Игорь Выхованец, стихи 8001-8100

Игорь Выхованец, стихи: 8001-8100



Канем в лету,
Слуги Бреду,
Страха, Мерзости рабы —
Нет иной для нас судьбы.




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



Нет — безумному миру!

Мысли — не причисли
Их всегда к своим:
Тучи лжи нависли —
Ими ум гнобим.

Своего в нём мало,
А всеобщий бред
Львиной долей — стало
Трудно крикнуть "нет!"

Нет безумной власти,
Стыд её рабам!
Крикнуть "нет!" за счастье:
Нет — Гнилой Бедлам!!!



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



Ласковое море —
Позабыл его.
Впрочем, то не горе:
Глади торжество

На реке заменой —
Плавай, не тужи.
В жизДни перемены —
Стало меньше лжи...

Вариант последней строфы:
На реке заменой —
Плавай, не скучай.
В беге перемены —
Меньше. Глупый "рай"...



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



Noodles for the Ears

A proverb’s not a tale,
You needn’t always lie.
But excuses prevail—
“It’s hard,” they’ll often cry.

It’ll be too dry,
Of little interest, yes.
The ear’s become a lie,
Pressed with noodles, no less.



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



Lack of Courage

We lack the courage, that’s the truth,
So fascism’s orders come uncouth.
The fools, they suit up in a rush,
With helmets, masks, and bags to crush,
Together, quickly leave their lairs,
Marching with blind and soulless stares.



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



"The Cup of Life" Shattered

The cup of life has cracked and split—
The filth has conquered all of it.



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



The Lies of the Beast

The beast marks Earth with lies it spouts,
Like dogs who mark their every route.
It’s hard to see through twisted schemes,
When people crawl like worms, it seems,

Within the womb of Nature’s care,
To lies and fear, they all comply.
In short: the lies, the fools, the scare,
Are ruled by filth that’s led to die.



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



Into delusion's grip we fall,
Madness reigns, and tyrants call.
A friend, a foe—what's left to see?
We've hit the bottom, can't break free.



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



The Non-Paradise Grove

No need to guess with coffee grounds,
Or Tarot cards, or mystic sights,
For we’re surrounded by the bounds
Of groves—yet Hell is where it bites.



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



"Mice are falling from the roof!"
That’s how the liars speak the truth.
Now liars hold the highest place—
The fool believes the media's grace.



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



Little by Little

Little by little, we ascend,
Our minds awaken, but it’s spent.
It doesn’t save us, though, in fact—
For fear’s like bombs, and lies like gas.

Lies and fear have gripped us tight,
No ways to save us from this plight.
That’s why so many fall and sink
Into the dull, obscene, and stink.



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



Mental Lilliputians

A tiny pity it inspires—
Not for this was life begun.
Yet still the fool, with mind on fire,
Serves evil, and gets nothing done.



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



Goebbels' Press

Goebbels' media's all around—
No shortage of Judas to be found.
Far more fools who blindly trust,
Deceived by lies, they turn to dust.

CowID and war so bright,
Revealed it all, a ghastly sight.
Like poultices for the dead man’s pain,
The wise preach, but sheep march to their bane.



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



Propaganda and Other Matters

Our Masha stirs the bitter brew,
While one more fool serves bitter stew,
Turning minds to filth and muck,
And law is served with chains and luck.

Masha’s break may come too soon—
In a madhouse or a cell,
Should the beasts begin to swoon,
She’ll follow them, as all things quell.



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



The Pyramid of Social Foolery, or "The Vertical of Power"

The "suits" are parts of the pyramid,
But the "vertical" is upside down:
At the top, the scum are hid,
And the king—a lying clown.



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



The Primary Truth

“Knowledge” often leads astray,
A path that ends in dark dismay.
Humble your mind, let instincts guide,
Embrace this truth, don’t run and hide.



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



I’ve tasted Hell—
It was quite grim.
If Hell's this young—
The damage’s deep and dim.



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



Few fools have fallen yet,
Where's the work for propaganda to set?



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



Football Fantasy

“A goal in the locker room”—then fall,
Lie down and think of times gone by,
A moment missed, though shameful, all,
To trip like that—it’s hard to try.



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



On Parasites, or the Enormous Monstrous Lie

The cat—
A flea.
The man—
A lie: it grows from age to age.
A man, like fleas, on lies will cling—
Even the cat will find it strange.



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



The mammoth’s gone,
The fool remains—
Still won’t die, despite the pains.



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



The Hellish Groves

The groves grow thicker every year—
The human soul disappears here.



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



Where’s the Statistic?!

Robin Bobbin Barabek
Ate forty souls, what the heck…
How many has the junk in CowID?
Unknown—darkness, shame, and dread.



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



The Great Game

The stakes are high, the game is vast,
It’s time to leave, but greed holds fast.
It strangles tight, it blinds the mind,
The end is near, a bitter kind.

You love the thrill, the risky play,
But don’t be bold—beware the sway.



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



The Free Ride

Free ride! Propaganda’s here,
And junk’s new—let’s all cheer!
The bastard’s plans are cruel, no doubt,
A "hippo’s plague" to wipe us out.

It’s easy to fool the mindless herd,
To convince them with a word.
And we’ll die for nothing, cold and stark—
For a new dose of their dark spark.



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



Born to Crawl in Lies

A people born to crawl in lies
Can never grasp the truth’s full sight.
No time to change, for "foreign spies
Are grasping at the country's might."

The same old tale, again, again,
They'll spin their lies for all to hear.
Oppression's root is clear, my friend—
It’s always built on lies and fear.



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



Beer... Culture!

Fate, indeed, is a fool:
Where were you born, my friend?
Happiness—did you not bend?



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



Allies with North Korea

They’re friends with North Korea, true—
“Smart to the smart, and I to you.”
Rashism’s fate will surely bend
With Kim, and guns that never end.



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



Ace Beats the King

The ace beats king—this hand’s a test,
The cards lay out the truth’s unrest.
Above, the shadows pull the strings;
To them, the king’s just one of things.



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



Баранья демократия

Кто будет стричь — весьма условен
Бараний выбор: общность касс
У стригунов. Для них верховен
Клан теневой — на пирамиде глаз.

Фасоны стрижки одобряет
Всё тот же глаз, а потому
Баран в неведеньи лажает —
Свобода грезится ему.



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



Закон

Закон всегда стоит на страже —
Им запечатана тюрьма.
Фитюльки эти пишет враже.
Средь "демократии" дерьма —

Условных прав — в нём красной нитью
Система рабства введена.
Вне нити нормы стали гнилью:
Сума всеобщая — тюрьма.

Коль три четвёртых глупый нищий,
Мир стал тюрьмой. А "наверху"
Сидельцы знатные — пусть сотни тысяч,
То лишь приманка дураку:

Пойдёт "наверх" — систему рабства
Он этим будет укреплять.
Не надо старого тиранства:
Закон вновь будет создавать

Калейдоскоп, который будет
От сути мира отвлекать.
В тени Лихой Тиран пребудет —
Через Систему разлагать

Он будет дальше мир убогий:
Злом деградация — Закон.
И лишь в репрессиях он строгий,
Гоня "гарантии" все вон

Чрез бюрократию и акты,
Что подзаконными зовут, —
Вот настоящие теракты!
Но то прикрыто — знатно лгут!

И конституцию ты можешь
Спустить с дерьмом всем в унитаз.
Коль беспристрастно подытожишь
Всю мерзость, ДОБИВАЮТ нас —

Унылый вывод. То говнидом
Показано, как и войной.
Друг, подчиняться ТВАРЯМ стыдно,
Не жопой коль, а головой

Подумать. Пишутся законы
Для жоп. Для разума Душа
Единый светоч: чрез препоны
На Свет достойные спешат.



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



The Labor of Verse

No labor can summon a poetic spark,
Yet without effort, it fades into dark.
A poem drains both strength and soul—
Lose what fuels it, and lose it whole.

At times, you'll pay that barren toll,
But work, then rest—don't fear the role.
If you're a poet, then halt means betray—
Build your "paradise" in rhyme each day.



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



;A Sandwich with Mustard

Mustard’s the spice of life, so dim,
And toil is just stale bread within.
Yet the world remains so flesh-bound,
It resembles more a pigsty ground.

Spiritual drives are foreign, lost,
For most, that’s just the bitter cost.
In minds, the festering lies take root,
And few escape the muck to shoot.



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



A Dose of Love

A dose of love from alley cats,
Poisoned blood, it’s all in that.
Bonmo’s venom, in the veins,
Awaiting Novus to remain...



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



The Sun's Brightness Increase

The chants of man, with wine in hand,
Claim warming skies across the land...
For over fifty years, the Sun
Has shone more bright, as lies are spun.

The world has sunk in brazen lies,
As falsehoods heat like the Sun’s rise.
It's hard to clear the air, you see—
When lies flood in, so endlessly.



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



The Prodigal Son's Non-Return

The prodigal son, no return in sight,
When madness reigns and blurs the right—
No need for forgiveness here,
Old sayings lie, it’s crystal clear.



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



The Road to the Global Asylum

A mindset shaped by ads alone—
The path was long, yet carved in stone.
The fools grew loud, their minds grew weak,
The madhouse gates are now in reach...



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



The Stinking Slaves

The stinking slaves, the walking tombs,
Worshipping fate, their title looms—
"Just whatever"—their guiding creed,
Pushing others to their need.

They’ll drive them all into the grave,
For no place left for those who brave
To stand against this soulless mass—
Where most will fail, and none will pass.



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



The Suicide Club

Too late to beg, too dumb to trust,
No hope remains—just ash and dust.
We are the members of the doomed,
The world joins in—its fate consumed.

For patience comes a bitter price,
And treason’s debt is paid in vice.
As fascist filth now claims its might,
Beneath the Sun—we’re cut from light.



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



The Ubiquitous Crap of the BEASTS

Believe the crap—you're just a fool,
They'll send the herd to play the tool.
CowID was just the start,
Now tests have dulled the mind and heart.



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



Vegetable Warehouse

Cipollino… Ripe tomatoes…
Will the VEGGIES rise once more?
Yet the lies have built volcanoes,
Blocking out the distant shore.

Cipollino screams for brothers,
But they cannot hear his cries.
GMO turns all to others—
Livestock dressed in a disguise.

No way out, no grand tomorrow—
Only stew and mashed remains.
Peppers, onions, tamed in sorrow,
Bow before their foe in chains…



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



What to Neglect?

Neglect: believe the fools' own lies,
Hope for light where darkness lies.
Sarcasm helps, and jokes will show—
To roll the "fluff" in filth below.



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



Who Knows Where

Who knows where, who knows what,
But in despair, it’s all for naught.
Crap leads down the same dark road—
A path to nothing, as it's owed.



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



;Youth and Age

At dawn, I walked to meet the sun,
Yet darkness loomed behind the glass.
By dusk, my path was overrun—
Bent to the night, forgot my past.



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



"The Enemy" Will Fall, Of Course

"The foe will fall, the fight is ours!"
So beasts send fools to war in showers.
Their goal is clear—more waves, more blood,
To drown the earth in human flood.

They need more bodies, more and more,
For fools can’t grasp what lies before.
It's not about some land or claim—
Just numbers lost—that is the game.



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



;The Gullible Ones

They chased a dream through stormy tides,
Their "joy" was built on hollow lies.
Once more they bit the poisoned bait—
A fool’s belief in blissful fate.



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



Alienation

Scorn the lies of wretched swine,
The dead-souled world is not for thine.
Serve your soul and walk away,
Cast their heresy to decay.



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



Once you were bold, so full of fire...
Now all that's left is cursing dire.



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



;Monuments

They stand like ghosts in graveyard haze,
As if their lives were golden days.
Yet in the ground now cold they lie—
Once minds of strength, now left to die.



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



Artificial Degradation

What is soft will fade away,
What is hard will stay.
Mind and soul are torn each day—
Evil paves the way.



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



"Rising From the Ashes" Amidst the Filth

Rising from the dirt, they claim,
Fascism—like Pol Pot's old name,
Suddenly worried 'bout the build
Of capitalism, grotesquely filled.

"Rising up," the fool’s own face
Falls back into the filth and waste—
For everywhere it’s spread and sown:
Facism’s muck has claimed the throne.



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



Relentless, Talentless

Relentless, talentless, they roam,
Existence among slaves they know.
Yet they're but sheep within the pens,
No chains, but bound by their own trends.



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



The Bulldozer of Fierce Poetry

The bulldozer of fierce verse
Sweeps all the nonsense from the curse.
But there’s no gain to come from this—
The main nonsense still persists.

For since our youth, they flood our minds
With heaps of lies, of every kind.
If you remove that foul disguise,
What’s left is rot beneath their eyes.



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



Building the Digital Concentration Camp

Together we swiftly build the Camp,
A red cross on a white flag's stamp,
The end result of “civilized” ways—
Spirit and Reason lost in a haze.
Or more precisely, their CASTRATION!!!



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



Отсутствие перспектив

"Кто был никем — тот станет всем!"
"Интернационал".


Кто был никем, не станет всем  —
Градация проходит в Душах.
Нет тот в мирке слеп, глух и нем,
Кому чрез день есть что покушать,

А тот кто верит общей лжи
И подчиняется подонкам.
Мир одолели Миражи —
И "призрак коммунизма" тонкий

Был в их числе. Не мало их
Есть, было, также будет дале,
Ведь большинством продажный псих.
А потому мы все пропали...




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



Калейдоскоп

"Особенностью живого ума является то, что ему нужно лишь немного увидеть и услышать для того, чтобы он мог потом долго размышлять и многое понять".
Джордано Бруно, XVI-ый век.


Немного надо для Наитий:
Калейдоскоп из книг, событий
Обычно только отвлекает —
Он Чуйку чушью забивает.




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



Глупые напрасные надежды

"Надежды — сны бодрствующих".
Платон.


Сон прорывается сквозь Бред,
Который разумом зовут,
И трудно Мраку крикнуть "нет!" —
Себе и ближним вечно лгут.

Сон, Ложь и Бред — погряз весь мир
В том триединстве, потому,
Коль Чуткий, неприкаян, сир
Будь в нём всегда, служа Душе, а не уму.



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



Путь к Свету

Черепаха марафон
Вдруг решила пробежать:
Так обычный мудозвон
Будет очень долго лгать,

Что стремится он из Тьмы,
Чистым Светом опьянён,
Средь убогой кутерьмы —
Разложенье в ней закон.

И дыхание он ждёт —
Третье — вставши на втором.
Разложение идёт
Неотступно — сплошь Дурдом.



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



Неведенье как судьба мира

"Всегда найдутся эскимосы, которые начнут учить папуасов как жить в ужасной жаре".
Станислав Ежи Лец.


Пошёл я в школу, недоумки
Там объяснили мне, как жить.
Предатели, вожди всей Дурки,
Как надо родину любить

Мне показали. Не примером —
Велеречивостью одной.
И кажется, я пионером
Под лживой пропаганды вой

Так и умру, от папуаса
Уйдя в Неведенье чуток.
А впрочем, все на то согласны,
Коль вечно на роток замок.




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



Под откос скатилась жизДня...
Типа был ты "наверху"?
Жизни нет — повсюду тризна
По Уму. То дураку

Не понять — борьба за ЩАСтье
Непрерывная идёт.
Редкий Чуткий сквозь Ненастья
К Света отблеску бредёт.

Но Кривых Зеркал немало
На отрывистом пути,
Потому во Тьме пропало
Очень много. В Забытьи

Мир находится: подонки
Рвут на части Ум и Дух —
Остаётся мало Тонких
Средь убогих Ада слуг.

Мир под Адом — инфернальность
Самой главной, и всегда.
Солнца свет сейчас в Фатальность
Превращается — года

Остаются до Исхода.
В Новый Ад затем стремглав
Большинство, так как уроды —
Страхов, лжи, предательств сплав.



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



"Закон суров, но справедлив":
Дурь в нём улов, а в Ад заплыв
Для хитрых хватких рыбаков —
Путь мира, в общем-то, таков.




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



Woodworking

Freight trucks on the highways,
Lumber runs in byways —
Planks and logs, they haul them,
As if people — fallen.

Not a thought of reason,
Conscience out of season...
Thick-skinned, barely human —
Bark-like in delusion.

Oaks are processed roughly,
Raw and loud and gruffly.
Not for any filing —
That’s what they call schooling.

Then they send us, stunted,
To the jobs — undaunted.
“Do with us whatever —
Lie as much as ever.”

Bent like marionettes, we
Bear our fates regret-free.
Papa’s name is Boss-Man,
Mallets in his crosshands.

Beat us, lie with power —
Every single hour.
Promise us the keyhole —
Turn us into weasels.

Bribes and threats in measures,
Dreams and plastic treasures...
Heaven’s just a cinder —
Needs one match to hinder.

Will the flames defeat us?
Will the foe unseat us?
No — the fire's fated
For the damned, sedated!



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



Choked by the Dark, or The Soul’s Last Stand

Seal the path that leads away —
To betrayal, fear, and lies.
Only trials fill the day
For the souls that still stay wise.

Facing doom like tanks of dread,
Armed with Words instead of bombs.
Better fall before the red
Sunlight touches Hell’s calm swamps.

In the light, the weak may choke,
Gasping where the brave would stand.
Call it hypoxia’s stroke —
When resolve slips from the hand.



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



The Death of Natural Farming

The earth bears fruit in freedom’s way —
But such a truth they can’t abide.
They flood the fields with waste and grey,
Industrial madness far and wide.

For sprouts of freedom dare to grow
When soil breathes clean, beneath the sun.
So poison’s mixed in warlike flow —
A global mess for everyone.

They’ve labeled toxins “pesticides,”
And “fertilizer” means pure sleaze.
They turn the farms to labor sites —
Like gulags masked as industries.



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



Brothers in "Literature"
Will ensure culture’s sepulture:
If courage fades, then you will find,
It can't rise up, it’s left behind.



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



To Hell

With Dante there to sell the ride,
The train to Hell is almost leaving.
The scum all scramble, eager-eyed —
The Ninth’s a deal, if you’re deceiving.

All seats are sold. All faith betrayed.
To spread their filth, they’re boldly surging.
Success of swine — the price we’ve paid:
Our moral core is slowly purging.

And Reason’s dead, or close enough —
Perhaps the devils might restore it?
Let’s rush to Hell! Full speed and rough!
Outsin the fiends — we’ll learn, ignore it.

The "Satan's icons" now are men,
Low creatures once from "Mother Russia".
The demons groan in lower den —
These sons outmatch them under pressure.

The war has shown what’s underneath —
Now Hitler spins inside his casket.
This land has touched the floor beneath.
What’s lower? Hell. Lead on, you bastard.



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



A mania of grandeur,
Through every guise it’s pure,
No strength to hide it now,
It merges with the soul somehow.



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



A man’s like a cheburek —
Juicy with filling, crisp and sleek.
But for a lifetime, they pack it tight
With nonsense, fear, and lies to fight.

Weigh the filling, break it down,
Into segments: fear and frown,
Fragments of joy — hold them fast,
For those are the truths that will last.



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



To craft a miniature with care —
A big achievement, if there's flair.
But if it births a vulgar rhyme,
Erase it quick — don’t waste your time.



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



Train to Hell

With Dante at the ticket stand,
The train to Hell is nearly boarding.
The Ninth Circle — high demand,
A traitor grabs his seat, self-lording.

The station roars: its name is "Home",
The crowd is tense, the timing brittle.
Departures roll in clouds of chrome,
The board still says, "To Our Saint’s Little."



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



The Puppets

The puppets dance in sync, delighted —
Their strings pulled tight by hands unseen.
Between the acts, they gripe, short-sighted:
“No cash! No breaks! This life is mean!”

They’ve had enough of whips and lashes —
Now lies and gold take center stage.
Their minds reduced to tattered ashes —
The theater burns, and yet the rage

Is sold as “special stage effects.”
What sense can wooden fools express?
The beams are cracking — all’s a wreck.
Get out — or vanish with the mess!



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



Puppet Politicians and the Sheepish World

Just a bunch of lifeless puppets
On the screen — while fascist muck
Chokes the world of sheepish comforts.
Such a sight — it deeply cuts.

During CowID they were preaching
Rotgut lies with poisoned teaching.
Now they've got a brand-new war —
Hear them wailing, craving gore.

Off they drive the fools to slaughter.
Nations? Gone. It doesn’t matter.
So the world, in grand despair,
Spills toward the devil’s lair.

Hell is near — a brand-new version.
This one needs a vile conversion:
Cleanse the land for beasts to nest —
This dark soil suits jail the best.



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



Slavery

The word “slavery” is banned —
Not by law, but by the mind.
That’s how tyrants took command,
Drowning truth in filth redefined.

Simple truths are left to rust.
A child might see them clear and plain —
But lies, injected from the crust
Of cradle days, infect the brain.

He'll call this madhouse “civil life,”
And slavery — “my right to choose.”
He picks his poisons with no strife,
Blind to how they’re meant to bruise

His health, his strength, his mind each day —
A question just of dosage rate.
But bit by bit, he'll waste away,
His “thoughts” reduced to spite and hate.

All worsened by the early blow
From school, the news, and TV trash.
No life — just filth in steady flow:
A slave, dumb-struck by fear and flash.



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



The few are not in wold the freaks,
So we are Nature’s shame, it speaks:
Idiots, fools, and crazy minds,
In nonsense, years are left behind.



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



Sheeplevirus

The Sheeplevirus hunts across the land,
It drills into the brain, it eats the mind.
There’s nowhere I can run from its command,
And soon you'll find there's nowhere left to hide.

The Sheeplevirus, Evil's cruel test—
A purge of fools in panic and alarm.
They’ll drive me out, like all the not-like-rest,
And soon you'll feel that same cold, closing harm.

The Sheeplevirus chokes out thought and grace,
It strangles honor, freedom, every spark.
To march with idiots is now the place—
A sea of dumb, a million-strong and dark.

The Sheeplevirus smells of fascist schemes,
Designed to break us, crush us into dust.
No “cool indifference” will redeem our dreams—
This evil won't be slain by passive trust.

There once was Koch, a wise and steady guide,
Who taught the world to trace what spreads and kills.
But now, it’s noise and fear that rules with pride—
They make their “gods” from hype and lab-made thrills.

The Sheeplevirus is a war of minds,
A cult of power dressed in SS gray.
What use is “matter” when the soul’s confined?
Even a void can steal your life away!

The question's simple—clear, and sharp as flame:
Will we resist, or bow and live in pain?
They’ll never stop unless we end the game—
So do we fight, or let them win again?



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



The “Magic” of Propaganda

Unbewitched, you don't belong —
Propaganda rules the song.
Any movement out of line
Falls to rot — by foul design.

Rot is shaped through slick campaigns,
“Education” fans the flames.
Thus, officials form a crew —
Thugs in ties, corruption’s glue.

And the masses, led like sheep,
Turn to dullards, shallow, cheap —
The new mainstream prototype,
Built on slogans, fear, and hype.



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



Hopeless idiots, and most of them...

Idiots, fooled by every trick,
They march ahead, both blind and quick.
For without a change in the beasts’ core,
They whisper, “Soon, all will be no more.”

An old tale, but now, it's grotesque,
As blood in veins grows cold, in distress.
The beasts’ blood runs, yet still we see
A protest born from nostalgia's plea.



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



The Toady Folk

Toadies crave a fatter ration,
Crush the world with savage pride.
Luck is drawn to their vocation —
Satan's standing by their side.

Toadies rule as lords and leaders,
Every petty crook and boss.
Fools line up to serve as feeders,
Paying rent to Satan’s dross.

Rent in Hell is paid in spirit.
Sell your soul — ascend the stair!
Honor? Conscience? None will hear it —
Blabber rules the market there.

He’ll explain the "higher missions"
With a zeal that’s cold and grim —
Thrilled to earn his low position
In the cattle pens with him.



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



If only a trace
Of creativity’s grace,
Conquer fatigue,
Cast pity away,
Take the final leap—
And don't drift in dismay.



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



In Their Service...

Not by noose, but fear they slay —
That’s the modern tyrant’s way.
Hard to stand and just be you
When the dogs all cower too.

Few remain with souls intact —
"Serve the Darkness!" — that’s the pact.
Lose your soul — and all you see
Melts to false reality.

Mirages drift to MADNESS' gate —
CowID showed the world that fate.
And the hounds bark loud and tight:
“Fetch!” — they’re fed for blind delight.



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



Journey to Nowhereville

Step by step to Nowhereville —
Every stride’s a clumsy spill.
What is Nowhere? Just exhaustion.
Hang in there — you’re near the crossing.

Nowhere’s not on any chart —
Just a dot in Fog-of-Heart.
Fired up, you made it matter —
Yet it’s hellish, false, and shattered.

There’s a way to break the trance:
Pause, and give your mind a glance.
Look around with eyes unclouded —
See the MADNESS all enshrouded.

On the Path, there is a guide —
Almost instinct deep inside.
Hold to reason, hold it tight.
Chase illusions with your light.

Cleanse your thoughts of haunted dreaming —
Find the Truth beneath false seeming.
You’ll arise, no more decaying —
SPIRIT’S MOTION — ever staying!



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



The Rule of Satanism

Chains of sorrow aren’t by chance —
Evil planned this grim advance.
This “amazing world,” you see,
Is ruled by goats — satanically.

Wars and crises, endless plagues —
All designed to raze and break.
Year by year, the kind and wise
Fade beneath the flood of lies.

Donkeys led by bold deceit,
While fake problems flood the street —
Easily “solved” with broken laws,
While freedom dies without a cause.

Then — much worse. The beast returns:
Hidden fascist fire burns.
Through collapse, they try to win
With the same old game and grin.

Prospects? None, when fools hold sway.
Dark and brutal years await.
But the sun will blaze its way —
Scorching all this rot and hate.



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



Mouse-Sized Happiness

A roof above one’s head often prevents people from growing.
— Stanis;aw Jerzy Lec

The burrow presses on your brain —
You see no light, you feel no pain.
To gather crumbs, the rats decree:
"Lie and praise our colony!"

"Tell the young it’s paradise.
Fear and faith — the combo’s nice.
Lack the zeal? Then face the blame.
Not from hate — it’s just the game."

For the rule is iron-tight:
March in step and squeak just right.
Hear the anthem, loud and shrill —
Propaganda, dressed to kill.

Play along — you’ll find your bliss
In some mousehole’s dark abyss.
Speak against it? You’ll be gone.
Best keep your tiny mouth shut, son.



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



"Жили-были", или Что о нас вспомнят...

"Жили", но не Были —
В Ад во лжи приплыли:
Одолели страхи —
Те, что хуже плахи...




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



Первое Апреля
Праздник всей Земли:
Чушь повсюду мелют,
И в подобье тли

Люди превратились
От таких затей —
В рабстве очутились
Так все у чертей.



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



Творцу

Скудоумье "наверху"
И приказы дураку
Отдает, сомнений чуждо.
Творчество твоё не нужно,
Если мысль не в унисон
С Дичью — это длится испокон.



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



Перепады настроенья
Мелочь, если устремленья
К Чистому тебя ведут —
Снова лёгким будет труд.




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



Почвы для надежд убогих
Много меньше с каждым днём,
Крохи на оценки строгих, —
В "позитиве" ДОгниём.



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



Разнообразь чуть ложь, и можно
Опять с успехом стричь стада.
Обрыдла эта — вновь несложно
Придумать чушь, и на года.



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



Отрицательный отбор

Отрицательный отбор —
В пику Дарвину закон
Непреложный. Лжец и вор —
Выживает всюду он.

Честный-умный — он на дне:
Мало шансов передать
Силу Духа. Так в говне
Нелюдь дальше отбирать

Будет новый глупый вид —
Сатанизма холуйков.
Ложь украсит: "индивид!",
Скрасит цифровых оков

Окончательный Позор,
Вновь "свободу" вознеся.
Тот отбор как приговор —
Не ОЧНУТЬСЯ опосля.



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



Когда извилин в недостатке
У большинства, предложат "путь"
"Прямой" — на оный дурни падки.
Конечный пункт с названьем "Жуть"

Не видится во Лжи Тумане —
И бодрый шаг, стройны ряды.
Когда ж конечный пункт предстанет,
Добавят Новой Ерунды

И назовут всю жуть ошибкой —
И дальше снова "путь прямой". 
Разнообразят Ложь не шибко —
Сойдёт ущербным головой.




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



My Poetry

They’ve torn my verses, line by line—
A spark of vision, it would seem.
Yet what they truly value’s mine:
I never served the vile regime.

But higher still—this battle fought
Against the Rot that clouds the sky.
For words strike harder than a shot,
And thoughts outlive the bullet’s cry.

No hand will lift my voice to fame,
Yet I have done what must be done.
And hope? A fool’s deluded game—
The blind kneel to it, one by one.



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



False Religions

A service held in Satan’s hall—
They praise the weak, they crown the small.
A "slave of God"—their proud refrain,
For feeble minds bring greater gain.

The schools instill the art of sleep,
The preachers lie, the strong mislead.
Propaganda seals the deal,
And blind submission shapes their creed.

Thus, a MAD ENSLAVED MACHINE—
Hoards of filth, deceit unseen.
Greed and falsehood rule his days,
Trained to serve the Dark’s embrace.

Call it "good" a hundred times—
Will that cleanse the world of crimes?
If you trust the painted lie,
You're diseased in heart and mind.



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



CowID

In Bedlam, madness isn’t new,
But THIS is stupid through and through!
The minds collapse, all sense erased—
Pure Lies like poison fill the place.



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



;Race to Hell

"A lame man on the rightful way
Outruns the swift who’s led astray."
— Francis Bacon, 17th century


The world is racing—cash and fame,
A senseless chase, a deadly snare.
And many crash—while fiends proclaim
Their joy in others’ grim despair.

So walk, or crawl, or run if able—
Hell’s road is not your path to tread.
A step toward Light, though small and frail,
Will save your Soul and lift your head.

Fulfill your duty—Spirit calls,
All else is filth, a hollow lie.
Give up your flesh if darkness falls—
The herds don’t race, they’re led to die.



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



"Scorcher," or the Resilience of Ukrainian Troops

A thermobaric blast ignites—
The Russian fiend its fire lights.
Yet soldiers stand, unbowed, unbroke,
Their will as strong as iron oak.

And so the beasts will fail again,
Their fury spent on helpless men.
Civilians burned in cruel spite—
Genocide, in naked sight.

But justice waits—its time will come,
Each butcher’s name will soon be "sung".
No lie can wash their crimes away—
For Russia drowns in dark decay.



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



;Degradation in Delusions

"Mankind has long been lost in lies."
— Laozi, 5th century BC


The ages pass, yet false beliefs
Keep growing stronger every day.
So cast aside imposed deceits,
And let your Soul, not mind, hold sway.

The mind is shaped by fiends from Hell
Through "culture," "laws," and life's cruel game.
Yet thinking still is vital—well,
If reason’s free from drunken shame.

Intuition is your guide—
The Soul and mind in harmony.
Or else the world, in downward stride,
Will drag you back to misery.



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



Don't waste your days awaiting wonder—
This tale is grim, yet all too real:
The vile ones rise, they pull us under,
And rot becomes the grand ideal.



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



Today’s Poet—A Sign of Decay

They fund the cripples, priests, and frauds,
Fake “science,” art that’s made for sale.
But not the poets—what a shame,
A world where truth is doomed to fail.

Want to publish? Pay the price!
Culture’s dead, it’s all a game.
Madness spreads in waves of lies,
Corruption crowned in rot and flame.

For a poet shows decay—
No craft is held in higher grace.
Yet the beasts demand a pawn,
A fool to lead the doomed like slaves.

Driving herds straight to the slaughter,
Draped in “goodness,” robed in lies.
But, in truth, they’ve earned no better,
Bowing low to Hell’s device.



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



They've twisted minds in endless strife,
Where wretched chaos rules the life,
And turned the souls to frozen stone,
While bowing down to Evil's throne.