24 poems

The Consensus Delirium Defense of Society

Consensus-born madness of “common sense,”
The stench of a rotten ideological trance —
A noose on the neck of defiant intents:
All that remains is emotion. No chance

To vent this insanity — too late to release it,
One open valve would explode the machine.
So lies are the law — obscene and repeated:
The Demon of Haze makes the madness routine.

The schizo has peaked — there’s no higher fever:
An empty fridge, and the dumb TV god.
Who’s right? The TV — it speaks as the leader,
And horror proceeds while the thinkers are flawed.

Understand now — it’s total enslavement.
Trust nothing. Heal the disease of your brain.
The world is insane — reject its engagement,
Unmask every lie, let awareness remain.

Those are the Eyes of the Soul — True Perception.
Delusion obscures them with noise and deceit.
Only the Spirit brings real correction —
Go inward with courage — that’s where Light and Knowing meet.



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March of the Content Dead — the fallen refrain,
Echoes of numbness that circle the chain.
But Silence is rising — the Curtain is torn.
The Spirit awakens. The New World is born.


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CYCLE OF THE INNER REVOLT

Epigraph: The Call of the Spirit
Break the lie.
Shatter the mask.
Inside, the Light waits —
and nothing can stop it.

I. Consensus Hell
They call it “sense” — but it’s mass delusion,
A lie-fed trance, a proud confusion.
Break free or rot in their sacred disease —
Truth burns through comfort. No one leaves.

II. Spirit vs. Swine
Their “truth” is poison — their “peace” is control,
They’re breeding the sheep to devour the soul.
So burn their dogma, erase their disguise —
Let Spirit awaken — and rot the lies.

III. Awakening
The lie is the world —
and truth is the wound that heals it.

IV. Wake the Dead
They pray to the screen, call slavery “care,” —
Bow, fool, to the gods of hot air!
But Spirit still roars through the mask of decay —
Your soul remembers — break away!

V. The Last Revelation
The Tower of Lies will tremble and fall,
The Spirit returns — consuming it all.
No kingdom of madness can outlast the Light —
The End is Awakening. The Dawn is the Fight.

VI. Hymn of the Inner Flame
No throne can command the Eternal within,
No crown can enslave what refuses their sin.
Through ashes and lies, the Spirit still burns —
The Light of the Heart — forever returns.

VII. March of the Content Dead
They smile in their chains, proud slaves of the screen,
Their thoughts pre-approved, their souls wiped clean.
They march to the rhythm of profit and pain —
And call it freedom — again and again.

VIII. Breakthrough
The spell is broken — the mask is dust.
The Spirit stands.
The end of their world —
is the dawn of the Just.



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From Vikings to… Papuans

A crooked official,
A “medical” fool —
All serve fascism: the soul decays,
Their god wears horns, their morals sway.

The “scholar” is worse —
Cleverer, more sly:
A cunning foe, stronger than most.
A Viking among papuans he boasts.

Don’t be a papuan:
Discard the disguise,
You’ll find lies stacked high, dumb orders imposed.
“Scientific” lies — fascism in disguise.



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Vikings and Papuans

Crooked fools in coats and white —
They feed the beast, blind to the fight.
Science turned weapon, lies on parade —
Wake up, or you’re just another shade.



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The Scholar and the Swine

A clever fiend in scholar’s guise,
Among the fools, he spreads the lies.
Fascism dressed in “science”’s skin —
Wake, or rot with the papuan kin.



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Wake Up

Lies wear lab coats —
Don’t be their fool.



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Despair

Hello, my friend Despair,
Though we meet each day.
You’re the chief foe of tameness here —
You reject obedience, reject the Gray.

Without despair there’s no audacity —
No reckless, daring stance.
Such are the strange ways of Bedlam —
In a stale world where betrayal dances.

Recklessness is your close kin.
To Bedlam one says “Shab’ash!”
For the desperate, it’s simple:
They’ve forgotten the “one for one” clash,

So common in all of Bedlam —
Where Spirit is traded for pants.
To hell with you and your trousers —
They’re worth nothing to the desperate.

After despair comes Rage —
A “sin” to the zombified freaks.
Wait, fools, just a little while —
We’ll crack you all open like nuts.



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Despair and Rage

Hello, Despair — my fiercest friend,
You break the meek and bend no bend.
After your shadow comes the flame —
Fools, beware — we’ll end your game.



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Rage of the Desperate

Despair strikes first — the meek will fall,
Then Rage stands up, towering over all.
Fools and zombies, think you’re secure?
We’ll crack your shells — the Spirit is pure.



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Desperate Strike

Despair first — then Rage.
Fools break; the Spirit stays.



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Hygiene

The chains of the slave-bound world
Begin first in the mind.
Do not live by the laws of the latrine —
Do not obey the herd, stay unconfined.

For this is a latrine, a leper’s den,
Where stench, decay, and shame prevail.
Where lies overflow like a raging sea,
Where Spirit is defiled, and Reason fails.

Attend the cleansing of your Spirit,
And polish your mind as well.
Or the dung-fly will breed
Its slime inside your skull’s shell.

That slime — the obscenity of false science,
The fly — any prattler who drones.
Hiding cunning, preaching pretense,
Claiming Reason and Law as their own.

But the law here is extermination
Of honor, dignity, and thought.
So only true purification
Can rid the mind of this filth brought.

That alone is hygiene —
In this madhouse called Earth.
Enslaved by fear, lies, and betrayal,
Rot creeping through all it’s worth.

The rot — inhuman and their servants,
Sold for pennies, cheap and vile.
The flunky’s efforts are laughable —
Merely lice in rank and file.

They’ve left lice and nits everywhere —
In schools, in “science.” Awake!
Do not waste wrath on vermin,
But cleanse, with courage, for your sake.

Resolutely, hour by hour,
Sweep out the nits and the lice.
Or you’ll perish in vain —
In Hell of the final days’ device.



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Hygiene

Chains start in the mind — not in the herd.
Sweep the slime, crush the lice, ignore their word.
False science, fake law, vermin and disgrace —
Clean your Spirit, reclaim your space.



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Purge the Filth

The world is a latrine, the herd are lice,
False laws, fake scholars, their lies entice.
Strike, Spirit, strike — sweep every pest,
Or rot will claim you, like all the rest.



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Cleanse

The herd is lice, the world is rot.
Strike with Spirit — waste them not.



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The Garden

If you bury your head in the sand your whole life,
All you’ll ever see is the ass.


This is not a city,
It’s a garden.
And very soon
Here will bloom

A new flowerbed,
Made from butts.
Every cynic here
Immediately buries

Their head in the sand —
Only the ass is visible.
This is their salvation —
The “price” of life, pitiable.

Meanwhile, the fascists
Will shit on those sprouts —
They don’t care
About heads

Or about the asses of cattle.
That’s the result here —
No need for cops,
When only asses

Stick out of the soil.
The days have come
When all the smart ones

Will be locked away —
Visible among the asses.
And the insane slaves —
Soon all in graves.

Thus the story
Will reach its end —
Of that phantasmagoria
Where the ass is crowned.



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The Garden of Butts

Heads buried in sand — all you see is ass.
Cynics, fools, and fascists — this is the mass.
Smart ones jailed, the insane in their graves,
A world where the ass alone reigns and enslaves.



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Ass-Crowned Madness

Buried heads, blind to all,
The world is a garden of asses, standing tall.
Fools and fascists feed the rot,
The smart and sane? Soon all forgot.



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Garden of Asses

Heads in sand, asses reign —
Wake or rot in this insane domain.



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Ass-Reign

Buried heads, blind fools all around,
The garden stinks — asses wear the crown!



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Shame

God has long departed here —
Only SHAME remains.
Rotting, wretched,
And Reason slain.

For this is not Reason,
When fascism rules,
When the mob instantly
Seizes every new “ism”

As truth, not disgrace,
Bows down to the VILE.
And only the thief
Will serve with what mind remains.

For there lies decay
On a heap of filth.
There you lose Spirit,
Honor, and self-worth.

All that you find there
Is obscenity and flattery.
There you learn to lick
Every ass around,
In Hell forgetting
What it means to dare.

Only Creation
Is worthy of humans.
This corruption —
For slavish stumps alone.

Shame, decay —
The Bedlam of the world.
Now — extermination
Of those who, from childhood,

Never befriended their mind:
There’s a jab for that.
They serve fascism here,
Forgetting conscience and honor.

Humans are few,
Remnants of CREATORS.
They perish like birds
Amid clouds of snares.

And only one thing remains —
TO BURN THIS SHAME!
Casting off fatigue,
Become the kindling in the flame.

Calling fire
Upon yourself,
We shall reach Paradise,
Loving FREEDOM.



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Burn the Shame

God is gone — only Shame remains.
Rot and filth, the mob’s gains.
Spirit lost, honor defiled,
Rise, strike fire, let freedom be unbridled!



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Shame’s Inferno

God fled long ago — only Shame rules here.
Fools and fascists bow, while honor disappears.
Burn the rot, strike the fire, unleash the flame,
Spirit rises, enslavers fall — freedom reclaim!



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Burn It

Shame reigns — strike fire!
Spirit rises — enslavers expire.