Правильный баланс Духа и ума

Правильный баланс Духа и ума

Зов Души в убогой жизни
Заглушается дерьмом
Лжи, покорности. Дух, брызни!
Чтоб не жить одним умом,

Ты сожги отвалы чуши,
Что забили пошлый ум,
Ведь первичны наши Души,
Ум вторичен — нудный шум.

Дух основа всякой жизни,
Ум лишь служка. Перекос
В сторону ума — и слизни
Сплошь ползут чрез слов понос.

Тот понос низвергнут ТВАРИ,
Чтобы в рабстве всех держать.
Как бороться в Лживой Мари?
Силы Духа укреплять,

Ложь развенчивать, общины
Строить Злу в противовес.
Не поймут того кретины —
Слишком сильный ТВАРЕЙ пресс.

Единицы исключений
Не изменят ничего:
Неотступно разложенье —
ТВАРЕЙ Ада торжество.

Катаклизм поможет — рабство
Он сожжёт, спасая Дух.
А пока вновь лжёт тиранство
Чрез своих пробитых слуг.




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The Right Balance of Spirit and Mind

The soul’s call in life so hollow
Drowns in filth and chains of lies.
Spirit, rise! Let courage follow!
Break the mind’s deceitful ties.

Burn away the piles of clutter
Choking thought with dull deceit!
Spirit’s first — not mind’s dull mutter,
Noise submissive and effete.

Spirit forms the core of being,
Mind’s a servant, nothing more.
Mind enslaves — and words, unseeing,
Turn to filth and flood the shore.

That foul flood is loosed by Creatures
Meant to keep us bound in chains.
How to fight their twisted features?
Strengthen Spirit, break Evil’s reins!

Tear down lies and build up forces,
Stand against the rule of fiends.
Fools won’t grasp these vital courses —
Too enslaved by their machines.

Few resist, but lone defiance
Will not shift the fateful tide.
Rot prevails — the Hell-born giants
Claim the world with greedy pride.

Only chaos, fire, thunder
Burns the chains and frees the way.
Till then, tyrants spew their plunder
Through the slaves that they betray.



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Banishing Thoughts of Slavery

Coffee, bagel—off to toil,
Daily tasks your mind will spoil,
Push away the thought, "I'm chained,
Weak of spirit, dull of brain."

Got a family? Even better!
Wrap yourself in golden fetters,
Build a world of sweet deceit—
And forget you’re on your knees.

Drop by drop, to squeeze it out?
School has taught you all about
Dodging such a foolish fight.
Grown-up life? Just blind delight!

Youthful fire fades away,
"Just be happy"—so they say.
Lodged inside your very core,
Drowning out all else and more.

Memories? They turn to dust,
Filtered well, reduced to rust,
Shaped by lies that form your views—
Crafted just for you to use.

"World is free!"—they chant and preach,
Only villains block your reach,
Keep you from success and wealth—
Not the WHIP that steals your health…

WHIP—of matter, fear, and lies,
Holding tight its hellish ties,
Strangling thoughts of chains so tight,
Till no slave sees any plight.

Thus, the bondage stays intact,
Where a hollow soul, in fact,
Thinks itself the crown of all,
Drowning deep in filth and thrall.



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Poets, Bards, and Other Scum

For the "bard," a fool at best,
Any theme is not a test.
Love and nature—same old song,
Simpleminded, dull, and wrong.

Depth of thought? A twisted mind?
That’s beyond his feeble kind.
Like a finch, so light and airy,
Singing pop-tune cover parodies.

Cutesy rhymes? They call it art!
Flooded shelves—lowbrow and tart.
All alike, without a soul,
Mindless drivel, bleak and dull.

World’s collapsing—on the brink,
Fascist filth, decay, and stink.
Yet the "bard" just hums along,
Like a madman lost in song.

Axes swing—the forest dies,
While the fool still warbles lies.
Newborn weeds of madness grow,
Chains of fear, deceit, and woe.

Drowned beneath a massive horde,
Soulless, vacant, dumb, and bored.
Yet the bard will paint it bright,
Shaking for his worthless hide.

No way forward—none at all.
Fools and fiends still run the ball,
Spreading ignorance like rot,
While the idiots eat it up.

Three in four—or maybe more—
Dumb as dirt, yet full of lore.
All this filth they try to veil—
Sing, you jester, for the frail!



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Hiring Notice

Building up a Digital Camp
For the minds a little damp.
Real work—no second thoughts—
For submissive, loyal sots!
Join us now—you’ll weep, regret,
Or, if different, end up dead.



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Pretending to be people...

The Cat and Rabble. Whom to choose?
With the rabble? I refuse!
Better feed the cat instead—
He's got more inside his head.

Three of four just play pretend,
Human only in the end.
Weigh them up—their worth is naught,
Only gloom is what you’ve got.



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