Истина тотального рабства

Истина тотального рабства

"Истина рождается ересью, а умирает предрассудком".
Георг Гегель.


Рабы: сплошь рабство — "это ересь!"
Ведь вытеснение сильн`о,
Тотально рабство, Зло, ощерясь,
Чрез СМРАДы гонит всем говно

"Свободы выбора", "богатства"
И "равенства" тупых рабов,
Как раньше коммунисты "братство"
Средь лжи и нищеты, оков

Всеобщих. Если все рабами
Рождаются который век,
То назовут тех дураками,
Кто прямо говорит, что человек

Убогий раб, им правит нелюдь,
А суть правленья — геноцид.
Этап сплошь первый: "Это ересь!"
Но показал тупой говнид

Всё Дно. И малых шансов нету
Такую истину принять
Хотя бы трети. Дальше бреду
Зло будет больше нагонять,

А потому до "предрассудка"
Мирку тупому не дойти.
Он снова обращает в шутку
Остроты о Гнилье, нести

Свой крест готов до опупенья,
Тупея с оным каждым днём.
Неотвратимо РАЗЛОЖЕНЬЕ,
И скоро все мы догниём.



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The Truth of Total Slavery

"Truth is born as heresy and dies as prejudice."
— Georg Hegel


Slaves cry: “It’s heresy that whole world in chains!”
Repression blinds them, fierce and strong.
And total slavery, grinning in disdain,
Drives filth through winds that reek of wrong.

It screams of “freedom,” “choice,” and “wealth,”
And “equality” for fools enslaved.
Much like when communists preached “brotherhood’s” health
While chains and lies dug common graves.

If all are born as slaves, for centuries cursed,
Then fools are those who dare confess
That man’s a wretch, by inhumans coerced,
And genocide is power’s finesse.

The first stage? “Heresy!” they decry.
But filth reveals the rotten pit.
No chance remains for even try
To grasp such truth or handle it.

Instead, more madness storms ahead,
As evil churns its blackened tides.
The world won’t make it to “prejudice,”
Its dullard mind in mockery hides.

It turns sharp truths to empty jest,
Content to bear its endless cross,
Each day more senseless than the rest,
Until decay consumes the dross.



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Глупый спорт

Кто-нибудь да победит —
Спорта глупая забава.
Если к Свету путь закрыт,
Только "сильные" здесь правы,

Спорт хорошая модель:
Цель — от рабства отвлеченье.
Оглупленье также цель.
Финиш гонки — разложенье.

Вариант последней строки: Пункт конечный — разложенье.




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Foolish Sport

Someone’s bound to claim the prize—
Sport, a game for foolish minds.
When the path to Light denies,
Only “strength” the victor finds.

Sport’s a model well-designed:
To keep the slaves from breaking free,
Dulling hearts and numbing minds.
Final of race—decay will be.



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Бендеры

"Бендер пустынные раскаты,
Где бродят буйволы рогаты",
И "русский мир" засел нещадно.
Убого, глупо, безотрадно

Всё в этом "мире". Пропаганда
Одна в ударе: тварей банда
Ведёт послушных дурней в Ад.
Но дурень подчиняться рад...


Примечание. Первые две строки из поэмы Александра Пушкина "Полтава".
 




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Horror

Hark! Nonsense gathers in a swarm,
More fearsome than a wolf’s dark charm.
It births the dull, a mindless breed,
On ruins of their souls, indeed.

A total plunge to ignorance,
Where heresy gains dominance.
A fascist world, infernal, bleak,
Turns every fool into the weak.

The steps of devolution lead
This world into Hell's depths with speed.
Resolutions come on time,
And tyranny still rules the Down "climb".

The puppet master—screens prevail,
Dictating lies that never fail.
Hell unleashed, a Beast in reign,
Guides nonsense with a ruthless chain.

Fear and nonsense walk as one,
Heresy fears its work undone.
The world, in truth, becomes a cell,
Grinding hope to dust in Hell.

All resistance swept away,
A Digital Camp takes its sway.
Decay so vast needs no patrol,
When rot consumes the human soul.

A warden’s watch is obsolete,
The Camp now stretches street to street.
This world’s become a feeble by head,
With homes as cages yet unsaid.

The lessons learned from Pol Pot’s hand—
They'll drag the fools from flats—they’ve planned.
But for now, these finite minds,
Chase their pleasures—time confined...



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The Final Drop

When you're so close, the end's in sight,
Yet pain turns steps to endless night—
Then push yourself, give all you've got,
And squeeze out every final drop.

In battles fierce, where odds betray,
Persistence paves the victor’s way.
When nothing’s left, no strength remains,
It’s that last drop that breaks the chains.



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The Chainsaw

The chainsaw of family life — the wife,
Her fuel? The mother-in-law, in strife.
And on nonsense, blood will spill anew —
A fool loves stereotypes that he knew.



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The Yo-Yo Generation

A million wants, a thousand dreams,
But never trials, so it seems.
They crave it all without the fight—
The yo-yo jumps, a fleeting flight.

A world of toys, so sweet, so plain,
Where simple minds bring little pain.
And who’s the hand that pulls the string?
They hardly care about the thing.



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Expanding Perception

The prison of sight—
A cursed, narrow blight.
A world confined,
Where thought is blind;
The soul stands lone,
No god to own.
But God is Light,
A boundless height—
Break free, take flight!



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False Identity

A fiction, yet the tone is right,
The look’s refined, the words polite.
Erudite, a "brilliant" guise,
But truth-seeking? That part dies.

Unlike the rats, who sometimes dare
To leave the maze for paths unclear,
Human search is all but lost—
A lie-filled maze exacts the cost.

The search for light, the soul’s true trait,
Is what defends from fear and hate.
It bows to truth, not power’s sway—
But in the few, this truth will stay.

The labyrinth of soulless minds
Has brought the world to dark confines.
Your fate is sealed, if you comply,
A docile pawn, afraid to try.

True self resists, it won’t obey;
The search is work that won’t betray.
All else is falsehood, built to snare—
And cunning beasts just keep you there.



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A Greek Rode Through the River

A Greek rode forth across the stream,
But filth replaced the water’s gleam.
What’s the point of journeys grand,
If The Chaos reigns in every land?



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