63 poems

Cattle

Here dullness and slavish submission
Have long overstepped every line.
The herd lost all sense of contrition —
It kneels before filth like a shrine.

It knows not it’s fallen, degraded,
Nor sees what it’s doing below.
By monsters it’s stung and invaded —
Yet only can eat, sleep, and grow.

They’re not even people — just remnants,
With souls that are crippled or gone.
They’re meat for the fascist attendants —
Who serve on their banquet of scorn.

Their “minds” are mere habits implanted,
From childhood — to think as they’re told.
Alone, they seem almost enchanted,
Together — a madhouse unfolds.

The wise are near gone, like ascetics
Among greedy merchants and fools.
No hope — the decay is prophetic,
No dawn for these darkness-wracked schools.

The cowardly herd will trample
The last of the lucid and brave.
No point to feel hurt or to sample
Regret — time to flee this grave.

Let spirits abandon this dwelling,
This Hell that’s already made flesh —
Or soon they’ll be forced into yelling
Praise to the fascist’s mesh.

But the Sun comes forth in its power,
To burn all corruption away.
Too late now to pray in this hour —
We failed to be Dew of the Day.

For Mind is not split into races —
It’s One, an unbounded Sea.
Not herds in their servile places
Of fascist parody.

I don’t know where few still living
Will steer their final flight —
But may it in visions be given
To those who kept Spirit bright.



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Epitaph

They called it mankind once —
Now it just moos in unison.



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The Fall of the Herd
(A Scroll of the Last Dawn)

Preface — Warning to the Reader
This scroll is not for the faint of heart.
Within lie the cries of the hollow, the laughter of the doomed, and the fire that cleanses all.
Read, if you dare — but know:
The herd is already fallen,
And only Spirit will rise from the ashes.

Epigraph:
When Spirit withdrew, flesh sang —
And called its rot “life.”

I. Battle Cry
Crawl, herd of the hollow and numb —
Your chains are your holy creed.
The fire will strike — you’ll become
The ashes your masters feed.

II. Divine Comedy (of Cattle)
Bow lower, proud slaves of decay —
Your filth is your flag, well-worn.
You’re sure you have something to say —
But only the flies are born.

III. Before the Fire
The herd shall choke on its lies,
The Sun will tear the veil.
From ashes the Spirit will rise —
The beasts will not prevail.

IV. The Verdict
No mercy. No more disguise.
The herd had its final feast.
Now watch — as the Heavens rise,
And silence devours the beast.

Postscript — The Sun Speaks
I burn not to punish,
but to remind:
Only Light survives
when blindness dies.

Seal of the Sun
Blind shall burn.
The Seeing shall become Light.



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The Fall of the Herd — Manifesto

Crawl, hollow herd, numb and blind,
Your chains are holy, your masters kind.
Bow to your filth, salute decay,
The fire will strike, burn all away.

The herd chokes on lies it feeds,
The Sun tears veils, devours your seeds.
From ashes rises Spirit bright,
Beasts fall silent in the Light.

No mercy, no disguise,
Your final feast — your last lies.
Blind shall burn, the Seeing rise,
Only Light survives when blindness dies.



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The Mark

Blind burn.
Seeing rise.
Only Light survives.



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The Jest

Kneel, fools, your filth is praised.
Even the flies laugh at your parade.



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Horror of Non-Being

More terrible than terror itself
Is all your life’s span.
Clearer than clarity itself
That no day began

Without thinking
Of this very Hell.
And what’s the sum?
The whole world fell

Apart, torn to shreds,
The world is lost —
It plunges into the abyss,
The ninth wave’s cost.

A flood of filthy lies
Has smothered all here.
Wounds weigh on hearts,
All around — whine and fear.

All just moan —
Weak is the fight.
Idiots howl.
The slave’s plight.

Already we’re fed up —
BLOW THIS HELL TO SKY!
For our neighbors’ sake, shame —
Fascist filth runs high.

He’s built a death camp
For every one of us.
Such shit!!!
And forever?—thus?

The Sun will save us —
Burn all Bedlam down.
Every last bit.
Tremble, you clown!

For betraying here
Mind and Spirit’s spark…
Yet that’s Victory
For all of us — and the dark

Servants of filthy non-humans
Will meet their doom.
God will account for
The mad mob’s gloom.

You will rise again,
If your Spirit is strong.
You will return
To where the Brave belong.

There awaits only those
Who kept Honor bright.
Die with skill —
The time has come to fight.



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Rage Against the Abyss

Blow this Hell to sky!
Let the Sun burn lies.
Only the Brave survive,
While the filth dies.



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The Jest of Fate

Kneel, fools, your Hell is praised.
Even the dead laugh at your parade.



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Cynics in the Clinic

Illiterate fools
Topple so-called science today,
Lying schizophrenics
Dive into esoterica to lecture and sway.

It all looks like a clinic —
They push the wild, crush the last of Mind.
And to stay uncynical
Is impossible — a flood of broken freaks groans and lies combined!



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



Clinic of Fools

Fools topple science, lies abound,
Madmen preach while reason drowns.
The Mind is crushed, the herd will moan —
Cynicism’s seed has fully grown.



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The Stamp

Fools preach, the sane despair.
Madness reigns — do you even care?



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



I, the Pig

I’ll wed a monkey
Scruffy, dull, and blind.
Truth I seek in a glass,
As father fascism’s malice grinds.

The F;hrer is my messiah,
The monkey proud, a patriot too.
And years of chaos fly by,
While the idiot reigns, it’s true.

Behold him, king of nature —
Strong by sheer majority.
“Smart ones,” they call themselves —
But now, your fate’s impurity.

They mow you down — the reaper
Is the monkey, and yes, me.
No rebirth awaits you here —
For only a PIG is needed, see.



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Only a Pig

Wed the monkey, drunk with lies,
Idiot reigns while reason dies.
The reaper’s laugh — the fate is clear:
No one survives, except the pig here.



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The Seal

Idiot rules, the monkey cheers.
Only the pig remains through years.



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



Involution

The involution of fascism —
Now just a cargo cult, absurd:
They shove super-enemas in brains,
And drive the Spirit from the world.

The filthy media stinks
Across this tiny sphere — Mind out!
Creatures kill with lies,
Super-lies in combat tout.

“Super-,” “ultra-,” long in ads,
“Two-in-one” you’ll meet as well.
In this Global Bedlam madness,
Don’t touch the cargo cults that dwell.

Involution of Consciousness —
Hence the cargo, hence the pain.
No limit to the torture here
Of lost souls… soon nothing remains.

Instead of souls, foul carcasses.
Those corpses “healed” with poison slow.
“Doctors” in their crosshairs,
Rotting while the fools bestow.

“Two-in-one” — fascism and “healing.”
“Three-in-one” — add cretinism too.
Very few exceptions exist —
Everything swiftly spirals through.



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



Cargo Hell

Brains flushed with super-lies,
Spirit crushed as freedom dies.
Fascism heals? A deadly jest —
Only the damned escape this mess.



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The Seal of Cargo

Fascism “heals,” the Spirit flees.
Brains rot fast — only fools believe.



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



Shit or Samsara?

Filth and fear, lies roof-high,
Stupidity, rudeness, sticky dread.
Darkness of traitors — hear them cry,
And know: the end is near, widespread.

And why did these creatures sell?
For mere pennies, the BLOOD-MOST.
It’s not about Samsara at all —
The vile beasts’ triumph is the cost.

Degradation!!! Samsara here
Is irrelevant. Shit rises on yeast:
Losers rule, a roof-eater,
Money-worshipping god, unleashed.

For cash, these beasts betray and kill,
The whole world drowned in their spree.
The few — they count for nothing still,
Ignored, while masses breed debris.

Non-humans have no exceptions —
Crushed by vile, pathetic throngs.
Extermination through sheer collections —
The method fails? No, it belongs.

The best method is the simplest yet —
A filthy fool, like a thief, misled.
Turn this creature against the rest —
Lie more, and feed them dread.

A bright example: CowID,
In CowID lands, fake doctors reign.
Protocols executed without a slip,
Like executioners, they bring the pain.



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



Shit or Samsara

Filth rules, lies soar high,
Fools obey while the Spirit dies.
Cash crowns the traitors’ spree —
Only the few will ever be free.



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



The Seal

Fools worship cash, the Spirit crushed.
Lies rule all — only the few rise.



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



Slow Execution

The execution continues —
Life in a wretched world.
Only scum celebrate,
While you walk light, unfurled.

Doubts fall away,
Fears, all lies too.
Though decay surrounds,
Multiply the Spirit in you.

After the execution,
You’ll soar to other spheres…
Perhaps… all the daytime nightmares
Will vanish from your years.

Very little remains,
If your Spirit is strong.
To hell with fear and fatigue —
You’re an arrow, the bow drawn long.

Flying from Hell,
Forget it all within —
Joy is only for the weak here.
For the wise, execution or path begins.

The path from Hell can be swift —
Like an arrow through the gloom…
But the wearisome way
Is the “ass’s path” through doom.

Yet being an ass is better
Than a dull, mindless sheep.
The clouds thicken here —
We do not live, we rot beneath.

This execution by decay —
Thus Spirit is slain.
So cast away all doubts —
Out!!! Seek the Path or the Bow again.



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Arrow from Hell

Doubts fall, lies burn away,
Spirit grows where decay holds sway.
Fly from Hell, forget the blight,
Seek the Path — or draw the Bow right.



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



The Seal of Decay

Rot reigns, the weak rejoice,
The Spirit flies — hear its voice.



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The Debilization of a Country

"In the name of what do embezzlers
Rush in crowds to patriot’s claim?
In the name of what, like riddles,
Must the truth be written plain?"
— Sasha Chyorny, "In the Name of What?", 1911


The debilization of a country
Matters more than mines or energy.
Declaring war is now the path
To progress — and politics’ strategy.

A bribed fool is more precious
Than all intellect combined.
If you steal — you’re patriotic,
If you thug — socially aligned.

If honest, you’ll be deemed the foe
Among the worthless, base, and vile.
But these scum rule not with rods,
They reign by lies, their only style.

From every press, the poison flows:
CowID, the war — proof, indeed.
The country’s not just full of fools —
But debils, boundless in their greed.

Madness seeps through every crack,
Through every door of the meek.
Don’t want to be killed by filth?
Fight the vile with all the strength you seek.



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



The Country of Fools

Bribed fools rule, lies reign high,
Madness spreads as reason dies.
Don’t kneel to scum, don’t be meek —
Fight the vile, resist the weak.



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



The Seal of Debilization

Fools rule, the honest fall.
Lies crown scum — despise them all.



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



The Intoxication of Shameful Lies

The stench of lies corrodes the mind,
Mirages everywhere, fascist power strong.
But the non-human rush in vain: the Earth will grind
The shame of stupid men — and soon all fall along.
But the non-human rush in vain: the Earth will grind
The shame of stupid men — and soon all fall along.

We lost it all — sold out, betrayed,
Total genocide, fools everywhere.
Simply put — we’re stupid, doomed, decayed:
Total lies kill all, none spared, beware.
Simply put — we’re stupid, doomed, decayed:
Total lies kill all, none spared, beware.

Hybrid war — in it, lies and poison are weapons:
“Care” surrounds, yet it kills all the same.
All here is vain labor — all serve Satan’s lessons,
Sacred betrayed, and lies are their claim.
All here is vain labor — all serve Satan’s lessons,
Sacred betrayed, and lies are their claim.

Exceptions are rare, through centuries few —
The fighters die just as their path begins.
And barely heard, for propaganda’s sting
Pierces painfully, drives all to madness, to horror’s wings.
And barely heard, for propaganda’s sting
Pierces painfully, drives all to madness, to horror’s wings.

The intoxication of shameful lies gnaws our minds.
Corrupt mirages — here rules Satan’s might.
But Satan rushes in vain, for soon the Sun will burn
The shame of the non-human — and all will meet their blight.
But Satan rushes in vain, for soon the Sun will burn
The shame of the non-human — and all will meet their blight.



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



Sun Against Lies

Shameful lies gnaw the mind,
Fascist power grips the blind.
The Sun will burn the filth away,
All fools consumed, none will stay.



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



The Seal of Filth

Fools and fiends will burn, the Sun decides.
Lies consumed — the Spirit still abides.



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



Price Lists and Talents

"In the literary price list
I am recorded on a mournful page:
‘One cannot deny the talent,
But a hopeless pessimist’."
— Sasha Chyorny, "Into the Space", 1911


In the literary price list,
It’s usually all sheer trash —
It’s never truly about the talent,
But about servitude, the stench and clash.

Talent, in truth, is seldom embraced,
Used only to dilute propaganda’s lies.
The people slumber, dreamlike, encased —
Talent helps them sleep more wise.

And so the dead are stuffed there,
In fragments, thrown in racks.
In all editorial rooms, the air is stale,
Media departments lie just as much, in packs.

Poet, when you’re in the price list —
Then a traitor or a COMMODITY:
You mark the talent with a cross,
Amid the media’s streams of falsity.



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Talent for Sale

Talent crushed, truth cast aside,
Media flows with lies worldwide.
Poets marked as traitors, bought and sold,
Corruption reigns where stories are told.



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



The Seal of the Price List

Talent buried, lies in bloom,
Poets sold to serve the tomb.



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



The Art of Lies

Disinformation is sacred —
An art refined through the ages:
The art of lies always on stage —
Keeping humans trapped in cages.

They sprinkle in grains of truth —
Twist, distort, and pervert the tale.
All diluted with propaganda’s sooth —
Like building Heaven here… it’s Hell unveiled.

Don’t trust the beasts, your neighbors too
Will call you fool in a single glance.
What guards these absurdities, askew?
The slave’s collar, this madhouse’s stance.

This madhouse holds countless deceits,
Layered like a treacherous cake.
Shitty fascism rules the people,
While Satan grants the fascists’ stake.

Fascism hides in all the lies —
Always some “new” vile ism.
The soul of the sensitive forever cries —
Targeted by fascism’s schism.

To kill the Spirit is the goal of all beasts,
And fake religions aid their creed.
In lies like butter, devils roast,
Turning the world to Hell, to Nothing indeed.



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



Lies on Stage

Disinformation rules, the Spirit dies,
Fascist lies burn under open skies.
Devils roast in the world’s deceit,
Hell unfolds beneath our feet.



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



The Seal of Lies

Fascist lies reign, the Spirit fades,
Devils cook the world in Hell’s charades.



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



The Slave’s Collar

Consciousness is kaleidoscopic—
No spine of Spirit there remains.
So habit hammers truth with tropes,
And bluntness beats where sense was stained.

All that displeases — planted venom —
Trolled by that same compulsive frame.
That fascist bastard seeded poison;
The pattern spreads and hides his name.

The collar’s wholeness — that tight binding —
Is thought’s main, wretched, daily feat.
It pricks with burs at anything
That dares to challenge these foul streets.

The slave’s debate? To save the collar —
To save the dull lemming on the brink.
It shields him from the knowing that
He walks where cliffs and ruin sink.

It saves him from the truth: you’re falling;
This contest’s prize is but a groat.
For pennies sold they all betrayed us —
By fascist scum the land is bought.

Few have awakened — few are lucid;
A legion of the pierced remain.
Hell’s not a dream — it’s incarnate here;
This world itself has grown the pain.

Still lemmings think this “care” will heal them —
A jab that slaughters, hailed as gain.
Such shame has not been seen for ages —
And so — soon ALL SHALL BE CONSUMED BY FLAME.



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



The Collar

Conscious minds crushed, the Spirit gone,
Fascist poison rules, the weak march on.
Hell incarnate, lemmings blind,
All shall burn — leave none behind.



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



The Seal of the Collar

Spirit crushed, the lemmings fall,
Fascist lies — the end of all.



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



Beyond Being

It matters not where you were born,
Nor what your body keeps—
You’re useful now, to beasts reborn,
To those who traffic in the heaps.

They’ll fit you in their filthy Bedlam,
They’ll triple force to keep you meek;
Their tools are perfect for the dumb,
Their rot will make your Spirit weak.

They’ll herd you into servile rows,
A stupid flock driven to the knife.
The world beneath that fascist’s toes
Marches like a company under fife.

The mortal danger — passed, a stage;
What’s needed is a ruthless sight:
This rotten mess is off the page —
It lies beyond the line of light.

It isn’t suffering — it’s decay,
A putrefaction plain and sure.
When Spirit scraps at last away,
You’ll crawl inside a manure-curd jar.

Manure-flies swarm already in Hell,
And now the age is come: the world in craze.
It’s time to wake — arise, rebel;
Let fascists quake when shots we raise.

When we begin to hang them high
On every lamppost in the square,
Step off the pawn-line, say “No!” to fate,
Say “No!” to gnomes who never dared.

To that dull gnome of fate who slept,
Who never learned how one should fight,
Who in his bedroom and his shop
Has sold his dignity for bite.



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



Delusion Defence

We need a delusion-defence
So all may here together rot.
Without that numbing influence
We’ll never learn to limp and plot.

All join toward a common goal —
A goal that feeds the fascist hand.
They’ve managed everywhere to sow
This dullness through the land.

We build the rings of madness wider
With every year that ticks along.
We’re oaks — the “Young Comrades” firmer —
Easy to keep yoked and strong.

Easy to poison those deranged,
A jab to hush them into sleep.
And in our schools the “clever” taught
To let their Reason fall asleep.

On the Pure they stitch the nonsense —
You’ll not withstand the fight, you’ll break
If you don’t shout once and for all,
“No!” to every mad parade.

To the universal madness,
To the tormented, raging throng,
To the filth that rules like kings —
This foulness sings its victory song.

Those non-humans plot this total lie;
The journos’ rabble spreads it wide.
There’s so much delirium about
That you yourself are lost inside.

It’s late to sound the general alarm —
Only one path now will suffice:
Send those non-humans off to death,
And with them all their servile vice.

The monstrous turned their lackeys into hangmen,
The fools rejoice — they wait for torch-lit nights.
They dream the “new order,” madhouse-wide.
So rise to the fight — or we’re damned outright.



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



Delusion Rings

Madness spreads — the fascists grin,
The fools rejoice while we grow thin.
Rise, resist, or all is lost,
Fight now — whatever be the cost.



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



The Seal of Delusion

Madness reigns, the fascists cheer,
Rise and fight — or disappear.



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



Theatres of Absurdity in the World of Madness

Theatres of Absurdity in the World of Madness:
All “countries” fake, and Global Fascism reigns,
Dictating every move. No room remains
For sarcasm here — just sheer idiocy.

The universal madness runs unchecked —
A little war, a little sheep-virus next.
The push of vile, disgusting lies is total,
Few are left who still keep their mental portal.



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



Absurdity Reigns

Global lies, the fascists cheer,
Madness spreads, the fools draw near.
No room for sense, no mind is free,
Theatres of absurdity.



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



Seal of Absurdity

Madness rules, the fascists play,
Sense and reason swept away.



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



I’m Dead!!!

I’m dead — now it’s fine to praise me,
To hype me a little, too.
That hype always felt so hazy —
I’d rather write something new.

A poem, or maybe just resting —
No pressure, no crowd to please.
A poet, once dead, feels the blessing —
They praise him... he’s finally at peace.

In horror he once was hovering,
Like a hawk on the edge of flight.
And Death — yes, he needed covering,
For he’d never close his eyes to Blight.

Insomnia, scorn, derision,
And nightmares that never end...
A poet won’t rot in submission
If he never learned to bend.

He calls a whore by her label,
Sees traitors through their disguise,
Calls filth by name — he’s able
To stare straight through their lies.

In Hell we dwell — and the wretches
Call this “acceptable life.”
A poet unmasks these sketches —
Calls “living” — decay and strife.

To name all things in their essence —
That’s poetry’s sacred creed.
Few dare that fierce confession —
Most chew their lies like feed.

I’m dead! — no need for praising,
I’ve done all I could, I swear.
Escaped the stench, the brazen
Disgrace of Hell — or there?..



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



Dead, But Free

I’m dead — no chains can bind me now,
Hell itself bows to my vow.
Escape the stench, the lies, the dread —
I rise, though all the fools are dead.



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



Dead, Untamed

I’m dead — the fools still crawl in Hell,
I’m gone — but all their lies won’t quell.



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



The Greatest Wonder

The greatest wonder ever found —
The Global Fool, so proudly crowned.
He trusts the fascist Judas’ lies,
Their vile offal he deifies.

That faith’s a fantasy obscene,
Stupidity hard as diamond sheen.
A pierced-out mind — a shameful stage:
They’ll carry out each foul command.

Forget the peaks of other charms,
No place for miracles but this:
The world’s a wood of fools and harms,
Where wit is lost in pointless bliss.

All thinking folk stray through those brakes,
Their reason dimmed, their pathways lost;
They dream how to reclaim their shapes —
To bring back Reason at all cost.

But Reason to a fool’s a curse;
He fears awakening the most.
The herds of idiots rehearse —
Non-humans triumph, vile and gross.

Filthy scum plot to stoop us low,
To turn all minds to empty clods.
Their dream: a global madhouse grow —
A worldwide circus without gods.

Fools need no chains — the doctor’s guard
Becomes their leader, badge and crown.
Foundations laid for this backyard:
“Multiply the dull!” — the town’s renown.

The culture’s slogan — blunt, obscene;
The law of genocide by scheme.
They want only fools and queens of spleen —
And drive the Spirit from the dream.

Upon the Soul the hunt proceeds;
Some fog conceals their wicked art.
Those nauseous non-humans plant the seeds —
And carry out the blackest part.

Their plan: to kill the Spirit’s breath —
A fate more foul than brutal death.
In service stand the bought-off whores;
Their numbers crush the earthly shores.

This is unnatural to Earth —
When everywhere one idiot breeds.
Soon trouble comes to claim its worth:
The planet shakes off rotten seeds.

Or else she cannot go on being —
She’ll purge the fools that choke her face.
Those crazed, drugged non-humans fleeing —
She’ll make an end of their disgrace.



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



To Meet Death

Go meet Death — there is no other road.
Or put your trust in fascism — then you’re almost dead.

Around — the living dead, a global madhouse reigns,
Cowards all, and dumb, turned cattle in the chains.

Fighters here are few; betrayals crowd the land;
“Laws” are for the Prison — for Spirit and for Mind.

The yoke is worn like prize, soullessness the goal;
Fascists grin — they’ve driven the wise into a hole.

Three percent are clever — a waking nightmare’s spine;
For those mad non-humans everyone should be in a sty.

The World-Sty is built; the vet is now their god;
The pressure of the lies is tripled by the fascist’s boot.

It’s passe to fire shells — now lies will do the killing;
We’ll set the idiots loose on every sensible being.

We’ll send them fast away — to other worlds they’ll fly.
No more need for wisdom — we’ve got our talmudic lie.

The world beneath the fascist scum — the Mind is nearly spent.
But the bastards miscalculated — Death will be our vent.

The Sun will burn the zoos — will scorch their tyrant weight;
We’ll be reborn in Spirit — pure, joyful, and innate.

We’ll turn back to the Source — and only Worms will die.



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



“High-Art” Production of Filth

Hughes mingled with the outcasts:
They had more time than the rest
To sharpen taste — for worldly ties
Were weak, and they were not obsessed.

Those who refuse to clash with neighbors
Over fat slices of the earth —
To stay pure midst filth is sacred,
A vow of Spirit, a quiet worth.

Filth coats even the finest minds,
Evil bends them through the head;
Look — heaps lie where flowers should bloom,
And all is “Sabbath!” instead.

To cry out when ensnared in chains
Of networks is a feat most tough.
The Devil’s tricked the reckless few,
Poured them into Filth’s own stuff.

Now Everest-high mounds of filth
Are called by culture in their day…
If you bear solitude’s heavy cross,
Your truth remains — they cannot sway.

Your lines or paintings — of no use;
Evil trained the fools to chew
This filth that passes for our art,
A feast for those who never knew.



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The Superfluous Man

To push out “the extra” —
A turning into cattle.
Gradually the subtle voice
Grows faint, becomes fragile.

The Global Pen — a corral of fates:
No man can here make free
The “superfluous”; madmen drive
Nonsense on for centuries.

With state support, approval crowd-wide,
The “extra” suffers costs
Only for a time. The slaves prepare
For steps anew, as chains are tossed.

The muzzle shows the path ahead:
Digital corral, shackles in mind —
Step forth into the VOID,
Leave freedom far behind.



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



Shit Given to Us in Perception

“Matter is objective reality, given to us in sensation…”
— Vladimir Ilyi Chlenin


Everywhere — Shit —
As the world is given:
A sentence of darkness.
Anything else is nonsense
When you remove this fact.
Vanished into Lies —
Step into the herds!

The corral of the world,
Miserable. Within it,
Free cheese has rotted,
And Spirit has gone out.

The Evil Shepherd
Is deaf to all moans,
Gathering his servants:
The last “ugh!” —
No saving it;
All must trudge to Hell.



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



Solitude

“When you remain alone, you must know exactly with whom you remain.”
— Benedict Spinoza, 17th century


Passing time with a fool —
Days wretched, nights without solace.
No half-measures help,
Worse still — he belongs to no one.

Hence the herd is mad:
Zero plus zero equals nothing.
Only the Creative finds delight.
Who will appreciate it? Old Pichto!

Write at the table, paint on the walls —
Do not bow to the rabble or to Evil.
In solitude, betrayal is impossible —
So luck is on your side!



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



Fire

The mind’s contents — all nonsense,
Almost everything a senseless sprawl.
How measure the harm of this?
You can’t. Complaints won’t help at all.

Reason’s efforts here are vain.
Just feel it: your home’s in flame!
That’s the only way to purge the filth,
Move fast, or death will stake its claim.

Soulless dead have claimed the world afire,
Fools never sensed the smoke-filled mire
Of wretched flats, their stench and pyre.



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



Filth

No need now for a sheriff —
There’s filth, the vet in charge.
All the sheep to slaughter go,
Filth drives them — and damn you large!

The Devil’s ruled for ages long,
But the sheep are stubborn, thick, and strong:
“Just say ‘for care!’” and point the way
Straight to the slaughter, without delay.

And the flock obeys, all there,
Doubts? Never. Belief’s in the air.
Like the Lord’s Prayer to a zombie box,
This is our world — a pen, a paradox.

A stall, a corral, that’s the scene,
Mind and Spirit barred, unseen.
Sheep, prepare your rear with dread,
To filth — straight down to Hell ahead.



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



Cats and Sheep

Cats are always worthy —
Not like the sheep around.
Sheep live in squalor, dirty,
Where only lies abound.

Cats know nothing of captivity —
They are masters, free.
Sheep spend days in fragility,
Among decay and misery.

That decay they call their homeland —
A fascist, rotten regime.
Stand against them, not a bland,
Oppress them with the fascist’s scheme.

Cat eyes burn with vibrant fire,
While sheep lie cold and dead.
No neurotics among cats tire —
They inherit truth, not dread.

So let us meow together:
Forget the “baa” and “meh”!
Or these vile creatures, clever
Will send the sheep to skewer, hey!

All the sheep shall meet the pyre —
The Final Feast draws near:
This rotten, fascist world entire
Goes mad in its own fear.



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



Almost Graphomania

Send five hundred poems to the fire,
Or write three hundred new tonight?
The source is pure — don’t stifle the desire:
Write! All else? — I couldn’t care less, alright!

Poems are a treacherous, wild force.
Be clever there, and bold, and sharp.
Though not all lines are worthy of discourse —
Let others burn them, leave your mark.

To burn the poet with his verses —
That’s the highest, cruelest throne.
Strive for it. And don’t mind the curses
Of fools — let that tide be blown.

Let the flood of poems turn the Ninth,
Sweep you away — and rightly so.
If the corrupt Evil reigns for ages,
Silence means being beastly or slow.

High-flown? I don’t give a damn —
I write as it comes, with no disguise.
Will someone feel sick from the program?
My health is worthless — nerves I sacrifice.

In heart attacks you must come first —
Then the god of Lyres is with you.



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



Your Service Is Dangerous and Hard for Us

A tractor-digger rumbles by —
Soon it’ll dig a trench for us.
The fascist now’s a pioneer:
He’s hired the “doctors” to his trust.

Mindless scum in furious force —
They “treat” the fools unto their death.
And fascists, drunk on lying’s course,
Forge tighter bonds, a world of breathless depth.

The cop now plays the gendarme;
He watches over the MAD.
The petty boss — the commander’s charm —
No need for gas; the law’s grown sad.

No need for guns to do the work —
The Judas-helpers are enough:
Those bought-off sexots, serving smirk,
Dispatch their mob-law, cruel and rough.

“Court of Health,” as ever, sends
All to the pyres with practiced hand.
Only the blind presume the end’s
A season won — a righteous land.

For now the chiefest task and trade
Is caring for the fools’ “health” each day —
The world reshaped, the plan well-laid,
This is the work — the new display.

Those forces “heal” the world — that’s how
They’ve long oppressed us, crushed us all;
To them “all idiots” is the vow —
Their highest triumph, their proud call.

And nearly everyone’s a fool;
The wise are but a rare bequest.
The enemy’s plan fills every rule —
You’ll seldom stand unscathed, at best.

It’s time to kill these scums outright:
Them or us — the choice is stark.
We’ll burn this ugly world to light —
Those days are near; the path is dark.



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



The World of Slaughterhouses

A razor clarity must live inside the mind —
No longer mere danger: the world is filth entwined.
We've crossed that Rubicon, the line we couldn't bind —
A slaughterhouse of men, where fascism's laws are signed.

Humaneness now wanders like a guest both rare and thin,
Madness crowns eternity; corruption grins for gain.
They've bred a doggish breed that laps up every lie,
Where honor's long been buried — who asks "where went the why?"

The strength of the last ones melts; the rest are idiots,
Sheep and steeds in plenty, stamped with branded, stupid grins.
Soon every mouth will praise the fascist’s rotten myths,
And grown men shout the slogans for those schemers’ filthy grins.

They’re co-authors of our ruin, turning all to dung:
The pinnacle of putrefaction — Spirit, Mind undone.
Only one thing left remains — to raze this shameful Bedlam,
Multiply our resistance now — and strike back at the scum.



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



Wings of Death

"And the patience in me snapped its cord —
And I took Death as though a friend;
She circled me for long, afraid only
Of my rasping breath."
— Vladimir Vysotsky, "My Black Man in a Gray Suit", 1979


Don’t take to calling Death by name,
Don’t make acquaintance, don’t grow bold;
For Death — believe me — by the Gate’s flame
Is but a blossom next to Hell’s cold.

Here only “You” is fitting speech,
When from this Pit you seek to part;
A place where lies and violence teach,
Where traitors sell the human heart.

There’s nothing here but shame and theft,
Where impotence is taught as art,
And only thieves in plenty left —
The rest are torn and set apart.

You must depart this madmen’s den,
Lest you become the thing they breed;
The way away is hard for men,
But Spirit finds a kinder need.

Few exceptions live among this throng —
They flutter like the wounded bird.
For these small ones the road is long;
They fight the last fight, blade and word.

When from the fray you step aside —
Die with intent, with will made truer.
Perchance you’ll meet the other side:
A dawn of worlds, a clearer augur.



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



Monument to the Moron

The last of human strength is melting—
All that remains for us to do
Is fashion stone for the moron,
Then let this shame slip from view.

That shame we call the world itself—
A Bedlam of fools and false saints.
And that will be the ages’ climax:
An apotheosis of taints.

Of centuries of rot and bondage,
Of Spirit murdered, Mind undone;
Where only filth and lewdness flourish
On heaps of dung beneath the sun.

That dung is made by those non;humans—
Lies piled up to Everest heights.
People now are but the rabble,
If you but look with clear sight.

We must carve a muzzle on the moron’s face,
And plant a jab where none complain—
A needle in the ass, so kindly set
To make the moron go away.

They’ll call that cleansing “illness” later;
Fascist forces never nap—
They call the fools to labor:
To jab each other with the sap.

And doctors then will fill the script,
Just following the muck;made rules.
Unlooked;for, sudden, in a nightmare
We woke—now poisoned by their tools.

If you refuse to be “treated,”
Be brave and stand against the cry;
Find those who’ll stand beside your fighting—
Save your life and others’—do not die.