Игорь Выхованец, стихи 7801-7900

Игорь Выхованец, стихи: 7801-7900



Убийство Разума "выживанием"

Причинно-следственная связь:
ЖизДнь тяжела => и стал как мразь?
Или рождаешься подонком?
В сём мире различенья тонки.

И так, и эдак происходит.
Тут дело даже не в уроде —
Идут за следствием причины,
Не часто: то не для кретинов.

Есть время, также вневремённость.
А впрочем, УТОПИЛА ВЗДОРНОСТЬ
Движенья тонкие Ума
Средь Инфернального Дерьма.

Суть Ада — всюду ВЫЖИВАНЬЕ:
Мозги и Души на закланье —
Цена спасенья в Аде шкуры,
Плюс смерть Науки и Культуры...



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Быстрый шаг. — Куда?! — Отсюда!!!
Не хочу я быть паскудой;
Стать ей шансов очень много
В мире лживом и убогом.



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Вне толпы

"Среди стоящих беги, среди бегущих стой!"
Конфуций.

Толпа не ведает движенья
И остановок НУЖНЫХ суть.
Их "ум" во власти разложенья.
Средь них быть — Одичанья Жуть.

Куда бегут? Лишь за "успехом".
Все остановки, где тиран
Забор поставил. Их потехи
Стерпеть сумеет лишь профан.



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Сей мир это движение из Дебильего Ада в Бараний Рай

"Важно не то, что сделали из меня, а то, что я сам сделал из того, что сделали из меня".
Жан-Поль Сартр.


Оглупили, обрубили
Все движения Души
К Свету. Всюду Ад Дебилий.
В нём очнуться поспеши.

Залечив, как сможешь, раны,
САМ Ищи и Познавай,
Ведь всегда ведут баранов
На закланье, крикнув "в рай!"



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Минутная слабость

Завершение работы:
Трудно в Аде Идиотов
В стол по-прежнему трудиться,
К Невозможному стремиться...



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Cannon Fodder

Cannons hungered for some meat –
Fools were marched into the heat.
Such a tale brings little cheer,
Madness reigns both far and near.

Fascism shifts its mask and guise,
Yet remains as vile as lies.
But the end is drawing near –
Armageddon’s almost here.



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Murder of the Mind by "Survival"

Cause and effect in this cruel game:
Life’s tough, so you’re to blame?
Or are you born a wretch by fate?
In this world, the lines are faint.

It happens both ways, here and there,
It’s not the monster, it’s despair.
Causes follow consequences,
Not for fools—who lack the senses.

There’s time, but also timelessness,
Yet nonsense drowns all mindfulness,
The fragile motions of the mind,
Lost in the Hell that’s blind, confined.

Hell’s true nature: pure survival,
Brains and souls for sacrifice—
In Hell, salvation costs your skin,
With death to Science, Culture’s end.



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Out of the Crowd

"Run among the still, stand with the fast!"
— Confucius.

The crowd knows not where they are going,
No pause to see what’s truly flowing.
Their “wisdom” bound by rot and ruin,
To be with them’s to be undone.

Where do they run? To "success" they race,
Past stops where tyrants hide their place.
Only fools can stand the game,
Where mindless joy is all the same.



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Phantasmagoria of Extinction

Like a gosling, lost and weak,
Baby mammoth tries to seek
Mom and dad—but all in vain,
Doomed to vanish, born in chains.

Leave your ancestors behind,
All their "wisdom"—never mind.
Truth is buried, hard to find
In the filth that clouds your mind.



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Verbal Diarrhea of Propaganda

Brains get washed—what a catch!
Evil’s tricks still hold their patch:
If not Lenin, Christ appears—
Endless flood of hollow fears.

Schools will gladly aid the mission:
Preach that chains are just tradition,
Push the “greatest” of ideals—
Turn you into slave for real.

Chains can break, but not the lies,
For the fools will idolize
Every wretched, vile disguise
That their masters advertise.

Like a lifeline, they embrace
All the bile their rulers praise.
Sickened minds, corrupted view—
Now the world’s a "Soviet" too.

Once they jailed the sane in wards
For rejecting Party’s chords.
Now the flood runs even wider,
Drowns the world in filth and cider.

Modern media surpassed
Every scheme of tyrants past,
Even Goebbels looks in wonder
As they pull the masses under.

Fools and traitors lead the race,
Forming crowds of slaves, disgraced.
Demons steer them, dragging low—
Drop the filth, let lies all go!



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Feasting on lies –
Poison spread.
Fools have swallowed
Brains go dead...



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This World, a Journey from the Stupid Hell to the Sheepish Paradise

"It's not what they've made of me,
But what I’ve made of what they made of me."
— Jean-Paul Sartre

They've dulled, they've cut away
All the soul’s movements toward the Light.
Everywhere’s a Hell of dismay—
Wake up fast, and take your flight.

Heal your wounds the best you can,
Seek and learn, find your own way.
For they always lead the flock to slaughter,
Shouting "paradise" to sway.



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Closing Ceremony of the Paris Games

Devils and zombies, end of days,
After the rings, they’ll claim their praise.
A celebration of dark rites—
Beasts will feast in satan's sights.



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



Market Crash on the Soul Exchange

Hey, the market's shifting fast –
Psyche's price won’t long outlast.
Sell yourself without delay –
Dumping drives the cost away.

Souls are cheap, no mind required,
Crowds by media inspired.
Through their voices, camps arise –
Digital in their disguise.

On white flags, red crosses shine,
“Care” is preached in every line.
Yet the fiends who stage this show
Dream of herds that kneel and bow.



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Being dumb’s a tougher trade
Than the verses poets made.
You must heed the twisted minds
And absorb the rot they find.



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Quick step. — Where to? — Away from here!
I won't become a fool, I fear.
The chance is high to fall so low,
In this world, where lies will grow.



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"Themes" to memes,
Nonsense streams –
Fools start shaking
In their dreams!..



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Утрата иллюзий

"Утрата иллюзий — это прибыль или убыток?"
Станислав Ежи Лец.


Убыток, коль жаждешь "успехов" в Бедламе —
Не нужен прозревший в Стране Дураков.
"Успех" заключается в "славе" и в Хламе.
Тот хлам затмевает позор Лжи Оков.

Не прибыль, а только расчистка пространства,
Коль ищешь ты Свет на нелёгком пути
Спасения от Мирового Засранства —
В открытом пространстве ведь проще идти.

Пространства Ума — в этом всё происходит.
Утрата иллюзий движенья залог.
Пускай единицы там что-то находят,
Сам Поиск сверхважен — единственный бог.




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Типа "разумное человечество"

Мёртвая ветвь
Здравой Вселенной.
Знает Зла плеть,
Ложь в ней нетленна.




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



The Writer’s Toil

This work’s like mining frozen stone,
A lonely, endless, harsh ordeal.
You need it—yours and yours alone,
Let others lie and call it real.



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



The Burden of the Damned

A sack of lies, regrets, and blunders,
Of dreams that drift to dark, astray—
Doomed souls march on, torn full asunder,
And drag it down to Hell’s doorway.

The load grows worse, the road turns colder,
While fiends divide and lock the mind:
"Survive—just that!"—they scream and solder
The chains that keep the herd confined.

The end result?—Judas and fools,
Who'd sell their souls and never care
For Light or Truth, for heart-born rules,
For Honor lost in poisoned air.

And so the tale of Evil closes,
Its milestones counted to the gate—
Where every dream of virtue dozes,
And rot is all that’s left of fate.



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The Dull Lyre

A bloated bug,
A filthy creeper,
The world’s a rug—
It digs in deeper.

The Lyre hums:
"Love, joy, devotion!"
The shame just numbs—
That’s all its potion.

The parasite
Would keep you sleeping:
"Seize the delight!"—
This world is weeping.



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The Fascist Core of Every Regime

To twist the mind—their master play,
A fascist trick that rules the day.
No other filth is ever found—
The mob's "bright mind" runs false, unsound.

Add to that schools that breed decay,
And through the years, it stays that way.
The fool, once dulled, will rise and lead—
For in this world, the fools exceed.



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



The "Rational" Mankind

A withered branch
Of a sane creation.
Whips of Evil
Know no cessation.



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



The Loss of Illusions

"Is losing illusions a profit or loss?"
— Stanis;aw Jerzy Lec

A loss—if you dream of success in the madhouse,
For fools hate the one who can see through the lies.
Here, fame and the filth are the keys to their triumph,
While chains forged of falsehood still dazzle blind eyes.

No profit—just space that is cleared for the seeker,
Who walks toward the Light through a path rough and steep.
Escaping the filth of this world grows much simpler
When roads aren’t so narrow, so twisted, so deep.

For all takes place in the space of the mind—
Illusions must die for the journey to start.
Few ever find what they're hoping to find,
But seeking itself is the god of the heart.



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



The Limits of "Knowledge"

Blind to "knowledge," lost in dust,
The mind decays, consumed by rust.
The Heart knows more—so vast, so grand,
It stuns the fool who'd scoff and stand.



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



False Faiths with a Stench of Satanism

A savage mask, a hollow fraud—
It’s Satan playing human god.
They wrote their myths, they spun their tales—
Now blind submission sets the sails.

Look Within—the truth is there,
Not in fables bred from air,
Not in scripts of twisted lies,
Where the soul is crushed and dies.

No fattened priest, no preacher’s game,
No sects that shackle you in shame—
Their nonsense bows the weak and frail,
A golden chain, a velvet jail.

These are fables meant for slaves,
A net where mindless fish behave.
Millions lost in blind submission,
Throwing gates to dark perdition.



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



Grasshopper Stew

Masha gets porridge,
Vasya—a tank.
No way to dodge it,
Cyberpunk.



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



Fools and Scum

Fools and scum—don’t be deceived,
Satan’s hands have them retrieved.
Bought for trinkets, sold for vice,
Dragged down deep without a price.
To the bottom, fool—think fast!
He will own you till the last.



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Мрак и Стыд

Расписанье войн и гладов
Заготовлено давно.
Мир под властью мерзких гадов.
Лже-болезни — нью-говно:

Был говнид, за век — "испанка".
Всюду тихий геноцид:
Честный — поступай в подранки.
Разложенье, Мрак и Стыд...



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Рогатый бог

"Настоящий человек состоит из вопросов, настоящий Бог состоял бы из ответов".
Станислав Ежи Лец.


Вопрос — ответ.
Ответом Бред:
Рогатый бог  —
Повсюду след.
Как мир убог...




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Люди и кошки

"Если человека можно было бы скрестить с кошкой, человек от этого только бы выиграл. Чего нельзя сказать о кошке".
Марк Твен.


Дикость кошек дворов`ых?
Там сообщество всегда!
Человек — убогий псих:
Только он идёт в Стада.

Стадо гонят на убой,
Говоря, что на прокорм.
Остаётся кот собой —
Не достанет ТВАРЕЙ Вздор.




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Фатальность различий

"Один человек отличается от другого больше, чем разнятся два животных разных видов".
Мишель де Монтень, XVI-ый век.


Различия фатальны —
Разумным не спастись.
Добьёт  мир инфернальных
ОСТАТКИ их: "Сплотись!" —

Крик мёртвого в Пустыне.
Пустыни городов
В Маразме. В жилах стынет
Кровь редких не-скотов.




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Окружность Души во Мраке мира

Что старость?
Усталость.
Ненужность.
Окружность
Сжимается в Тьме —
Дух тонет в "уме".

Вариант: Дух тонет в Дерьме.



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



Place de la Concorde

Concorde Square—
What a despair!
What’s to embrace?
Darkness in place?

Madness rules—
I won’t comply!
Lies stand tall—
I dare defy!



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



Darkness and Shame

Wars and famine, all preplanned,
Monsters rule across the land.
Fake diseases, same old game—
Different age, but still the same.

CowID came, like past "plagues" did,
Silent culling, genocide.
Truthful ones are left half-dead—
Rot, and Darkness, Shame widespread...



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



Different Kinds of Sports

Forget the litre-ball, and football too,
It’s all just nonsense, nothing true.
Study the tyranny of the dark,
Sports are harder—years to embark.

Checkers, chess, and Go—
They fade when faced with this woe.
So much in sports to see,
As we’re crushed by the beast’s decree.

It’s just the starting stage,
Time to grow into a sage.
A smart young man—like a log—
Through the years, the mind’s a fog.

The champion’s time will arrive,
When you’ve found ways to survive.
But you’ll fail if you believe
That the slaves will ever leave.

It’s tough—this super-sport’s a test:
How to save a world that’s less,
Where two-thirds are fools at best.



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The Soul's Perimeter in the World's Dark Veil

What's aging?
A fading,
A wasting,
A shading.
The circle shrinks tight—
Mind drowns out the light.



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



Sports on the Zombie Screen

"Oh sport, you’re the world!"
But the world’s a foul swirl.
They drown us in pain,
The call's “Attack!” again—
CowID, war,
We’ve hit the floor.

Total media reigns,
Lies are believed,
Sports are their chains,
In a world deceived.

Strong and tough they sell—
Like humans, we’re food for their hell.
The fool believes it, too,
In this twisted view.

The Devil's in charge—
It’s endless, large.



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



False Freedom and Its Funny Signs

A statue stands—
"Of freedom," they say.
I stare at it straight—
Still fake to this day...



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March and Marathon to Versailles

A run to Versailles,
Like hunger foretold.
The Beast rules the skies—
Moloch takes hold.

The signal is clear—
A tradition of old.
Then lies will appear,
As police stand bold.



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



Fools and the Media

Strong in body, dull in mind,
Blindly following the grind.
In the war, they play their part,
Killing off the sacred spark.

Media—new god they serve,
Ruling all with twisted nerve.
Fools obey without a fight—
Long as fear stays out of sight,
They believe the promised light...



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Global Digital Prison Camp

Satan’s law, brute control—
Idiocy takes its toll.
Nothing new—just the same,
As the masses sink in shame.

Low is high in their disguise,
Twisted world of upside-down lies.
Soon, just numbers, none remain,
Human souls erased in vain.

A new Camp is drawing near,
Modern, digital, severe—
White flag marked with a crimson cross,
For the minds already lost.



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Morning’s Duller Than the Night

If your day was fully spent,
Morning feels less bright, less keen.
Tighter schedules—every cent.
Idle? You are less than seen.



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



Obelisk on the Place de la Concorde

Concorde Square—
A "shaft" in the middle.
Brought from the Nile,
Now stuck here, brittle.

Darkness is welcomed,
Crowds bow and kneel.
This they call freedom?
A myth—but it's real.

Rulers are twisted,
Masters of lies.
Here, truth’s resisted—
Fraud never dies...



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In Hell

No wonders remain—
This world starts to wane,
Like branches decayed,
As Hell took the glade.
Its roots burn below—
There's nowhere to go.



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Resting Amid the Chaos

I rest amidst the chaos wide,
For media’s grasp is far and wide.
These forces I shall multiply,
To fight the lies, to reach the sky.

Against the media, the beasts,
Who stir the world’s chaotic feasts.
We must resist, or face the cost—
Or else the beast will pull us lost.



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"Бытописание" поэта...
Анализ творчества? Насрать! —
Не втюхаешь так много бреда.
К тому ж, ещё начнут читать...



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Типа "классика" и прочая...

"Общепринятые книги — всегда зловонные книги: запах маленьких людей пристает к ним".
Фридрих Ницше.


Общепринятые книги:
Пошлый раб, в "уме" вериги,
Зрит чрез них "картину мира" —
От столовой до сортира.

Мифы черпает оттуда,
И, глядишь, он не паскуда;
Мир "нормален", как и он;
Справедлив, хоть строг, "закон";

Дружба, также с`юси-м`уси...
Но какая дружба в гнусе?!
И какая здесь нормальность?! —
Страхи, ложь и инфернальность!!!




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Sellout Teachers of Nonsense

More of nonsense—more belief.
Lies and filth now stand as chief.
Born into this hollow scheme,
Where deceit is law supreme?

If you haven’t—start to ask,
Truth is there behind the mask.
Seek your answers, make them real,
Not the ones they fake and deal.



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The Olympic Marathon in Paris

Beside the Invalids' Dome,
The finish line's a greater home
Than in the "CowID" world of dread—
Old age and staff, yet still it said:
"You're just a fool!"

Exchanged the lies for heresy,
With evil’s grin, they set it free—
Through lies and fear, through filth and rot,
The darkness shows its mighty plot.

But stronger still the rider black,
Who rode with speed along the track—
Upon the water, swift, foretelling
Death in Hell—no "heaven" dwelling.



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Conventional Books

A petty slave in chains of mind
Sees the "world" through books confined—
From the kitchen to the loo,
All he knows, he takes from view.

Legends shape his hollow creed,
Makes him think he's fine indeed;
"Law is just," though firm and grim,
Since the world is just like him.

"Friendship’s sweet!"—yet reeks of treason.
What’s a bond when rot’s the reason?
Where’s the "norm" in filth and lies?
Fear and madness—your disguise!



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The Eraser and the Elastic

Elastic fools—so weak, so hollow,
Twisted minds too numb to follow.
Broken souls, like cans of meat,
Served to beasts—obedient treat.

Bend and break them, twist their sight,
They endure—no will to fight.
Sin is just their daily bread.
Freedom’s myth. The depths we tread.

No escape, no higher calling,
Lies and madness keep enthralling.
Only Chaos wipes the slate,
Crushing demons, cleansing fate.

Yet the Eraser spares the few,
Not as doom, but as renew.
Through the fire, through the flood,
Spirits rise from dust and blood.



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The "Sacred" Shall Perish

The "sacred" fades, its end is near,
Its priest’s corpse rots, defiled, severe.
And should you yield, give up the fight,
Your mind will vanish into night.

Crush their idols, mock their lies,
Laugh at priests with scornful eyes.
For sarcasm is the cure we wield,
Lest to their madness we must yield.



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Famous Figures with Staffs at the Paris Olympics

Clowns with staffs, they pull the sheep along,
The start is near—get ready, don’t go wrong.
What they call "original" is just a show,
For those who can’t see—this world’s a blow!

Once there were muzzles, now the staffs remain—
The beasts grow clever, but they still bring pain.
They've turned us into cattle, low and vile,
The staff strikes—Satan’s bell, the warning’s style.



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The Brand of a Slave

Forged iron is out of date,
But still, it seals the twisted fate—
What’s deemed "good" by society,
Bears evil’s ugly quality.

Not "who," but "what" defines the soul—
A broken, hollow, empty goal.
He sweeps the filth of Earth away,
While his son’s left to clear the decay.



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The Struggles of Knowing This Hell

Once lost, there's no return—
That’s the truth we live and learn.
No curses left, no words to say,
"Blessings" all, like dust, decay.

Poor and lonely, that’s the key—
Only then you truly see Hell's plea.
The full-fed man is blind, astray,
Three-quarters of them—beasts at play.



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On the Road to the Pen

Lost in darkness, seeking grace,
Yet meet the Horns in Hell’s embrace—
For the Pit is all around,
But we fear the bleeding wound.

So, impaled, we hush our cries,
Dare not claim the Devil’s near.
Then we wake with clouded eyes—
See but cattle, trapped in fear.

No more screams, you sell your soul,
Step by step, the Pen is near.
Once inside, you lose control—
Thoughts are banished. Mind unclear.



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Инфернальная Помойка

"С космической точки зрения, Земле угрожают не тартарары, а помойка".
Авессалом Подводный.


Помойка — данность, а Тарт`ар 
Правитель мира потаённый —
Скрывает это лжи угар:
Убогий мир, Злом оглуплённый.

В мозгах помои — главным то,
А следствия найдёшь в Природе.
Разумных мало, а НИЧТО
Повсюду стало "нормой", вроде.



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Памфлет "истории"

"После очищения истории ото лжи не обязательно остаётся правда, иногда — совсем ничего".
Станислав Ежи Лец.


Учебник истории начал читать
В редакторе, мерзкую чушь удалять
При этом пытаясь. Денёк так помаясь,
Памфлет получил, в всех "народах" отчаясь.




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Writers and Poets in a World Gone Mad

A wall of words won’t shield or sever
From MADNESS creeping in the seams.
It eats away—it gnaws forever,
Till talent drowns in broken dreams.

Yet there’s no escape or turning,
Give in—and all will rot away.
If you feed the world’s mad yearning,
You will sink in blind decay.

So build your wall with words unbending,
Layered high, three rows in line.
Every year, the strain’s unending,
For the world is steeped in Strife.

BEASTS are culling fools in masses,
Showed it clear in "CowID" rites.
War and terror—sickening flashes,
Drowning all in waves of Blight.

But hold on—just wait a minute,
Soon the storm will tear apart.
With the crash, the world will finish—
FASCISM FALLS, devoid of heart.



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



The Roulette of Scoundrels

The roulette of wealthy districts is clear: bet on zero,
If you’re a seasoned scoundrel—then luck’s your hero.
The world: it’s TOTAL EVIL that wins the game,
To stay wise through it all—now that’s real fame.

War and CowID have shown it so well,
The crowd is insane, and the slave’s fate is hell.
They’ve called it "freedom," but it’s all a disgrace,
With lies that are brutal, and submission to face.



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



The Use of "Revolutionaries" Clearly and In the Shadows

Che Guevara won’t remain empty,
If the plan’s a fool’s game,
Carried out like a simple plenty—
It’s not a gift, it’s not the same.

To tear the world apart in pieces,
Drowning all in blood and cries,
Promising false joy to the weak ones,
Blaming all the pain on lies—
The plan is simple: split and tear,
And scream "Forward" through despair,
Leading souls to hell’s own pit—
That’s the script for fools to fit...



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



The Poet’s "Daily Chronicle"...

"Art analysis?"—Who cares!
You can't sell such foolish wares.
Besides, they'll start to read, no doubt—
And that’s the last thing we'd want out.



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



There’s No "Mystery of the World!"

It’s bleak, insane, repulsive, and vile…
A half-wit world—what mystery in this trial?!
When you break the nonsense they’ve forced on your mind,
Skeletons in closets are easy to find.

The master of the cupboard’s “solid and grand,”
But vain, cowardly, corrupt in his hand.
In this vulgar world, the wise don’t last long—
The honest, the brave, the true, and the strong.

Yet ruling the world, unseen, a cruel beast—
The politician’s a clown, his minions the least.
Total lies cover all this deceit—
The masses can’t see the truth beneath.

The cause is clear—ignorance reigns supreme:
"Religion," "school," "science"—the world’s cruel dream.
Corruption has reached its ultimate height:
CowID and war sunk the world out of sight.

What’s left to do? Seek the truth within,
Reject all their teachings, their "wisdom", their sin.
Will you find it? Unknown, but at least you’ll try…
Or remain a mad slave, and wonder why.



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



;A Pamphlet on "History"

I began to read the history book,
In the editor, where lies I’d unhook,
Trying my best, day spent in despair—
A pamphlet emerged, with nothing but air.



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



Advertising

Adverts, oh Mother, save the child from lies—
The goal’s not sales, but to warp our minds and ties.
Alongside propaganda, they stand in line,
"Education" breaking, a force so malign,
Crushing thoughts and dreams, aiming high,
The result: fools, with decay not running dry.



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



In the Desert

Stand strong through trials, strain, and sorrow,
Leave fears behind—no more to borrow.
The path is harsh, the climb severe,
Yet on the peak, the sky shines clear.

To reach is hard—to rise is harder,
Mere will alone won’t make you farther.
But vision’s flight, the spark of knowing,
UNTAMED DESIRE, ever growing—

They’ll guide you if you hear your spirit,
Not hollow whispers—don’t adhere it!
The desert winds may howl, deceive,
But see the truth—and rise, believe!



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



Not My Path...

Step by step—
You'll lose your way.
Forget the path—
Break free, don’t stay!

Behold the Flight—
It dwells inside.
But fools march blind
To Hell with pride.



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



Beyond the Quotes

I cast beyond the quotes and traces
All that truly matters most,
Breaking habits, scorning faces—
Such a choice will bear its cost.

Hey, O energy, ignite me!
Let me burn with fearless light,
Till the flames consume me brightly,
Flaring fiercely into night!



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



Olympic Swim in Dirty Water

A school swims through the Seine—
A race, a marathon.
They said "no" to cancellation,
Though the muck goes on and on.

The athlete’s strong in body, mind—
Illness means nothing to him.
The pain of sport is more refined,
Like work that wears you thin.

What’s painful here is simply this—
Only the top three are crowned.
The rest will fade into the mist,
Their struggles lost, not to be found.



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



The Fool’s Endurance

The fool has pushed patience too far,
Though there was plenty, there’s a bar.
Though I’m no saint, and not so pure,
Even so, this test’s obscure...



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



Countdown, or the End of "Civilization"

It’s over now—the people’s fate,
No longer third-class, but second-rate.
Forget your books, so filled with thought—
The idiot’s lost, and all for naught.

Nature rises, fierce and wild,
The sun shines brighter, more reviled,
Year by year, it grows the same—
The end of days has come to claim.

Start the countdown, slow and clear,
A year, a day—then disappear.
Each year it worsens, the end’s near,
The fool grows dull, the stump severe.

A few exceptions won’t change a thing,
Genocide through generations—this is the ring.
Triumph for the vile, the filth, the swine,
As they rise up in a twisted line.

Destroy these creatures, cast them out,
Sacrifice the slave, without a doubt.
In lies and madness, the world decays,
The madhouse crumbles, lost in the haze…



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



Entropy

No true talent stays unshaken
Where the vulgar shadows creep—
Mediocrity is vacant,
Yet it pulls the strong ones deep.

But no sorrow—keep your distance,
That’s the only way to stand!
Else decay will claim existence—
Entropy’s relentless hand.



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



Fallen Talents

They sought "success,"
To express their mind—
But dared not confess,
To fight, not to hide.

It takes so little
For fragile talent to stay,
But to fall, a giant's
Thoughts slip away.

Here it happens often,
The question that lasts—
"How quickly you’ve risen?"
If you yield, you are passed.



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



The Infernal Dump

From a cosmic view, it's clear and true—
The Earth’s not threatened by Tartarus, but by the zoo.
Arthur Schopenhauer said it loud,
The trash of the world, both dark and proud.

The dump’s a given, and Tartarus
The hidden ruler, silent, thus—
It veils the truth with lies and flame,
A world of folly, blind to blame.

In minds, the filth is what we hold,
The consequences in Nature unfold.
The wise are few, and NOTHING’s strange—
Everywhere, the “norm” has changed.



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



Sports Commentary

The commentator babbles on,
Repeating nonsense, all day long.
The world drowns deep in lies and fear,
While reason fades, it disappears.

A tiny breath from that same trash—
A little sip to keep it stashed.
Not "Save our souls!"—no need for shock—
The masses crave the simple flock.



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



Slogans

"Peace for the world"? No, "Nonsense—NO!"
To chaos, that’s the answer we show.
Peace comes when the madness fades away,
For in MADNESS, truth’s just led astray.



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



Rowing for Yourself

In this wild paradise, don’t lose your grip—
Row harder, push, don’t let it slip.
And crush the weak where bread is made,
Shove, defeat—let none invade.



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



Related Sports

Shooting at targets,
An attack on the mind,
When life’s all so shallow—
Sex, money, and grind.

The last sport is popular,
Time to rise and soar,
For the stubborn and proud,
Give them something more.

Records to break,
Games for their pride—
Paper tigers at stake,
If they dare to ride.



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



Innovations in Track and Field, and Beyond

The races lost—"humanity"
Reaches its final plea!
Caught in stupidity,
The law is hard to see.

The total chaos, endless,
Is tough to even spot.
For now, no criminal—
Just puppets in their plot.

They speak, but no one listens,
Their "humanism" a lie.
With those who bow to sinners,
The beasts will watch them die.



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



The Mouse Psychology

Hear a lot,
See but rarely.
Stay in silence,
Hate unfairly.

Scorn the closest,
Yet adore
Those whose madness
Fuels the war.

Praise and follow,
Kneel and swallow,
Never dare to
Call a traitor—
Not a parrot,
Not a monkey—
Madness always ends in payment...



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



Mixed Relays and Other "Equal-Gender" Madness

They mix the relays, races, guns,
A world where gender blurs and runs.
And soon they'll lie in pairs to rest—
For "equality" is best.

Not raised in strength, but dragged to dirt,
It’s easier to rule the hurt.
They preach "fair play," yet all the same,
Obedient sheep are clipped and tamed.

They care not for the "equal right"—
Their minds are wrecked, their souls are slight.
With fear and filth, they drag it low—
The world decays with every show.

They've tested this in CowID,
And found how easily you plead.
How few resist, how many bow—
The crawling mass obeys somehow.

Submission walks with madness near,
Two rails—one track that leads to fear.
And when the fools embrace the lie,
How few remain who don’t comply.



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



"Gender Equality"...

But they are not the same!
Fools are multiplied
By this toxic flame…



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



Branded Cattle

Branded stock—
A world of fools to walk.
Where to go?
From here, just let it go...



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



Approval for Anything

Never stand in strong objection,
What they tell you—nod along.
Twists and turns in each direction,
Power slithers, sly and strong.

Yesterday was "No!"—forget it,
Now it's "Yes!" without a doubt.
Fools will cheer and just accept it,
Blind approval wins throughout.

Say a word—they'll bite and sting you,
That’s the way the game is played.
Yet they’ll bribe you, too, to bring you—
Serpents always find their way.



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



Medieval Ways of the Paris Olympics

Three strikes of the staff—
Sheep, onward, march!
Through water, through path,
Race to the arch.

The prize is set—
"The finest sheep!"
Strain and sweat,
The end runs deep.

A rider storms,
The Seine runs red—
Who’ll take their forms
When sheep are shed?..



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



Pain and Scorn

Poets hold no grand solutions,
Only pain—so let it spread.
They may mock your contribution,
Let them sow their lies instead.

Seeds of evil, sown in treason,
Will take root and rise in time.
Truth must fight—it needs no reason,
Crushing lies is toil, not crime.

Pain’s the fuel, pain’s the fire,
Use it, shape it—make your way.
Demons march at fate’s desire,
Turning "paradise" to gray.

Would you walk with those so hollow?
Doubt it—so embrace the sting.
Poets, gods, and pain—they follow
None but truth—let beggars cling!



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



Modern Cain and Abel

Cain’s the master, Abel’s slave,
The world’s grown weak, the spirit’s grave.
Mind’s a wreck, a shattered glass,
But who cares? Just stack the cash!



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



No Problems at All

A poet’s world knows no distress
When all around is pure unrest.
Though marked for shots in this grim mess,
He speaks—he will not share their rest.

He speaks—while others call it fate,
Their little troubles fade away.
Yet he won’t march with fools who wait,
He walks alone—his own true way.



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



Preparing Vegetables

Archery’s new star, Cipollino,
A fool now—just another hero.
A simple VEGETABLE, he stares,
Believes in madness, opens lairs.

This is how they make a Salad—
A world of minds so dim and pallid.
Inject the poison, send them to fight,
Only VEGETABLES deserve the night.



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



Vegetable Farming

The harvest swells, the crops arise—
But stay alert, don’t close your eyes!
What if one bold Cipollino
Sparks a riot in the feeble?

Labeled weed and cast aside,
Drowned in nonsense, justified.
Keeps the cycle nice and clean,
Rotting deep—but all unseen.

Through the ages, through decay,
This "fertilizer" paves the way.
Call it harvest, praise the lie—
Let the veggies dream of "sky"!



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



Suffocation by "Cares"

No need for "cares" or efforts grand,
To "improve"—a sheep’s life, dull and bland.
What they showed us in the time of CowID—
The bought and sold will bleat and heed.



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



The Beast Crawls Through the Screen

The beast crawls through the screen—
A sheep believes in "history" obscene.
And further still, it’s clear to see—
The death of FREEDOM’s mind will be.



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



The Cuckoo Lost Its Mind

The cuckoo snapped and chimed away,
Few years for worlds that rot and sway.
Around—fanatics, fools, deceit,
Save your Soul before defeat!

Not with false faith, but knowledge bright—
Though in a world of fascist blight,
They call it "memory" instead,
To crush young Reason till it's dead.

So guard your mind—don’t let it break,
Don’t play it nice with soulless snakes.
Stand up, seek truth, don’t just obey—
It lives inside, not in their fray.



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



The "Employment" Medal

Listen close, and you will find,
A reward of the simplest kind:
"Give the fools more work to do!"
That’s the medal given to you.



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



The Poet’s Problem

With no life lived, they dared to write,
Their lines—just fluff for youth’s delight.
"Love" without chains, blind praise of lands…
It’s time to see, to understand!

This world is Hell, decay runs deep,
No time for odes—just wake the sheep!
No whispered songs, no gentle art—
Strike hard with verse, tear lies apart!



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



The Horseman of the Apocalypse at the Paris Olympics Opening

The strongest... fool, indeed:
Games to please the "crowd's" greed!
The beastly Horse he did display—
But may this madness fade away.
They still believe, as always done,
In what the masters say is "won."
The flag he bears, it’s all a joke—
Turned upside down—yet none will choke,
For what is wrong, they won’t see clear—
It’s just a "mistake," they cheer and jeer.
The world’s gone mad in this decay,
The fool’s the sport, it’s here to stay.
But the fool, so strong and tough,
Will run and fight—just can't get enough.
And soon enough, he'll race his way—
Straight to Hell, where fools will stay...



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



The Pitiful "Publishers"

A poet’s book, once prized and bright,
Now just a fee to fill the pike.
So much nonsense, so much trash,
In a world where dreams all crash!

Poets are poor when truth they seek,
Lost in the dark, the future bleak.
Forget your boast, don’t play the fool—
They’ll push us down and drown us cruel.

Soon we’ll sink in propaganda,
As oceans rise and drown the land.
That "publisher"—just another pawn,
In a gang that sweeps all light gone.



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



Sports in the Age of the Sheep-Virus

Empty stands, a masked-up face,
Shots enforced—insane embrace.
Dystopia? No, just today,
Where tyrants rule and minds decay.

Fascism spreads across the lands,
Beastly power in their hands.
More to come—don’t be so sure,
Faith now fades, control is pure.