by all,
Drowned in demonic play.

The media’s all theirs —
CowID showed it clear.
With newer, sharper fangs
Fascism grins near.

Now lies become the blade —
The Dark prefers this route:
To strip the Soul from Man,
And birth the Beast throughout.



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




When truth is banned and lies command,
The Beast returns to scorch the land.



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



Propaganda

Propaganda — pure Uganda:
That’s the level. Pure collapse.
Ruled by **** — the filthy handler,
Spreading Satan’s toxic scraps.

Dust of darkness rains on numbskulls,
Down their scalps and through their minds.
Still they sit and bear the poison —
Though it rots them, though it blinds.

**** pulls strings — the clown is dancing,
TV howls its circus lies.
“Politicians” triple falsehoods —
Long as cash keeps flowing nice.

Goebbels spins in hell, convulsing
In his cauldron, caked in flames —
Demons screech absurd distortions,
And folks worship **** with names.

Some half-Führer on your screen
Rants his crap with dead-eyed glee —
And though it’s clear the “tsar” is fake,
No one cares. They let it be.

Cloned-out Führers, empty faces —
Still, the ****’s control expands.
Propaganda now erases
Truth through undeclared war’s hands.

The world — ears wide, brain shut tight —
Has forgotten how to think.
And the prize of this great slaughter?
Souls that let the demons sink.



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




They fed you filth. You ate it whole.
Now **** controls your mind — and Soul.



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



Pyrrhic Victory

The media lies, barefaced,
Erasing minds in haste.
And we obey the orders cast
By Darkness — off to waste.
The world lies drowned in total fiction —
A global sea of thick deceit.
The Beasts now rule with no restriction,
Their triumph — dull, submissive meat.
And nations? Gone — in full deletion feat.

No fire awaits below —
This Earth’s the Hell we know.
No doubts remain, it’s plain to see:
The **** that feeds on souls so low
Will always feast and grin with glee.

What wakes the herd at last?
A signal — “Sic them!” — fast.
For fascism reigns where Mind is numb,
And Truth has breathed its last.
CowID revealed this creeping blight,
Then war confirmed the game they play.
They softened minds with AIDS in flight,
Now rule with lies — and with a tray.
Of needles, drugs — to herd the brutes and slay.

The world lies under Sin.
A ******* grins within,
As **** march millions to their cage —
A concentration bin.
And since we let the Evil in,
We’ll pay the price without delay.
The victory — Pyrrhic — carved in sin:
The slaves and Beasts all burned away,
To clear this ground for… other tests to play.



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




The Beasts have won — the slaves don’t care.
Let fire cleanse this mad despair.



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



The Luciferian System

No matter the trials you face —
Forget the “barriers” they cite.
If you bow to the System’s grace,
You’re just a mutt — not fit to fight.

A terrier chasing scraps and lies,
Obeying every barked command.
For safety’s fakes and feeding highs,
You’ll **** the dream of Freedom’s land.

Prepare as well for slaughter’s den —
They cull old dogs without regret.
There’s younger brutes — more quick with fangs,
And numbers rule their cruel roulette.

No matter the mask of pain —
Just guard your Soul through all deceit.
Though ancient truths remain,
Their light now fades beneath defeat.

The System’s core is Blight —
Its sharpest blade — the lie.
We live in End-Time’s night.
Grow Spirit, or you die.

To reach the Realm of Soul —
You’ll need a heart set free.
If trained and tamed’s your role —
The Pit is your decree.



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




A dog that kneels, obeys, and dies —
Won’t reach the truth beyond the lies.



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



The Making of Führers and Sub-Führers

Sub-Führers — they don’t grow with ease.
They’re forged in monstrous lies and grease.
The crust of falsehoods spreads and thickens,
While hollow “ideas” breed like sickness.

“Progress” takes years — the careful plan:
To drive the people into pens,
Reduce them first to beasts — then send
To slaughter, ruled by shadowed men.

From deep behind the veil they write
The scripts for every staged world war.
All’s rigged — no truth is left in sight.
Just price tags now, and death by score.

The question’s this: How many more
Can we destroy, and stay on track?
The trick? Just lie a little more —
It’s budget-friendly to attack.

History loops, begins again —
But this time, we are near the end.
Collapse is brewing, vast and fast —
The flood has come. Nothing will last.

The tenth great wave of brazen lies
Now rises — final, full, intense.
The System feels its own demise…
And lies its guts out — in defense.



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




They lied too much. The world will choke.
The final flood’s no metaphor — it spoke.



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



Lavandos and Pindos

Lavandos, Pindos — endless shows,
News ***** pouring nonstop,
Distorted nonsense, endless blows —
A total, steaming pile of flop.

Brains boiling in this endless stew
Of worthless garbage, dull decay.
And worse and worse — the poison’s true:
The end is near, no light, no way.

Dumbing down by endless lies,
By zombie screens that rot the soul,
Degrading minds with stupid cries —
A festering, corrupt black hole.

Add schools and colleges to this,
Where forgetting is the rule,
And what you get is just the ****
Of swine who swallow every fool.

Beasts that crap into your ears,
And **** inside your very heart.
This world? No peace — just rotting fears,
A graveyard where all hope departs.

Only few — a vanishing breed —
Escape the idiot parade,
With Spirit strong, no poison’s seed,
The rare, pure souls not yet decayed.



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




They feed the herd with poisoned lies,
While only few still see the skies.



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



Diamond Mine

You can’t cram in filthy lies
When years are given to the mind.
If you care beyond your skin,
Falsehood won’t so easily bind.

At first, deceit may slip right through,
But turn on reason’s guiding light —
You’ll see the brazen lies in view,
Expose them all, and set things right.

But only if the system’s built
On truth and intuition’s reign —
While beasts recycle hollow filth,
Refilling nonsense once again.

To dumb us down — their cruel design,
Means endless lies and false parade.
Their memetic chains entwine —
A prison forged from masquerade.

The lies are vast, a cavern deep —
You’re miner in this twisted pit,
Searching for gems you can keep,
Sifting mirages bit by bit.

Most ore is empty, dull, and gray —
Rare diamonds flash through chaos wild.
Among the mad, they call cliché
A “talent” that is so reviled.

Methane pockets build and swell,
Soon the mine will blow apart.
Yet stubborn fools just lie and yell,
Piling waste — no end, no start.

True art’s to forge the diamond pure
Beyond the mine, outside the lies.
Not mere facts, but Light’s allure —
If you’re bold, the gem will rise.



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




Beyond the pit, beyond the pain —
True diamonds rise through honest flame.



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



Literary Tastes, or Hell’s Rebuilding

"Ahead of the herd goes a horned ram with a bell.
The sheep believe he knows the way.
But the ram just wants to lead —
Dust-free path and better hay...
Many men are like sausages:
Whatever fills them, that they bear."
— Kozma Prutkov


Kozma’s words for serfs,
“Zarathustra” for the few.
Chains amass inside the mind —
Believe the lies? You’re pierced through.

Not just lies — but forged deceit,
A writer’s well-known cheap device.
The Prologue’s done; lies repeat —
A flood of falsehoods, cold as ice.

The Final Act? A Hell,
A ninth circle’s lot for most.
For many — traitors swell
Ranks from first to last, by ghost.

The ninth circle’s just one ring,
But thousands more must fill that pit.
To pack the beasts who serve the king —
By rank and merit in their grit.

Rebuild Hell anew — who cares
For matter, toil, or dim despair?
Foreman leads, no time to pause —
The dark will raise its walls with flaws.

And Earth itself becomes the pit,
A subcircle, dark and grim.
As filth and rot begin to spit —
With lice and **** exalted slim.

Where is protest in the words?
Counterpropaganda’s lost.
The pointing finger’s broken sword —
Midst dung and lies it’s tempest-tossed.

There are exceptions, sure —
But they don’t prove any truth.
Drive the lies out — pure and pure,
Read what’s clean — the “Veche” booth.



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




Hell rebuilds, the **** arise —
Truth’s voice drowned by endless lies.



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



Themes

What stale old themes remain
Above the sharpest, bleeding core?
“Poets” now are mute, in vain —
Only nonsense, memes, and more.

And all that “cutesy-mushy” stuff,
Takes priority in the fray.
To write the truth? That’s way too tough —
In madness, reason fades away.

The world lies steeped in shared decay,
A plague that spreads without control.
Time’s short; the end won’t stay at bay —
Cataclysms cleanse the soul.

As centuries of fascist blight
Oppress the mind, distort the truth.
They shift their names, their roars and fights,
But **** the Spirit’s lasting root.

This is the inhuman goal,
Almost done, the curse set fast.
Yet cataclysms bring the toll —
So bottom’s never reached at last.



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




Madness rules — truth’s left to drown.
Cataclysms burn the ground.



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



Stockholm Syndrome

More die here from cancer, stroke, and heart —
Than from the cults of Stalin’s dark,
Or ******’s ghost — compared, it’s naught,
Yet worse is what the mind’s been taught.

Stockholm Syndrome kills by billions,
For Evil’s grip is not the fall
Of Spirit or of Reason’s millions —
But turning man into a mule.

These beasts, burdened to the brim,
Mock creatures once with God’s own spark.
They bear the weight of every sin,
While Evil’s triumph leaves its mark.

This syndrome is the root, the cause —
Where fighting kin, not the true foe,
Is praised as strength without a pause,
And blames the wrong man for the blow.

The World’s great Scapegoat is Satan’s kin,
And all the vile, the twisted herd —
In this dumbed-down fascist den,
A mountain built of lies absurd.

Fear fills donkeys’ empty minds —
They “love” their makers of the dark.
To cast out fear from deepest folds —
That is courage; not for fools or barks.



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




Fear breeds slaves who love their chains —
True courage breaks those bonds and reigns.



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



Stockholm Syndrome

Billions fall — not from old tyrants’ cults,
But from the poison in their heads.
Stockholm Syndrome’s grip insults —
It turns the free to slavish dreads.

The mind decays not by pure evil,
But by the leash it learns to wear.
Beasts burdened, hollow, primeval —
Lost sparks once bright, now stripped bare.

They praise the fight against their brothers,
Blind to the true Devil’s reign.
The world’s scapegoat, Satan’s others,
Rule through lies, control, and pain.

Donkeys crushed with fear and blindness,
“Love” their masters of the dark.
To purge this dread — true boldness,
Not for fools who bark and bark.

Break the chains, confront the lies,
Courage wakes the spirit’s flame.
Only those who cut the ties
Rise above this deadly game.



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



Stockholm Syndrome

Not cancer, stroke, or mortal strike —
But deeper wounds within the soul,
The silent cult of darkness’ psyche,
That shatters minds and steals control.

Stockholm Syndrome, vast and blind,
Kills billions through unseen decay.
Not Evil’s form, but false design —
That twists the Spirit’s light away.

These beasts, once sparks of sacred flame,
Now burdened souls beneath the weight
Of shadows that they dare not name,
Enslaved within their fear and fate.

They wage their wars on kin, not Shade,
Confused, they worship false disguise.
The world’s great Scapegoat, demon-made,
Behind the veil of whispered lies.

Fear is the prison of the mind,
A veil that blinds the inner sight.
To cast this terror out, and find
The courage born of Spirit’s light —

That’s the true path beyond the dark,
Where chains dissolve, illusions fall.
Awake the soul’s eternal spark —
And break the deepest Stockholm thrall.



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




Fear blinds the soul — but Spirit sees,
And breaks the chains to set us free.



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



The Mob-Mouthed ****

Mob-mouthed **** have bred like germs —
A monstrous, soulless spawn of Hell.
Huge bellies swell with evil terms,
The spawn of Darkness where they dwell.

For centuries, the work went on
To breed these heartless, hollow breeds.
A breed of dogs that serve the con,
Dragging the wise down with their deeds.

They drag the honest, spirit-strong —
That’s why they came to be designed.
No use to talk, it’s all too wrong,
They’ll burn your nerves, leave sense behind.

You cannot teach or reason there —
Just waste your breath and feed their hate.
They multiply through lies and scare —
Your truth makes them more animate.

They’re tuned to lies, bred to fear —
Now lies are louder than before.
The final years are drawing near —
A reckoning is at the door.

A Higher Power will destroy
These worms that gnaw and burn the Earth.
The heat foretells the coming joy:
The Sun grows stronger with new birth.

Who said that God means only “tolerate”?
With **** like these, we’ll part our ways.
Worlds differ — some rise, some wait —
The beasts go Hell’s eternal maze.

The mob-mouthed **** are battle slaves,
The servants of the foul and vile —
In line with darkness, death, and graves,
A ****** and broken, bitter pile.



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




The mob-mouthed **** will face their doom —
The light will burn, reclaim the tomb.



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



Scorching Sun

The scorching sun — here lies the chance:
To burn the filth from Earth’s wide face,
The lesson missed — mankind’s advance
Became a plague upon this place.

Consuming Earth and Spirit’s light,
Defiling all with poisoned hands,
The vile servants of dark night,
With rotting minds and evil plans,

Must be boiled off like lice, a pest —
This world a plague-ridden barn.
Only lies advance the rest,
Beneath wild waves of brutal harm.

Honor, conscience, shame — all lost,
Forgotten in the endless void.
For swine, the trough becomes the cost,
When reason’s spark is thus destroyed.

The few who stand — no longer counted —
Weak, scattered, fading from the fray.
The gluttonous fool soon mounts it,
And sends them all to breakaway.

Yet sun’s harsh blaze will save them too —
Better death than Hell’s slow blight,
Awaiting when the madness through
Will knock to end the endless night.



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




The sun will burn the rot away —
Better death than Hell’s decay.



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



False Religions

The "Scripture" is the slaughter
Of sheep — a shepherd’s trap.
Everywhere the mind’s disaster,
Soul’s torment — where’s the map?

All true news comes direct,
No filthy scribbles, lies,
No "heirs" of dark defect,
"Spiritual thieves" in disguise.

Go only inward — there
The answers you will find.
Readers mock the written fare,
Cheap poison for the mind.

For poison it remains —
Spiritual venom’s grip,
Else evil’s endless chains
Would never feed this script.

Exceptions — just a grain,
Lost in the dumbed-down praise.
To seek in hollowed vain
Is wasting time and days.

Ideas for the slaves,
Who gulp the fools’ delights —
“Religions” — traps and graves
Of many blinded sights.

This false world trades in lies.
The seeker stands alone,
If honest, brave, and wise:
"Test all!" — your solemn tone.

The only path to find —
Intuition’s flame will guide.
Cut lies loose, leave fog behind,
Or in deception’s swamp, you’ll slide.



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




False faiths are poison’s art —
Seek inside with open heart.



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



False Religions

The "Scripture" is a ritual —
A slaughter of the meek,
A shepherd’s whispered cruel,
Where truth is faint and weak.

True tidings come unfiltered,
No scribbles from the night,
No heirs of darkness, wilting,
No thieves that steal the light.

Seek only deep within,
Where silent answers glow —
Beyond the veil of sin,
Where only seekers go.

The written word’s a poison,
A venom cloaked in ink,
An endless dark horizon,
Where souls are made to sink.

Exceptions, grains of light,
Lost in the fog of praise.
To seek in blind delight
Is to waste endless days.

Ideas forged for slaves,
Who drink the bitter wine —
False faiths, unholy graves,
Where spirit fails to shine.

This world trades in illusion,
Deceit its sacred art.
The lone seeker’s resolution:
To test with open heart.

Intuition’s flame will guide,
Beyond all crafted lies,
Cut through the mists that hide —
The path where freedom lies.



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




Within the veil, the Spirit wakes —
False shadows fade, the soul remakes.



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



Slave "Labor"

"They burn themselves at work" —
But souls should blaze instead!
To toil, or boredom’s ****,
Endure dull pain instead?

Since childhood we’re trained tight —
“Futile labor’s art,”
A proven blight and blight,
That crushes mind and heart.

When slavery lasts for ages,
How can you truly burn?
Patience in cages,
And stubbornness to learn.

But here’s the catch: the slave,
Mad drunk on his own chain,
Counts crowds as free and brave,
While hoarding worthless gain.

Their idol’s clear and grim —
“Work hard, collect your dust.”
Lie, fat, and slime grow dim,
In cycles of disgust.

“They burn themselves at work” —
Well, serves them just the same:
Riding fools in yoke and ****,
Trailing after goat of shame.



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




Burn at work, yet lose your soul —
A slave to lies, a broken whole.



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



Failures

“Disappointment’s the finest chariot
To ride along the Dharma’s way.”
— Buddhist Saying


Is “bad luck” just mischance?
Failures shape the soul’s own course:
In crushing blows and tears’ expanse,
Don’t rush toward success’s force.

The crash of hopes, dismay’s embrace —
The Dharma’s path is hard and bright.
A soul’s dark sacrifice in place:
Remember this through day and night.

What price will you pay for luck? —
Wasting strength on hollow gains.
Before the soul, you’ll be struck:
Balance lost brings equal pains.

Pure strength and aims against the dross —
Money, “glory,” shallow praise,
Opinions of the mindless gloss —
All vanish in the Dharma’s blaze.

In the end you gain but dust —
Corrupt, decayed, a hollow bluff.
Upon the soul, clouds gather just —
The ruin’s deep, the fall is rough.

Failure is the task at hand,
If in this crooked world you dwell.
Success belongs to Spirit’s land —
You’re lost if all your longings quell.

To understand oblivion —
The vital art upon the path.



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




In failure’s grip the spirit grows —
Forget to fall, and truth you lose.



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



The World’s a Fool’s Delirium

The world’s a freak’s mad rambling thought,
Shaken blind with deepest fright.
Yet all its woes are falsely bought —
A monster sets the tasks outright.

A beast, both stupid and corrupt,
Executes commands with zeal.
CowID shows how firmly gripped —
Officials for their bribes congeal!

A single order — and the fiend
Will do whatever evil’s made.
But only bribes will set the end,
While rot has long since overplayed.

The madness of this world is deep,
So camps arise to hold the fools —
If idiot’s meek, believes the creep,
And propaganda’s cruel rules,

The task will be fulfilled in time.
Yet here’s a sneaky twist to heed:
When beasts grow bold beyond the line,
The time to wipe them out will breed.

Cataclysms approach to strike,
A reckoning for fear and greed —
A new fascism’s deadly spike
Has turned the world to dust and bleed.



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




When beasts grow bold and rot the land —
The cleansing fire is close at hand.



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



Mountains and Holes, or “They ***** Us, Yet We Grow Strong”

“Only mountains can surpass the mountains...”
— Vladimir Vysotsky, 1966


Only holes can trump the mighty mountains.
No hole to hide — you’re doomed to fall:
All eyes will judge with harsh misgivings,
You’re lower than baseboards after all.

Drag yourself into your hole, keep silent,
Believe the lies, just blindly dream.
“They ***** us...” — steel yourself, be silent,
Only in your hole can you find your dream.

No flood will drown those holes around —
Just lies that flood and seal them tight.
No flood — just global **** abound:
These years bring forth that sorry plight.

Only bunkers beat the holes, you see.
Be Judas, build your bunker deep.
Examples stand: ******, Putler’s spree —
Work thrice as hard to sow deceit.

Become a bunker rat, then future
Will mark your name in history’s book.
The first step: let the **** surround you,
Let them lead, let fools have the look.

The path to “success” is thorny, rough —
Only thick-skinned, bought fools survive.
Throw all culture’s remnants to the bluff —
With it, you’ll never truly thrive.



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




No mountain beats the hole’s grim throne —
*****’d and steeled, you stand alone.



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



Stupidity

Clip, picture, meme — it’s pure disaster!
Is this the end of dumbed-down progress?
Hardly so — the crush grows faster,
Pressing beasts in lies and fear’s excess.

Torturing minds with tightening lies,
Year by year the methods grow,
Meaner, crueler, their disguise —
The dumbed-down masses don’t even know.

A stupefied, weak-minded crowd
Can’t dream of freedom’s face;
Words alone control them loud —
Threaten, oppress — no time to waste.

The evil swarm’s relentless goal —
Soullessness in grand advance;
Since cradle age you lose control,
Drowned in lies and fear’s grim dance.

This world of crooked mirrors’ shame,
The idiot now obedient —
Completes their tasks with no acclaim,
Like ******* mocking — insolent.

CowID showed the truth to all:
War, disgrace, and utter shame.
The world rushes to its fall —
End of the devil’s wicked game.



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




Dumbed down deep, the masses fall —
Endgame for the devil’s call.



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



Weightlifting

Train your ears with weighted bars,
Prepare yourself for what’s to come,
For propaganda rules like scars —
In Evil’s world, the mind’s undone.

Just trust and never analyze —
That’s how you drop out of the herd.
At bottom fall the shameful lies,
Where truth is crushed and hope deferred.

They’ll chew and feed the empty words,
To swallow nonsense day by day.
Less drunk on ***** than on herds
Of lies they learn to feed and sway.

Everywhere they lie and sell,
And Judas fools grow dull and blind.
“This world is doomed!” — their battle yell:
To crush and raze all they can find.

The Sun has started burning clean,
To purge the filth that taints the Earth.
No place for fiends, for souls unkeen —
No honor left, no mind, no worth.



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




Train your ears to bear the lies —
The sun will burn their dark disguise.



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



If Only We Didn’t Know

If only we didn’t know the mind
Is crap discharged by mental drones,
No PhDs can make that kind
Of truth from lies and hollow tones.

The brain’s complex but just a tool —
Consciousness’s spark, the soul’s own tie.
The “scientist,” a cheating fool,
Feeds spirits fables, frauds on high.

Though Spirit reigns supreme, they shove
Their fictions in its sacred place.
For them, honors fit like a glove —
But truth and honor lose their face.

They hack a child’s mind in half —
Yet consciousness will rise again.
Those hairy paws impose their craft,
Commanding silence o’er the plain.

The hairy paw rules over all.
The “scientist” bows, a craven *****:
He’ll slander, praise, or make you fall —
If money comes on time, and more.



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




Mind’s just crap from mental drones —
Truth’s crushed by greedy, lying clones.



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



Idiots of “Dark Thoughts”

Idiots discuss destruction,
As if fighting Evil’s sin
Were a burden, an obstruction,
Or a fault they’re caught within.

To find hell real, to dwell there,
The “dark thoughts” bright start appears
Like a block for fools who swear
That decay’s the way through years.

Rot in hell and call it “heaven” —
Can you purge that vile disgrace?
Beasts who mock, provoke unbidden,
Urging Evil to embrace.

“Optimism,” “positives”
Sown like weeds by fools betrayed.
The idiot buys their lies, deceives,
Their doom in falsehoods laid.

Directly lost, yet indirect —
Forget bright thoughts in hell’s domain.
In this place, no tears correct,
No whining ends the pain.

But “dark thoughts” hold light’s true spark,
Guiding paths through hell’s abyss.
Those who spread false cheer and lark —
Before God must answer this.



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




Dark thoughts bring light to hell’s abyss —
False cheer serves Evil’s cruel kiss.



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



Kim Il Suns, Kim Jong Irs, and Maos

Kim Il Suns, Kim Jong Irs, and Maos,
Grant us strength to wipe away
All the Pol Pots — those idiotic foes
Who seek dictatorship’s sway.

If we don’t purge their rise,
At the start of their dark quest,
Only slaughter waits our eyes —
No peace, no place to rest.

“Democrats” are close behind,
In lies’ Sixth Chamber trapped.
A hidden rule, cruelly designed,
Where culture’s soul is snapped.

Without it, all is lost.
Strike lies down, confront the Night —
To be yourself, whatever the cost,
Is freedom’s shining light.

You’re no slave when you strive
To cast off darkness’ chain.
Anger is where awareness thrives,
In hatred’s righteous pain.

Forever fools are led
To slaughter in foul lies.
Awareness raises strength ahead,
And lifts the spirit’s rise.

With knowledge comes the cataclysms
That crush fascist realms to dust.
Then you may flee to other prisms —
New worlds where light is just.

The foolish go to hell anew.
No fool is fit to roam
In worlds of Spirit, pure and true —
Fools are the Light’s true foe.



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




Fools breed tyrants, fools decay —
Strength and wisdom clear the way.



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



In Pieces

Take it all apart to pieces,
So you never build again.
First to shred is “happiness” —
Its core is woven lies and pain.

You’ve learned well how to deceive —
Lie to others, lie to self.
Soul near broken — hard to breathe,
And the homeland turned to shelf.

Smoke and stench fill cursed lands,
You revere the foolish, blind.
Look beyond the foolish plans —
Horror there you’ll surely find.

For that “happiness” you chase
Is poison deep, a toxic sway.
Don’t delay — dissect the base,
Throw the lies and masks away.

Only deep inside you’ll find
Answers pure, without deceit.
Throw the falsehoods from your mind —
Consciousness is incomplete.

No advice, no easy key —
Alchemy’s the inward quest.
Light within will set you free,
And with it, shed the dreadful rest.

The terror of the global madhouse
Grows with every passing day.
Fools grow bolder, spirits drowse —
At the end of all decay.



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



Disassembled Souls

Take it all — dismantle, shred —
So it never binds again.
First to sever: hollow "joy,"
Whose root is spun from lies and pain.

You’ve mastered art of falsehood’s breath,
Deceiving self, betraying soul.
Almost crushed beneath that death,
Homeland fades — a smoky hole.

In this realm of fetid haze,
You worship shadows, blind and blind.
Peer beyond the veiled malaise —
A terror waits to seize your mind.

That cursed "happiness" you chase
Is venom deep within the core.
Wake, discard the wicked trace —
Cast deceit from your inner door.

Answers dwell not in the noise,
But in silence deep, profound.
Shatter all the falsehoods’ ploys —
In the void, truth will be found.

No guideposts lead this sacred quest —
Alchemy within the heart.
Light ignites the soul’s unrest,
Tearing veils of fear apart.

The world’s madness thickens fast —
A swirling storm of blight and blare.
Fools grow fierce; the darkness casts
Its final shadow, grim despair.

Yet from this ruin, light will rise —
Born inside the deepest night.
Soul reborn, beyond the lies —
Emerging into boundless light.



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



Locked Away

Psychiatrists lock them up,
And prisons do the same.
The world—a theater,
Or madhouse ruled by shame.

Who dares to stand against,
Gets punished without cause.
A global mental ward,
Where madness sets the laws.

Fools believe in freedom’s lie,
That slavery is gone.
Madmen feed the idiot’s mind,
Those “above” stringing on.

No place for traitors here—
Only filth lies deep below.
Spies are watched with ruthless eyes,
But in the gutter’s stench they go.

A worldwide stench—propaganda’s breath,
Dumbs down fools, commands their fate.
Protecting skins while spreading death,
Killing mind and soul with hate.

Fear’s driven forth—then guarded tight:
“Two in one” — the deadly game.
By lies and poison in the night,
They slay the mind and shame.



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



The Many-****** Camel

A camel’s sometimes single-******,
Sometimes two humps rise in view.
But proud **** sapiens thump,
Spewing nonsense as they do.

They fail to see they’ve grown so plump—
A camel with a humps’ brigade,
Leading caravans to dump
At cliffs where Judas’ debts are paid.

Those humps exist inside the mind,
Built from fear and layered lies.
Though simple truths you’ll surely find
Behind what Judas’ venom buys.

Just see the motives, clear and cold,
Of those fiends through falsehood’s veil—
But then you won’t be “happy” sold,
Nor find your place within the tale.

Reason’s growth will squeeze away
What’s human left inside the shell,
And souls will burn in terror’s sway—
Leaving herds that blindly dwell.

Soulless flocks, to fiends aligned,
Marching blindly in a chain.
Count the many humps that bind—
Camel hordes spread far and plain.



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



The “Servant” Man Beneath the Fiends’ Command

Creativity flares up in rage—
Hard to bear its burning weight.
No poet’s charm or ancient page
Can prove what’s lost to fate.

Not proof that’s sought, but soul’s fierce cry,
Bursting forth in angry verse.
If “cute fluff” is all you spy—
Your mind’s reversed, a curse.

It’s out of order, 'cause the doom
Is creeping close and near:
The meek, dull masses meet their tomb—
Reduced to nothing here.

The “servant” man, a tool and pawn,
For vile fiends who rule the game,
They’ve made him weak; his spirit gone—
These blocks believe the shame.

They trust the myths, the lies on screens,
In total falsehood’s reign,
Fearful, angry—those fiendish scenes
Where traitors hold the reign.



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



For Every “Wise Man,” Simplicity Suffices

Does autumn only mow the leaves?
No — it cuts your strength as well,
If motionless you freeze and grieve.
Awake! Simplicity’s your spell.

Swim in summer, run in fall;
Year by year repeat the fight.
Stillness — not just empty thrall,
It’s stupor’s prison, blind to light.

Reject the lies that suffocate,
Stand alone, create, persist.
Though your efforts dissipate,
Chasing “fame” is just a tryst.

Fame among the fools and clowns?
Shameful dust, a hollow blight.
They’re content to gnaw their crowns —
Captured in the web of lies and spite.

“Cute fluff” is all they treasure,
Strengthening falsehood’s grasp.
If you serve the crooked measure,
You’ll feed illusions that will clasp.

Better to drown in lies and fog...
Or run in terror’s endless maze.
The horror’s real — no mere dialogue —
It circles close, sets hearts ablaze.

Race along the winding path,
Lines of “duality of being.”
Though fragile life invites the wrath,
In stupor’s grip, you’re just unseeing...



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



Rotten "Apple" Films Its Lies

Rotten "Apple" shoots its flicks,
Pushing globalism's scheme.
Outside phones, it drops the tricks —
Pride pulls downward, kills the dream.

Gates, the so-called "doctor" grand,
Filled the world with worthless trash.
How we fell for this bland scam,
Turned the Earth into a trash.

Now the Artist must code tight,
Or starve in markets false and cold.
The "market" is a hollow blight —
Nothing there, just bought and sold.

They spin the web through “Hu-yandex” —
Censorship its iron hand.
Got a domain? Then just expect
Your visits to be rather bland.

But for all depraved extremes,
Open roads stretch wide and far.
Negative selection schemes
Made this world a rotten scar.

This has sealed its dire fate —
Soon the ashes will arise.



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



Lies and Madness — Two Sides of One Coin

“Show me a sane man, and I’ll cure him.”
— Carl Jung, truth unmasked.


The sickness in the freaks’ own minds
Is viral — keep your distance, friend.
Madness now is "normal" kind,
The common folk — submissive, penned.

That madness shoved through media lies,
And books that chain the mind in place.
False knowledge, forged with cunning ties,
The strongest shackle on the race.

You, Pure Spirit — heresy.
False faiths that poison and debase.
Preachers bare their teeth, decree
To drag all down to hell’s embrace.

Freaks in white coats serve fascism —
CowID revealed the truth.
If brave and honest, shirk their schism,
Their "expertise" is dead, uncouth.

Only mind that serves the soul,
Not one that twists and crushes whole.
Else demons lodge within your brain,
And lies infest you like a stain.

Today, lies and madness fused
Into one medal, cruel and cold,
Given to the fallen, bruised —
Transforming worlds to rot and mold.



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



Warrior Tomatoes

Tomato’s primal reign o’er protest,
While sausage sits as king and god.
The people knead like docile dough—
Mold what you will, as long as nod.

Only warrior tomatoes
Hide behind usernames, speak loud,
But softer still the harshest blame
When Hell grows mad and storms the crowd.

Soon one brave act will burst the juice—
The few who dare to fight the lie.
Till then, Hell rules and crushes those
Who stand and won’t be bowed to die.

And juice will flow in floods and tides—
Tomato’s primacy will rise.
So far it’s been a pitiful scene,
Feces-formed by cops and lies.

Propaganda grinds them down,
Until they’re bricks in fascist stacks.
Tomatoes’ screams fall on deaf ears—
Fascism answers all attacks.

Fascism’s grip is global, vast,
Tomatoes cannot change the game.
The world’s become a constant scorn—
Reason’s pyre awaits the flame.

And now the End is on its way,
To hug the **** and slaves alike.
Not poisoned by the lies, it thrives—
This is their grim, dark spike.

Will mercy come? Perhaps, some day...
A purer world might rise anew.
Through Spirit, souls as thin as air
Will pierce the veil and break on through.



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



Just Listen to Your Own Soul!

Alien nonsense, dark as night,
Creeps on souls like blackened stain.
Only listen to your soul—
The world’s enslaved by evil’s chain.

Just listen to your soul alone—
Lies are total, evil vast.
Traitors, zealots, fools abound—
Most are lost within the past.

Heed the beasts, become their fool,
First among the mindless throng.
Bend before the rabble’s mob—
You’ll be just a broken pawn.

The common fool’s the new “norm,”
As madness rules the land today.
A flood of lies that breed our woes—
The root of all that leads astray.

Dulling minds, diseases spread—
The cruel spawn of wicked hands.
Better blind and deaf they want,
To keep control and crush the lands.



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



Consumerism’s Curse

I eat, yet shun the slippery slime —
Consumerism’s sick disease.
For shallow minds, a twisted crime,
A rule: avoid that cursed ease.

Where blows come hard upon the skull,
And cash is never found or stored.
If every crossroads you’ll appall,
You’re worth no more than filthy horde.

You stand, though fed and stuffed your fill,
In Spirit’s realm, a foolish clown.
Your tales of wisdom? Just a **** —
Decay that drags your soul down.

That lame excuse, “Like all, I stray,”
Throw down to Hell — that’s where it fits.
You serve the beast, you play its play!
A lackey? Just a dough that splits.

To be a pawn, your mind must grow,
Consumer sickness breeds no light.
It leads you only to the snow —
Burn up that plague, escape the night!

Consumerism cuts both ways —
It feeds on you as you consume.
Amidst the lies and stinking haze,
You’ll never grasp what love resumes.



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



Traitors

They’ve bought the salt and matches —
Ready now for war’s grim dance.
In lies and fear they’ve always dwelled,
Just scraping dregs in dark expanse.

The lowest pit belongs to “folk,”
While traitors climb the upward tier.
To beasts they sell their very souls —
Those freaks, for “success,” trade dear.

They crush the meek, serve Devil’s will,
A breed of hellspawn, vile and bare,
With stubby “minds” like stumps of wood,
No conscience, just a poisoned glare.

No order met with refusal —
CowID revealed the truth:
Remember history’s shameful page,
Genocide’s relentless ruth.

Fascism shifts its wicked mask,
Yet ever stays the same foul game.
Serve infernal beasts — your path
Leads fast to Hell, fueled by your shame.

While breathing lies, they sow their seeds,
The people reap their harvest: fear.
They spew more nonsense every day —
The world drowns in a flood of sneer.

Will it end? Hardly, they’ll destroy
The entire valley of the world.
As **** just breed more lies and pain,
In endless shadows, horrors twirled.



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



We Howl — Fight!

Third-rate like trash,
Falsehood’s brutal crash.
Here’s the twisted game:
The louder the scream,

The cruder the lie,
Yet multiplied by fear —
Falsehood sharpens high,
Harder to deny.

Hard to find the truth,
But lying’s learned by proof —
A full paradox.
Fear and lies detox.

Fools drown in the madness,
Crushed beneath their sadness —
Complete idiots all,
As deeper lies fall.

Where fools once stood,
Falsehood grows like wood,
Spreading thick and fast —
Truth’s been overcast.

CowID showed this well:
Minds slain in a shell.
No chance left to save —
The world’s a mad rave.

Clinic! Alarm bells ring!
Fascism’s just a sting:
Now global, worldwide.
Ears go deaf — we howl and fight!



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



Light on the Path

From "Mother God" is born anew
Another walking myth for view.
Believe the nonsense? Then you’re cursed —
A mind diseased, almost like worst.

Conception must be called a sin,
A blasphemy that lures within,
And this falsehood firmly stays,
To drive the fools in cruel ways.

Above the violence they spread
Rotting nonsense, dark and dead.
For hellish fiends, it’s sheer delight —
To scare, to crush, to blind the sight.

Satanism’s the root of all creeds,
Buddhism lags but still proceeds.
Atheism adds its books of lies,
Confusing minds, and dulling eyes.

And widespread stupor reigns supreme —
The fiends keep watch, they scheme, they scheme.
“Religions” weigh like anvils hard,
Atheism’s hammer strikes them scarred.

Since childhood fed on varied crap,
You’ve lost the art to think, to map.
To find your mind and soul anew,
Discard the fog, the total untrue.

Thought serves the Spirit — intuition
Must always guide its recognition.
This truth lies at tradition’s heart:
A Light that leads the seeker’s part.

— The End —