The Pit
“I” is a pit—
Ego’s regime
Drives humans straight
Into the yoke. Extreme
It seizes fast
The dull, the blind:
The “I” will pay—
In chains you’ll find
A thousand more.
It kills the soul.
The end is poor:
A slave. A fool.
Go—seek Pure Spirit.
That’s the release
From hellish servants,
From mind’s disease.
---------------------
“I” is a pit—
A chain, a lie.
It breeds the slave,
It makes you die.
Break to the Spirit—
Or rot in mind.
Hell owns the “I”
That walks you blind.
---------------------
Sludge
You stumble through the Dark—somewhere.
For ignorance, the price waits there
At road’s end. If your aims are small,
You’ll sell yourself—you’ll rot, you’ll fall.
Your “path” becomes a pitch-black Hell,
The ego-loop you serve too well:
Not strict with self—half-gods, they pose,
While snouts and horns begin to grow
If trampling heads is seen as right—
The fastest way to seize delight,
“Success”, “happiness”, empty lies
That rot inside a slave’s disguise.
Mad slaves in Hell are normal breed—
A maw devours Earth and feed:
Your strength, your mind, your very soul.
Foul servants play their stupid role.
The filth exposed by plague and war—
Revealed the depth, the rotten core.
All sinks to bottom. Peaks are rare.
Hell’s genies rule the sludge with care,
Smearing minds with “tolerance” slime,
They drop the bar time after time.
A newer Hell—more foul, more near.
To drown in stench is “joy” here:
No need to move, no need to fight—
Just sink and call the darkness light.
The Dark condensed—it turned to sludge.
Your path—a swim. Your conscience—a bulge.
Honesty—a tumor named,
The mind by cunning is replaced.
The noise inside pretends to thought.
The Spirit’s gone—the slime is wrought
More dense, more vile—Hell growing tight.
Through nonsense it conceals the blight,
All shifts, decay, corruption’s spread—
A deepening rot, a living dead.
Find your way out of this Hell—
Or in the slime you’ll sink as well.
---------------------
Sludge is the Dark made thick and near—
You drown, and call that drowning “clear”.
No thought—just noise. No soul—just rot.
Escape—or be what sludge has got.
---------------------
Putrid Fascism
In etiquette’s toilet—don’t greet, don’t speak.
How much of madness, how much of the bleak!
Absurdity stabs like a sharpened blade:
What’s natural—cut, what’s twisted—parade.
They force-feed “tolerance”, pump it through lies,
And fools take the hit—obedient eyes.
All around—traitors, all eager to bow,
To nonsense they kneel—conditioned now.
Fear via lies—like a firing gun.
Gas from the media—everyone’s stunned.
Masks and injections—the farce laid bare:
A scoundrel unseen runs all the affair.
The “president”? Puppet. The “doctor”? control.
A grand experiment—erase the soul,
Reduce the human to waste, to grime—
A joke for Evil, a staged design.
That CowID mark—a shameful line:
Under loud liars they build the design
Of camps reborn—Reich’s dark echo,
A global prison, digital, techno.
With minds unpierced and hunted souls,
They “heal” you under media’s roles.
A “perfect system”—a chip inside:
World fascism spreads—reason denied.
The fool still dreams: “It’s all okay.”
The lone one curses the rot at play—
Without this system he disappears,
For Spirit and mind reject such fears.
A cataclysm will break this scheme,
Will crush this stench, this rotten regime.
It’s coming closer—the Sun burns higher,
Step by step it cleanses by fire.
The “normal” sees—he’s not yet dead.
The world’s a pile of the stinking, the spread—
To miss it all is to choose to be blind…
---------------------
They gas you with lies—call poison “care”,
Build camps of code while you just stare.
Think—or be waste in a managed scheme.
Burn or be fuel for a rotting dream.
---------------------
Not by Chance
This global rot is no accident,
No random chaos—fully meant:
Deceits are bred, traps multiply,
Planned strikes on Spirit, Reason, mind.
Only fools will buy the tale
That parties rise by “free” detail,
Or think their skin—their petty hide—
Is all that matters in the ride.
Their whole game—“free choice” on display,
One money source behind the play,
Same recycled ideas sold,
With dirt on every leader’s hold.
Just look at CowID—clear proof:
Presidents all, beneath one roof,
Parliaments, parties—bent, aligned,
Before the filth that runs mankind.
---------------------
No “chance” made this—it's built, designed.
They strike the Spirit, break the mind.
“Free choice” is staged. One hand, one scheme.
Wake up—or rot inside the dream.
---------------------
The Hammer
“If the only tool you have is a hammer,
it’s tempting to treat everything as a nail.”
— Abraham Maslow
A fascist system—hammer’s law.
You’re perched upon a narrow bar.
To tyrants—you’re a nail, no more.
You squeak—bang down—then split and scatter,
Driven through the beam in lines
Of generations, struck in time.
The pole will crack from endless blows—
Collapse will follow, as it grows.
No doubt this system grants no ease,
No slightest mercy, no release—
And so, this age—the final phase.
---------------------
Hammer rules—you are the nail.
Speak—get struck. Resist—you fail.
Blow by blow the beam will break.
Last age now. The end’s awake.
---------------------
The Suggestibility of the Herd
“First get your facts straight—then you can distort them.”
— Mark Twain
Distortion without facts is cheaper by far
Than forging the evidence, building a scar.
That’s why a flood of staged attacks
Is harder to keep than simple hoax acts.
Far easier—fake disease, fear’s mask,
A “caring” cover for every task:
For dumbing down, it works far better
Than constant shocks that barely matter.
These potions, shots, and sham “cures” sold
Will kill off more, if truth be told;
And endless room for lies appears
In crafting new invented “fears”.
Feed any nonsense to the crowd—
They’ll swallow all, obedient, loud.
CowID proved it—clear as day:
Invent a plague—they’ll kneel and pray.
---------------------
No facts? No problem—lies are cheap.
Fear dressed as “care” runs strong and deep.
Name any plague—the herd will kneel.
That’s how you bend what minds can feel.
---------------------
Pseudo-Science
Not professors—proto-priests,
Not a doctrine—dogma feast.
Double purpose, plain to see:
Kill the mind and forge the lie.
They erase what thought remains,
Bind all minds in lying chains.
Pseudo-science—iron grip:
No one escapes its tightening grip.
“Heresy” is crushed outright—
Sect and prison of the mind.
That’s why lies grow mountainous—
Heaps of filth, enormous, blind.
Only “useful” tools survive,
Those that strip the world to waste,
Keep the stench of power alive—
Donkeys fed that rotten taste.
Only donkeys still believe
Theories dressed as proven fact.
Check it once—you’ll quickly see
Endless flaws they try to mask.
Contact lost with what is real—
Only schemes, and schemes are dead.
Sorting, sorting—till the world
Turns into a latrine instead.
They proclaim themselves “the head”,
But in truth—they serve below,
Serving vile inhuman hands
That destroy all life we know.
Fake “viruses”, poisoned shots—
So much “science” in their claims…
And their “treatment protocols”?
Madness dressed in labcoat games.
---------------------
Dogma dressed as “science”—tight.
Kills the mind and breeds the lie.
Check the cracks—the whole thing rots.
Think—or drown in poisoned plots.
---------------------
Murk
The mind’s been driven out,
Numb soullessness spreads fast.
A servile loudmouth shouts—
A vile, blank psych at last—
And now that breed’s the mass.
The inhuman lead the ball.
Lies, Evil—triumph here—
And you’re near the fall.
But if you won’t go down—
Turn inward. Dare that move.
In Spirit, all this blight
Is only muddy groove.
Stir up that murky mess,
Laugh at the filth and slime,
Then go on living clean—
Your mind, your rule, your time.
For soon this Hell will break,
And rightly swept away—
Each bought and rotting fraud
Will choke and fade to clay.
In Spirit—life will rise.
Go there—step in, be bold.
All else is only slime,
Last Days’ decay, grown cold.
---------------------
They killed the mind—installed the rot.
Turn inward—cut the knot.
All this is sludge—just shake it loose.
Stand in the Spirit—or be the noose.
---------------------
Shame and Disgrace
A brutal burden—
To bear this shame.
The Spirit’s gone,
The Will’s a flame
Snuffed out—
And Reason slain.
Just scraps remain—
And even those
Are crushed and mocked.
Few humans stand—
The rest are rot.
Bought-out vermin,
Traitors abound.
The fools rejoice
In filth they’ve found.
Not a world—
A heap of waste,
A universal
Shame laid bare.
The bottom’s broken—
Nothing lower.
Just sweep this trash
To hell—and done.
So hold a little—
Just endure,
But keep your mind
Intact, and sure.
Save your soul as well—
Fight back this ill.
Don’t heed the scum—
Or you will kneel.
---------------------
Shame fills the world—
The mind is slain.
Hold fast inside—
Or join the chain.
---------------------
The Loo
“The learned world”—
A rotten loo.
A range for minds—
They shoot at you.
Believe—and beg.
Don’t trust—just test.
The Spirit’s door—
By Light be pressed.
Heaps of lies—
Wake up, then laugh.
Mirages dark—
Don’t serve that path.
Scum serve the Dark—
The world’s in filth.
A flaw in mind—
Sheep bleat their guilt.
For sheep, that “mind”
Is just a sieve.
They’re full, they grin—
Yet nothing live.
The range will fall,
The loo will rot.
The world will rise—
Let Light be God.
---------------------
Rotten loo—
They shoot your mind.
Test the truth—
Don’t walk in blind.
Break the range—
Let Light remain.
---------------------
Darkness
Darkness is not the lack of light—
It is total, active night.
A force of absolute decay.
Trust it—and you drift away,
Becoming beast of burden, bent—
And all your song is spent.
The scum will load you down with pain,
Till every backbone snaps in vain.
And fools are crushed in growing piles—
No limit to the depth of trials.
The manufactured grief expands—
By vicious hands, by rotten plans.
The donkeys numb, devoid of sight,
Have lost all bond with Spirit’s light.
So they endure, so they obey—
And multiply the darkened way.
The world of Light is beyond split,
Beyond the dual mind’s narrow slit.
This trap was set by filth and lies—
To breed confusion in disguise.
To mix all things in one false scheme—
That is the peak of fool’s dream.
No greater idiocy exists
Than fake “spiritual” mists.
When you are Spirit—pure and whole—
No “other” stands, no broken role.
Darkness retreats without a trace—
Only clear Mind remains in place.
---------------------
Dark is not absence—it is force.
It bends the mind, it breaks the course.
Become the Spirit—whole, awake.
And all that Dark will simply break.
---------------------
Tick
Tick-tock—
time is leaving.
If you’re a fool,
or seed of grieving
hell-born root—
then only tick—tick
annihilation
waits for you.
That “nervous tick”
is mind’s stagnation—
it fades, it fades…
and all profanation,
all that IS—
ALL that once seemed real—
in one sharp instant
will unseal
and vanish.
Triumph of evil
falls apart.
The world revives—
a new start.
---------------------
Tick-tock—time breaks the mind in two.
Fool or seed—there’s nothing you can do.
All collapses—false and true.
World returns. The light breaks through.
---------------------
Candies
From filth we try to make “sweet candy,”
From lies we craft a “truth” so handy.
We “heal” with poison, cold and neat—
And slowly kill each soul we meet.
Betrayal here becomes a trade,
Corruption like a sip is made.
In world of liars, bought and sold,
We rot like cattle, young and old.
A few still fight—but find no ear
Among the herd that lives in fear.
That’s just the cost of slow decay—
They listen only scum and grey.
From filth no god would ever build—
So soon we’ll be discarded, killed.
In higher Mind all things are tight:
Clean being is not norm—but light.
---------------------
From filth they make their “sweet” disguise.
From lies they forge their “truthful” lies.
A few resist. The rest obey.
And rot becomes the normal way.
---------------------
Public…
“Public people”… or rather—sold.
Souls traded cheap, for crumbs of gold.
They feed the stream of staged deceit,
Spreading lies on every street.
When propaganda’s crowned as king,
A new Goebbels pulls the string—
Then silence fits the rotten mass,
Not crawling into TV glass.
The crowd has sunk beneath the floor,
And lower still they drift once more.
No depth remains but Hell ahead—
Or better off, to choose the dead.
Ordinary street-born vice
Looks pure beside their low device.
A common thug seems saint and mild
Next to the filth that’s freely styled.
They sold it all—honor, shame,
Mind and dignity and name.
And so they earn their Hellish place—
Where fascist systems breed their base.
Soon Hell itself will feel the strain—
Such filth has never filled the main.
No age has seen such brazen roar,
Such hollow, obscene uproar.
---------------------
Public “humans”—sold and spent.
Lies for hire, truth bent.
When filth runs speech and calls it “right,”
Even Hell feels too tight.
---------------------
Idiots Finished Us All
Idiots have done the final blow—
That’s how this world has come to go.
The darkest enemy we meet
Is fool who swallows lies as truth to eat.
In former days they waged their fight
With steel and guns in open sight.
Now weapons are just crafted lies—
Multiply them, and truth just dies.
And fools will crush the “enemy,”
Till nothing human left can be.
A new Goebbels leads the frame,
And bureaucrats enforce the same.
Fake viruses, endless wars—
Sleep will come behind closed doors.
If fools believe each lie they’re fed,
They build the very force they dread.
---------------------
Idiots finish what they start—
Lies replace both mind and heart.
Give them fear—they do the rest.
Fascism lives where fools invest.
---------------------
Boys and Basements
Boys are like fragile fingers—
easy to snap in two,
when in basement “schooling” lingers
dulling all that’s true.
That’s no school—it’s sinking ruin,
factory of the vile,
where among a thousand ruined
two won’t keep the soul alive.
That’s why every “curriculum”
is written by decay,
and the parents—lost and numbed—
have drifted far away.
Lost connection with all honor,
lost the mind’s own thread.
Just exhausted, broken workers
feeding lies like bread.
Revenge? There is no such notion—
only endless feed.
Average life is dull motion
of consumption and need.
But tell me—truly, face to face:
what have you done in this place?
Did you fight the lie’s expansion,
bring the dawn to thought’s dark mansion?
Light is nearing its conclusion—
this is not illusion.
It is ending of betrayal,
greed, submission, slow decay—
and all that feeds corruption’s play.
---------------------
Boys are fingers—easily broken.
Basement schools keep minds unspoken.
No revenge—just silent decay.
Truth is rising. End of play.
---------------------
Burning Bio-Waste
A people turned into refuse and dust—
now ruled by a beastly, parasitic crust.
Great changes are gathering, rising in flame—
the burning of rot, of decay without name.
And yet other tribes are no closer to light—
they stand at the edge of the same endless pit.
They dare not resist what has taken their will,
just graze in submission—obedient still.
The furnace is warming—Sun flares in its rise.
Only those who refused to kneel or to lie
before the grotesque little world of the blind
can enter the Spirit, leave ruin behind.
And they are so few in the long line of time—
a spark in the darkness, defying decline.
---------------------
Waste becomes people—then burns in the fire.
Ruled by the beast and sinking still lower.
Only the few who refused to fall
enter the Spirit beyond it all.
---------------------
Poison
“We are troubled by your reproduction. And although we have learned to regulate your numbers (by creating perfect conditions for occupational diseases, poisoning water, food, and air, and producing instruments of killing, among many other methods), still this problem remains unresolved.”
— from a statement attributed to the ruling inhuman elite, Moscow, 1991
For long, we’ve been slowly poisoned here,
like cockroaches in concrete lairs—
and those who rule will not disappear
until all minds become despair.
All is infected: food and “cure”,
the water, the air, the endless stream.
They don’t just poison insect life—
they hunt the human being’s dream.
Dumbing-down is the main design—
the stupid are easy to control.
Poison in fields is no accident sign,
and hormones in meat play their role.
This slow corruption works unseen,
for those who swallow every lie.
A world of madmen is made clean
of reason—only fools comply.
But here’s the flaw in their cruel plan:
the foolish multiply with ease.
Yet even that can be reduced
with GMO beneath the feed.
For mice in just the second wave
already suffer from the bait—
their bodies fail, their lines decay,
their reproduction fades away.
And so the same awaits mankind,
if blind enough to poison self.
So many tools of planned decline
are placed upon the global shelf.
A fake “virus” was designed for war,
with poisoned shots for mass control—
to thin the herd, and even more:
to turn survivors into tools,
soulless cattle of total rule,
for whom even Hell would seem like myth.
Such horror you will never dream—
and now the masks have all come off.
The masks of fascism in disguise,
as “humanism” or “free thought.”
This monster did not fall from skies—
we opened every door it sought.
Only destruction now remains—
to call the Sun’s fire to the ground,
to bear the weight of all this pain,
and drag the inhuman down.
---------------------
Poison flows through food and air,
they shape a world of dull despair.
Masks are gone—the truth is bare:
we built the cage and left it there.
Burn it down—no other way.
Let the Sun erase the gray.
---------------------
Black Wall
“And you dare call us criminals? No. You are the true criminals. You allow us to do whatever we wish. You play at being kings, leaders, presidents. You are the ones who need goats to lead the herd of sheep to slaughter.”
— from a statement attributed to the ruling inhuman elite, Moscow, 1991
One out of three to face the gun,
the rest to life behind closed doors,
for cowardly betrayal done
against the task God once imposed.
That is the minimum they claim
for genocide across the land.
And even if we’re chained in shame—
fascism never leaves its stand.
And we ourselves are to blame—
for being blind, for being tame.
All serve the system without doubt,
trained slaves from childhood all throughout.
The design of total servitude:
the slave knows not that he is slave.
Born into moral decay and crude,
his mind and pride are never brave.
All effort fails if we refuse
to see the chains we still obey.
We stay obedient dogs to lose
our dignity in every way.
We drop all games of “citizen”,
and fantasies of noble mind.
On Judgment Day, no one will care
if prison or despair confined.
Those who still carry mind and fire,
despite the centuries of pain,
who did not yield to cunning liars—
will face the final fight again.
Though forces are not equal here,
you cease to be a slave in war.
Though fools are shields for those in power,
and fighters weakened more and more—
there is but one remaining road:
to shatter all this poisoned mess,
enduring pain, refusing load,
and purge the inhuman excess.
---------------------
They call us guilty—but it’s you
who fed the chain and made it true.
Wake up—or kneel until you break.
This war is all that’s left to take.
---------------------
In Hell
You rot inside this Hell made flesh,
yet busy with some petty mess.
Your mind is drowned in shameful haze,
a madness dressed in complex phrase.
Idiots surround you—executioners too,
now preaching “light” and “health” to you.
And you stay silent, weak, afraid—
a cow-like patience softly displayed.
The last remains of human light
are swallowed by a growing night
that now disguises itself as care—
mountains of lies are rising there.
Betrayal has become routine,
corruption now is openly seen.
We wait for inhuman hands to strike—
just whining softly, weak and slight.
There is but one way left to go:
to blast this Hell and end the show.
To stop the shame, erase the stain—
so only humans rise again.
So call the Sun’s consuming fire—
let it destroy this vile empire.
The Earth will cool, the world restart—
and only light will fill its heart.
---------------------
You rot in Hell and call it “life”,
while lies and silence sharpen strife.
Burn it down—no other way.
Let Sun erase the final day.
---------------------
The Last Warrior
Rise up, last warrior—take your stand,
for doom has already swept the land.
The Hell has come that once was planned
in lairs of evil, dark and grand.
Few humans now are left alive,
the Spirit fades, can barely survive.
The mind itself is almost gone—
the final hour is rolling on.
That life remains, however weak,
where honor and some reason speak.
Where even if half-buried, far,
the sense of darkness still holds scar.
For all that now is done below
is darkness in its final flow—
where human shape is soon erased
and slave-formed cattle take its place.
The final battle long was lost,
yet still one call remains at cost:
to summon Fire from above,
to stop this game of fallen love—
this scheme once set for humankind,
now twisted, rotting, left behind:
a blend of lies and violence,
of betrayal, void of sense.
No resurrection waits ahead—
that hope has long been cold and dead.
And that alone is their success,
the inhuman world’s progress.
So Fire must now be called once more
to purge the filth, to cleanse the core.
Together with it, let them fall—
that is the only way for all.
For Earth may yet be purified
if we ignite the Sun inside.
Its power burns like living flame—
a lab that wipes out every stain.
So draw the morning’s Sun to you,
let all its force burn straight and true.
Pull down its light, its endless ray,
and let it scorch this dark away.
---------------------
Rise, last warrior—hold the line.
Hell has come in human sign.
Call the Fire—let it burn.
Only then will Earth return.
---------------------
The Crypt
It’s good I’ve already spent it all—
money that came so easy, free.
If I had built a “power hall,”
a crypt of strength—who’d be left in me?
Give in to greed, and here you’ll find
slavery dressed as wealth and gain.
You’ll vanish quietly, well-designed,
caught by crooks who rule the game.
Here money tightens every chain—
you spin like a trapped and foolish beast,
a shiny trinket on your tail,
a human being “reprocessed” least.
Cunning replaces what was mind.
Greed takes the place of mercy’s trace.
You rot into a stinking pile—
no effort saves a fallen face.
No prayers will wash that debt away—
for money is the world’s own sin.
So count yourself in luck today
if you refuse that marching line.
The rich are easy to control,
and easy to force to serve the scheme.
That’s why this system breeds its roles:
obedient tools of filth supreme.
---------------------
Money turns mind into chain.
Greed becomes the only gain.
Walk away—or be erased.
In this crypt, all light is caged.
---------------------
The House Is Burning
Your house is burning—flame grows higher,
the fire climbs, it knows no rest.
You’ve lost the Spirit, lost its fire—
the banner once that led you best.
The root of life, your only power,
forgotten now, erased, denied.
And now the flood of ruin towers—
you stand as if at funeral tide.
We bury world—it’s dull, decayed,
a hollow thing, both blind and small.
Evil is king, on throne displayed,
and lies have turned to dagger-call.
The crowd is chained, the mind is dead,
fascism spreads through every vein.
Fake “cures” are poured on every head,
and rot is sold as medicine.
They “treat” the world with rotten core,
this parasite in human skin.
Its triumph comes—but nothing more—
for now it’s far too late within.
The global madhouse will ignite—
the Sun will rise and take command.
It will not let this herd of blight
continue stench across the land.
It burns it all. That is the price
for sleep, for blindness, for the lie.
For what has rotted into vice,
for all that lets the demons lie.
If we endure this state of rot,
then all are guilty, all are tied.
In wheel of death we’re tightly caught—
in shame, in ruin, side by side.
---------------------
Your house is burning—no escape.
You lost the Spirit, lost your shape.
Sun will come—and cleanse the stain.
All that’s rotten turns to flame.
---------------------
Dumbing Down
This labor long ago was set—
to dull the human intellect.
The chief command, the guiding plan
of ruling beasts over man.
From earliest school they train the mind
to leave all reason far behind,
and teach that Will is just a dream
of madmen lost in false esteem.
Instead of Will—just substitute,
a hollow, cheap, mechanical suit.
That is the fate they’ve drawn in ink
for all who stopped to feel or think.
Along with dumbing down the brain,
they sow corruption, lust, and stain—
the Spirit rots, the light is gone,
and filthy power marches on.
They think that now it’s nearly done,
that humans are reduced to none—
a herd that grazes, blind and tame,
with almost no remaining flame.
But they miscalculated all—
a trace of Spirit still stands tall.
A spark remains, though small and few,
not yet erased, not yet untrue.
And by that force—by Spirit’s fire—
we bring their rotten world to mire.
The servants of the Dark will fall,
and vanish like a drifting squall.
---------------------
They train the mind to lose its light,
to make the Will dissolve in night.
But Spirit still remains alive—
and by that fire, they won’t survive.
---------------------
A Slip of Fate
Even old women can stumble and fall,
even the fool meets the tightening noose.
If reason is absent at all,
you’ll rot like the useless refuse.
The inhuman feeds on decay,
and the world is an anthill of grime.
Over this suffering Earth today
is a banquet—not plague, but design.
Not natural plague, but crafted deceit—
for “illness” is now just a lie.
And fools bow down at its feet,
while reason dissolves in the mind.
No people remain—only herd,
no dignity, honor, no trace.
The world now obeys every word
of something that crawls in its place.
It is revenge of the void—
for forgetting the Spirit within,
for living like flies in the filth,
for surrendering quietly, grim.
Even the blind must be blamed
for the chains they accept as their fate.
A silent decision was made:
to crawl like a worm through the gate.
Now all of them crawl to the camp,
where “healing” is just a disguise.
On a white flag of fascist intent
a red cross is raised for their lies.
And there—on that banner of shame—
they are nailed in the name of the cure.
And the world that forgot its own flame
learns too late what it must endure.
---------------------
Fools meet the noose, not chance or fate.
Reason fades—it’s far too late.
They crawl to camps called “health and care.”
And call it cure while dying there.
---------------------
War
The editor’s window—just a firing slit,
the keyboard now a machine-gun spit.
And terror is no dream at night—
it runs here constantly in sight.
In this war the psycho-dead attack,
while propaganda leads the pack.
The “zombies” merged into a blend—
poisoned minds that won’t defend.
The general staff is inhuman core,
and doctors now are executioners.
And lies are weapons of command,
spitting nonsense across the land.
It’s time to mourn this leper-state—
this global madhouse sealed by hate.
And after grief for all this pain,
burn down the insane domain.
The Sun has started its long task,
growing brighter, year on task.
It will evaporate the filth,
this world where fools now hold the tilt.
Where mind has fallen, truth erased,
and only ruin takes the place.
---------------------
War is typed in every line.
Lies are bullets in the mind.
Burn the madhouse—let it fall.
Sunlight comes to cleanse it all.
---------------------
Ugly Faces
The faces in ads are mostly fools,
empty-eyed beauties playing their roles.
And everywhere, in their twisted tools,
the inhuman wiped out the human soul.
From Bush Junior to presidents’ line,
all with a grin that looks half-dead—
they train the crowd for a new design
where only idiots move ahead.
A tide of decline is carefully grown,
dumbing down is the global plan.
Even the imbecile is now “known”—
better than thinking, better than man.
So psychiatry took the command,
now rebranded as media voice.
And we live in a trembling land
where reason has lost its choice.
Statistically—most of the herd,
in every country, near and wide,
are barely above the line of absurd,
clinically broken inside.
So nations dissolve without sound or trace—
if mind is gone, there is no state.
And they all chant for a “new place,”
a global asylum sealed by fate.
Where veterinarians lead the rule,
and injections replace all law,
and the world becomes a managed school
for minds reduced to empty straw.
No cure remains for this collapse—
this world asylum burns its core.
Spirit is gone in final lapse,
replaced by worship of the raw.
---------------------
Ad-faces smile with empty mind.
Humanity left far behind.
When reason dies, the herd obeys.
And madness calls it “better days.”
---------------------
Psychovirus
The psychovirus—so they claim—
the only “virus” known by name
that was ever truly found on Earth,
to drain the mind and steal its worth.
A psychovirus of flocking sheep,
that lines the fools in ranks so deep.
And to enforce this blinded chain
a flood of filth was poured like rain—
word vomit spewed by every mouth
of fascist scum from north to south.
The main disease is dumb obedience,
a structured herd of slow compliance.
For where the mind has ceased to be,
and only sludge remains to see,
no effort’s needed to control—
decay will finish on its own.
All that the vile ones drill and press
into the heads of emptiness—
they’ll believe, obey, “treat” and fight,
and call destruction “truth” and “right.”
A method used from year to year
to thin the herd through engineered fear.
Psychovirus… the mind erased—
almost no consciousness remains in place.
It feels like war upon the mind,
a race to leave all reason blind.
To wipe out thinking everywhere—
as if intelligence were air.
But here the error comes to light:
the rotten ones will lose the fight.
For neither Nature nor the sky
will let such filth ascend on high.
---------------------
Psychovirus—mind erased.
Fools in lines, reality replaced.
But Nature breaks the poisoned scheme—
and crushes every rotten dream.
---------------------
Monitor Lizards and Sheep
The filthy mouths of propaganda priests
are soaked in poison, endless beasts.
Even the Komodo dragon’s face
looks almost gentle in their case.
A mountain of lies is fed to all,
in every land, in every hall.
Like hunted prey, the people fall
beneath their venomous, global call.
These predators obey command
like dogs that serve a hunter’s hand—
who leads them through the forest wide
to kill for sport, for endless pride.
The hunter here is inhuman core,
the rotten filth that broke before.
History itself is stained and torn
by lies from those corruption-born.
Everything’s twisted, nothing clean—
no space for silence in this scene.
Even monitor lizards rest at ease,
but these live only to spread disease.
The sheep in stalls chew every lie,
and feed it down to those nearby.
With such deceit they raise their brood,
and call obedience “being good.”
But they forget what comes to all—
the fate of scum is bound to fall.
Used up, discarded, flushed away—
that’s how the liars end their day.
No need to keep a lying tool
that turns on truth to serve the fool.
When order comes, the blade will swing—
and end the voice of anything.
---------------------
Propaganda mouths are poison-fed.
Sheep believe what lies have said.
But every liar meets the end—
used, discarded, flushed again.
---------------------
Beasts and Madmen
Psychiatrists are madmen, doctors—brutes and fraud,
rare are any exceptions in this rotten lot.
All of them are servants of a deeper hidden hand—
building global cages called a “civilized” land.
All their so-called “treatment” is to dull the mind and pain,
masking every symptom, leading straight to graves again.
And the psychiatrist—warder, executioner too—
sending “inconvenient” souls to their dark “rescue” crew.
In the Soviet system once it was the same—
only fools would question this constructed shame.
If you were dissatisfied, “mentally unwell” you’d be—
just a hostage of the system called “society.”
If you earned a hundred rubles as an engineer,
they would say: “Be quiet, nothing’s wrong here.”
If you dared complain—then sickness must be near;
“free” people suffer quietly in poverty and fear.
Now old stories float around about that past regime,
claiming there was “happiness” inside that broken dream.
But that “happiness” was only for those who could endure,
just to read a poet, you had to travel far.
And today these fake physicians are no less than filth—
executioners with needles, killing health and will.
Such inhuman creatures circle all around our days—
a global madhouse where the mind has lost its gaze.
---------------------
Doctors turned to beasts in white,
treating thought with silent blight.
Speak—you're sick. Resist—you’re mad.
That’s the “health” this world has had.
---------------------
Crossing Everything Out
We cross this world out—stroke by stroke,
erase the fear, the choking smoke.
If Evil stands as every throne,
then let it crumble into stone.
Here Spirit fades into a blur,
and Mind decays in what we were.
A hopeless sigh, a losing fight—
the battle ends without the light.
Betrayal spreads in every lane,
corruption flows like endless rain.
All are bound in iron chains,
while inhuman pride remains.
Few honest souls are left alive,
even fewer still survive.
Soon they will be swept away—
only hollow masks will stay:
the coward, hollow, bought and sold,
the “treatment” of the mind controlled,
where thoughts are “healed” by breaking will—
and empty minds are made more still.
But filth has misread every sign—
the balance shifts, another line:
the bond of Earth and burning Sun
still lives—and now their time is done.
So praise the Sun, its burning flame—
it will erase this world of shame.
The madhouse world will turn to ash,
where human life was just a crash.
---------------------
We cross it out—this broken sphere.
Fear and lies dissolve in fire.
Sun will rise, and burn it clean—
all that rotten, all unseen.
---------------------
Paralytics of the Mind
Analysts—paralytics of mind,
blind to realms beyond their charts.
They serve the systems that they find—
politics and business parts.
For intuition is the key
that opens doors to what is real.
But they, so dull and blindly free,
can only draw what graphs reveal.
No inner sight, no wider frame,
no vision free from scripted lines.
They work on orders in the name
of systems ruled by dark designs.
For fascist power writes the code
of lies in ever-changing form.
So their “analysis” is slowed,
a sleep-inducing chloroform.
They trade in endless empty talk,
and all their “results” collapse in jest—
a joke upon the mindless stock
of papers piled in endless quest.
No analysis is needed
in a world of pure decay.
Like dialysis repeated
on a corpse that died today.
So they are clowns in ordered chains,
delivering lies for filthy pay.
And fools are spellbound by their games—
for lies are dressed in “truth” each day.
---------------------
Paralytics of the mind—
blind to what the soul can find.
Graphs and lies replace all sight.
Truth survives beyond their night.
---------------------
Bredology
“Ideology is false consciousness.”
— Karl Marx
Ideologies are bred-ologies—
false awareness, poison for the crowd.
They carry twisted psychologies
that keep the thinking weak and bowed.
From childhood all these nonsense creeds
are drilled into the human mind.
A system built on hidden greed—
the finest cage mankind can find.
The image of the “enemy”
is hung like bait in open view—
to train the human herd to be
obedient dogs that follow through.
In other lands, the same device
creates new myths with minor change—
more crafted lies, more worn disguise,
but always built within the range.
The world is split into asylums,
each section set to feed the flame—
provocation, rising rhythm,
and all the crowds become the same.
A couple of sparks, a push, a scream—
and suddenly the weapons rise.
The sheep turn wolves inside the dream
of propaganda’s crafted lies.
From Marx to Smith and every school,
their books are written by demand—
and bred-ologies rule like law
that once was forged by bloodied hand.
It is not hard to lead the herd—
they’ve been prepared since early years.
To slaughter, they accept the word,
to die in wars of crafted fears.
Fake nations wear a mask of state—
but always ruled by inhuman core.
And everything becomes of late
a system of deceit and war.
---------------------
Bred-ologies rule the broken mind.
Lies are law for humankind.
Herd is trained since childhood days
to die for wars of crafted plays.
---------------------
Farce
A mockery army,
a mockery “land”—
where filth is always lively,
and lies go hand in hand.
This lie presses everyone,
like violence in reserve.
Just multiply the falsehood—
no need to shout “attack!” or serve.
For obedient servants,
all kinds of uniformed fraud—
from every edge and corner
the world is rotten to the core.
And filth just laughs and revels,
mocking the human race.
The bond with Spirit’s severed—
beasthood takes its place.
Now nearly all have fallen,
stupidity without end.
The “country” lies in ruin—
before inhuman hands we bend.
It’s time to search for passage,
to sweep this dust away.
Even burning heat will help—
to end this cursed display.
The poison age will finish—
the fools will all decay.
For furious final battles
the stage is set today.
We go into the last war
to save what still remains.
Only sacrifice can open
release from these chains.
---------------------
A mockery world of lies and dust.
Where fools obey and truth turns rust.
Only fire breaks the chain.
Only sacrifice remains.
---------------------
Impunity
Here it’s always a “mission”—
from a safe, distant position.
And always the same tradition—
clumsy, blind execution—
pushed to senseless demolition.
These are “warriors” remote,
fighting battles from a boat.
In their minds—only lies float,
while the world is at the throat.
Dumbing down is pure danger—
not a harmless behavior.
You still wait for a savior,
but awareness is no longer—
it is gone, getting weaker.
If you measure it whole—
they are crushing the soul.
The inhuman takes control,
as the final toll unfolds.
And the last spasms remain…
and the breaking of pain…
---------------------
From afar they kill with ease.
Truth is gone—no mind to seize.
When awareness fades to dust,
only ruin comes from trust.
---------------------
Population of Freaks
Not a population of people—
a population of freaks and waste.
Not a government, but a seizure,
a dictatorship in place.
Reason rots and falls to pieces,
while a fascist hand suppresses.
Everything it touches weakens,
pressing down all human essence.
And the “sheep-virus” proves the claim—
it gives permission to explain:
this is nothing but mind decay,
where beasts are trained to eat and stay.
And they swallow rotten stories
of imaginary disease—
all the lies of ruling forces
turn the world into its knees.
But there will be healing—dark and near,
not far away, but drawing near.
Through death of what is false and blind
rebirth of Spirit you will find.
If Mind and Honor still remain—
then through the ashes comes again
a higher life, a clearer flame,
beyond this world of shame.
---------------------
Not a people—just decay.
Fools and beasts are led astray.
Through collapse the truth is born.
Spirit rises from the scorn.
---------------------
The Chalice of Madness
Once it was the “chalice of life,”
now it’s the chalice of madness and strife.
Once there was a fool in the line,
now it’s the imbecile’s time.
Fools were always scattered around,
that much has long been found.
But now they have multiplied so—
an era of sickness has grown.
Schizo, fool, and empty mind—
the majority now of mankind.
No strength is left to remain
in this ocean of mental decay.
No more will we swallow this filth,
we claim a different will.
Let us dare to rebuild again
a world without their stain.
Let every place form its own ground—
no reason for shame to be found.
No longer endure this disgrace,
this rotten and stupid place.
---------------------
Once life, now madness in the cup.
Fools rise—and truth is shut down.
We build anew, we break the chain.
No room for madness left to reign.
---------------------
PR
Shifting labels, polished name—
that’s PR, another form of shame.
Words detached from what they mean,
poisoned “truth” in glossy sheen.
These “translations” of the fake
shape the mind into mistake.
They distort and bend the sight—
multiply them left and right.
Pour more “water,” smooth and hollow,
let the empty slogans follow.
Rule the crowd with fluent lies—
empty talk that never dies.
Truth is buried, drowned in chatter,
fools will swallow any matter.
Blind believers, trained and led,
walk the path that ends in dread.
World behind a false-front guise
marches calmly toward demise.
Something’s broken in the frame—
time to break this twisted game.
Build new circles, seek the wise—
though they’re rare in compromised skies.
Few remain with steady flame—
Spirit holds against the shame.
---------------------
PR is truth turned inside out.
Words that lie and spin about.
Break the mask, refuse the flow.
Only Spirit makes us grow.
---------------------
Deodorant
“Protection from sweat?”—have you lost your mind?
To cripple a system nature designed?
It isn’t the sweat that’s ever the crime—
but hidden control in a fascist guise.
Who argues with Nature is clearly blind,
a broken form of the human kind.
Not people, but numbers, reduced and spread—
a sum that is easier to keep in bed.
They build a new prison of digital lines—
what matter is sweat or bodily signs?
To normalize madness, to numb the brain,
they feed the nonsense again and again.
And fools consume every absurd decree—
that’s how this system is made to be.
A simple example, but don’t be fooled—
apply your mind, don’t stay misruled.
Here lies deception, control, and lies—
expose it all with clear-cut eyes.
Or vanish quietly in that cage—
where falsehood rules and fools engage.
---------------------
Sweat is not the enemy—
control is what you fail to see.
Break the lie, refuse the cage.
Or disappear inside its rage.
---------------------
Manure
Manure in ears—
souls long departed.
The world appears
already parted.
Just drink the lie,
don’t ask, don’t wonder.
No tears, no cry—
just sinking under.
Destroy yourself—
the poison feeds you.
No sense of health,
no hope that leads you.
Destroy your young
with needles hollow.
Praise every wrong,
and blindly follow.
All is “alright”—
hell has been founded.
Reject the light,
lament unbounded.
Death will arrive
as “liberation”
from what survives
in degradation.
We are the breed
that swallows filth
without a need
to question guilt.
And what we eat
is more than spirit—
we call it “treat,”
and never fear it.
The burning end
will come in fire—
no way to bend
this deep mire.
For inhumanity sits near,
like children void of inner gear.
And we are dragged into their fall—
for Spirit has decayed in all.
---------------------
Manure in ears—no soul remains.
The world now feeds on poisoned chains.
Fire comes to cleanse the ground.
Nothing left but ash and sound.
---------------------
The Praised West
Trained little dogs in polished rows—
that’s the “great West” everyone knows.
Sweet conformity they chew,
and political “correctness” too.
Tolerance becomes a tool
that kills the living, makes them fools.
And “culture” there is nothing more
than twisted self-absorbed decor.
Hypocrisy is standard form,
and lies are thriving, loud and warm.
A human there is just a drain—
so don’t touch pockets, don’t complain.
For damage done to wealth and gain
is worse than any soul-born pain.
And so they live by rules untrue—
not human, just a parasitic crew.
Exceptions? Yes—but quickly crushed,
their voices muted, broken, hushed.
With money they replace the soul—
and line up neatly, whole by whole.
So only death-like life remains
in those corrupted, hollow plains.
No reason left to chase that dream—
that “better West” is not what it seems.
The world is now one broken mold,
just different flavors of the cold.
It doesn’t matter where you fall—
fool, idiot, or none at all.
---------------------
The “great West”—a trained parade.
Souls for comfort gladly trade.
No matter where the fool may stand—
the world is ash across the land.
---------------------
“Atomization” of Society
“Atomization” reaches its peak,
and then comes dumbness, slow and weak.
Soullessness spreads everywhere—
the root of all our rising despair.
When separation hits its end,
there’s little left that can defend
the human mind from rot and fall,
from turning into nothing at all—
a mix of lies, of blind obey,
of vice that eats the soul away.
Always serving darker hands,
lost among the filth of lands.
So what we need are living ties,
not sterile worlds of empty lies.
No time remains to hesitate—
for fascism seals the fate.
We stand upon the edge of death,
yet waste our breath on hollow breath.
Just measure this abyss of pain—
and leave the hell behind again.
Disobedience, self-control—
the only way to save the soul.
We need both courage and resolve,
or into golems we dissolve.
So cast this “atom world” aside,
seek others, stand, and unify.
Together we can break the chain—
and strike at Hell’s corrosive reign.
---------------------
Atomized—then broken mind.
Soulless crowds and blind mankind.
Only unity can fight.
Only will can bring the light.
---------------------
Satanic System
The system ruling over Earth
is built on killing inner worth.
A shooting range for every soul—
each person turned into a goal.
So hurry—try to understand:
each human here is battlefield land.
You must resist, stay sharp, awake,
and move with rhythm no mistake.
Only the Voice within is true—
the rest is lie that cuts you through.
A Shepherd of deceitful creed
has trained the flock in blindened need.
For ages long, the scripted roles
have ruled the hearts and bound the souls.
And soon the outcast will be blessed—
for even that seems better dressed
than this so-called “world” we see,
now heading toward disposal’s sea.
They call it “order,” “new design,”
but it is fuse on endless time.
The match is lit for global fire,
the planet trapped in one great wire.
A prison built from sky to ground—
no space for truth to move around.
But there is fire of a higher flame—
the Heaven-Sun that burns the shame.
It comes to cleanse, to end the stain,
and burn away the inhuman chain.
And now the Sun begins to rise,
its light expanding through the skies.
A path for souls to break and flee—
from suffering into clarity.
---------------------
System built to kill the soul.
World turned into firing role.
But higher fire breaks the chain.
Sunlight ends the rule of pain.
---------------------
The City
This city gulps and mindlessly devours
your energy with multiplied force.
Whatever starts within its hours
will die at birth, lose every course.
All roads here lead—not to Rome—but grave,
no matter what the fools believe.
For genocide is what it makes
behind the masks it wears to deceive.
It kills you softly in the name
of “care,” of “progress,” “new reform.”
A system built to break and tame,
then call destruction “safe and warm.”
For inhumanity “cares” for you—
it never sleeps, just mass-produces lies.
And if you bow to fate they choose,
you drown within its poisoned skies.
So build your circles, live as free,
be bold, be firm, autonomous.
Ignore the media’s decree—
their endless howl is treacherous.
Fight on, and seek companions true,
destroy the lies in mountains high.
Be faithful only to what’s you—
your soul, your inner fire inside.
No cross is yours to carry here—
those crosses only kill and bind.
They crush all reason, spread all fear,
and steal the dignity of mind.
So build instead, where you are placed,
create where life has brought you near.
For only through creation’s grace
can one dissolve this city’s fear.
---------------------
The city eats, the city kills.
All “care” it gives just breaks your will.
But build instead, resist the lie—
and let creation lift you high.
---------------------
Not Dreaming, But Creating
Not dreaming—building, shaping form,
to know, not kneel in blind belief.
From dust we rise against the storm,
and open gates of higher mind relief.
If zombie crowds, in mindless throng,
become the rule in every street,
then dawn of Spirit feels so long—
for fools collide in endless heat.
For Mind is crushed, almost erased—
a rare few sparks remain alive.
Traitors and dullards interlaced
flash by like spokes in endless drive.
Like spokes within a spinning wheel
that rushes straight toward the abyss.
The thinker feels the crucifix
surrounded by a world of filth.
No honor left, no heart, no will—
just hollow shells that eat and grin.
We drown within this heap of sin,
and jokes have turned to something still.
The Spirit soon will be destroyed
by these soulless masses near—
the servants of a darker ploy,
the shame of every passing year.
Yet even with so small a chance,
keep struggling through the endless strain.
Or all will sink into the dust—
forgotten waste, devoid of name.
---------------------
Not dreaming—building through the night.
Not faith—but knowing what is right.
If mind is rare, still do not yield—
for Spirit is the final shield.
---------------------
Tricks and Silencers
Religions are silencers placed
on bold movements of the soul.
Only empty shells, erased,
please those who seek control.
They need obedient, hollow slaves,
with nothing human left inside—
who walk so calmly toward their graves,
and swallow filth with open pride.
All doctrines are just piles of waste,
all systems built on crafted lies.
Their only goal is to erase
the bond where Spirit truly lies.
To cut the link between the Source
and every living human spark—
to drag existence off its course
into submission, blind and dark.
But they miscalculated fate—
for Spirit cannot be destroyed.
Their lies collapse, they deteriorate,
their rotten order now decoys.
Now nausea flows from every screen,
from every channel, every tone—
a constant flood of poisoned sheen,
for feeding minds reduced to bone.
But there will come a flash of flame,
a surge of Spirit, pure and vast,
and all the parasites of shame
will vanish in the burning blast.
The inhuman will fall and die,
with all its systems, tricks, and lies—
its endless poisoned web of guise
will rot away beneath the sky.
---------------------
Religions mute the inner flame.
Tools of control, disguise of shame.
But Spirit breaks the chain of lies—
and all the rotten structure dies.
---------------------
Shit
A cardboard fool just wanders around,
goes to work, then shops again.
But reality is not so sound—
you face deception face to face with pain.
In real life you meet every wall
built for centuries by rotten hands.
And you start to see it all—
every system is just prison bands.
Schools and sects and every creed
are cages dressed in holy lies.
All they ever truly breed
is slavery before your eyes.
The world has turned into a cell
that holds the mind in iron frame.
Forgetting Spirit—this is hell,
built on betrayal, fraud, and shame.
A layered system rules the scene,
but fools see only surface skin.
So life appears calm, clean, serene—
they never see the deeper sin.
But hell is deeper, far more wide,
a fall so vast it breaks the mind.
What fools cannot perceive inside
is rot of universe-defined.
Like flies inside forgotten waste—
that is this slow collapsing age.
But one relief will come at last:
this filth will burn off history’s page.
For those who fight, there is release—
joy in the fire that cleans it all.
This pile of lies will never cease
unless we bring its final fall.
---------------------
A cardboard fool walks blind and free.
While hell runs deep beyond what’s seen.
But rot will burn, the lie will fall—
and nothing false will stand at all.
---------------------
Future
A broken wooden trough remains—
a burned-out Earth in silent flames.
For now, all things are stitched and sealed,
but man is already a field
of crawling decay, of fading trace—
a form of dust in time and space.
The trough is shattered by the Hell
that now on Earth has made its spell.
Dignity is killed and gone,
while “consciousness” drifts blind along.
The Spirit is oppressed and worn,
and honor’s memory is torn.
Only lies reach every ear,
the world now speaks in voices of fear.
The remnants of the soul are pressed
beneath a system unblessed.
All inhuman wills obey,
while fear becomes the law of day.
………………………………
………………………………
For this—this shameful hell-made state—
will crumble into dust and fate.
---------------------
A broken trough, a burned-out ground.
Man decays without a sound.
Truth is gone, and fear remains—
until the system breaks its chains.
---------------------
Fearful and Hard
“To force the slave out” is never light—
you must destroy the chain outright.
It’s terrifying, yet still can be done:
call forth the radiant Light of the Sun.
Once, long ago, it happened so—
the Sun burned down the realms of woe.
And now again—are fools in reign?
Do inhuman hands still chain the brain?
A mass of fools, a ruling grime,
numbers replacing human mind.
No longer Spirit’s living thread—
the sacred link has been cut and dead.
The bond is broken, the dance is done,
the final act has now begun.
Only the Spirit must be saved—
for it is nearly lost and grave.
It can be saved by Light alone:
so call the Fire to your own bone.
And it will blaze like morning true—
the Sun of Reason breaking through.
---------------------
To break the slave, break all the chains.
To end the dark, call Sun again.
Light will rise, the lie will fall—
and Spirit will outlive it all.
---------------------
“Savages” of the Amazon
Once a man lies and becomes a fraud,
the tribe will cast him from its core.
But in the “modern” human world
the pattern is reversed once more.
They rot into a feeding herd—
they stink, they lie, they chew decay.
They’ve lost all Honor, Truth, and Word,
and lies now rule the human way.
A world of falseness, endless fraud,
betrayal piled in mountains high.
The roots are gone, the bonds are rotted—
and chains grow tighter day by day.
A “savage” wife will simply feel
her husband never came back home.
No need for theories to conceal
what truth already makes her known.
They do not build corrupt control,
nor raise the worst to rule the rest.
They never learn to cash the soul,
or sell the lives of all the rest.
They cannot even contemplate
to trade their kin for piles of gold.
For them, “money” is just weight
of numbers easily controlled.
So where are savages? In green
Amazon jungles far away?
No—rotting in the concrete scene,
where lies and poison rule the day.
They spread the stench of falsehood wide,
and soon will “heal” the world with steel—
with poisoned shots and blinded pride,
a world that’s taught no longer feel.
---------------------
Savage? Not jungle, not wild land—
but cities built by lying hand.
Truth still lives where life is plain—
while modern man decays in vain.
---------------------
Don’t Believe!
Don’t wait for rescue from the twisted mind,
don’t trust the words that frauds design.
They lead their “flock” for years in circles blind,
and strengthen Bedlam’s endless line.
There are so many false “messiahs” here—
each wrapped in masks of decent guise.
But underneath, it’s always clear:
their gospel feeds on well-crafted lies.
So much deceit—the world now stinks
like digital garbage left to rot.
The so-called “net” is built on links
of poisoned noise and thoughtless thought.
Search engines bend what may be said,
they shape the truth to fit their hand.
And many follow where they’re led
by voices from a sinking land.
The Bedlam swells with hired minds
that serve the system’s inhuman will,
spreading confusion through all kinds
of engineered and toxic spill.
They help dissolve the human core,
they turn the world into decay—
a place where reason is no more
than something driven far away.
So listen only to yourself,
and keep your intuition bright.
For they will steal your inner self
with counterfeit and borrowed light.
Their “paradise” is forged deceit—
it looks like truth, but isn’t real.
So walk your path on your own feet—
and trust what Spirit makes you feel.
---------------------
Don’t trust the masks the liars wear.
Don’t trust the world built from despair.
Only your inner voice is true—
or they will steal your soul from you.
---------------------
The Coup
“The coup has been completed. Life has ceded power
to the union of corpse and thing.”
— Velimir Khlebnikov, The Crane, 1909
Corpses and things, things and corpses—
a virtual world of the dead.
Things are now “wise,” and corpses are foolish,
bound by chains still newly fed.
Now even stump-level stupidity
is required as the new ideal—
and total soul-atrocity
becomes the only thing made real.
Only objects hold attraction,
and indifference spreads like disease.
Man himself has lost all traction,
consumed by his own debris.
Like crawling lice upon the soil
he devours all in sight and breath—
consuming even his own coil,
already ruled by inner death.
For it is the inhuman hand
that long ago went cold and dead.
Now lies the world like ruined sand,
its meaning crushed and stripped and shed.
No future here. No rising dawn.
Only rumor speaks of light.
But truth is: everything is gone—
the world stands ready for the night.
And now no corpses are required—
the bio-robot takes their place.
With poisoned “care,” the dead are wired
into a hollow, broken race.
A desert formed from human trace—
a wasteland stripped of thought and soul.
So Sun, arise and scorch this place—
restore the burning, cleansing goal.
Let all this living-dead decay
be burned away, erased, undone—
a yoke, a shame, a cursed display
upon the Earth beneath the Sun.
---------------------
Corpses and things now rule the day—
life has been stripped and thrown away.
So let the Sun erase this stain—
and break the dead machine of pain.
---------------------
The Inhuman Fakirs
The fakir was drunk and botched the trick—
the audience sits in stunned despair.
The freak had access, deep and strict,
to inhuman secrets laid bare—
but miscalculated there.
Our so-called “life” is just a show,
where lies entertain the fragile mind.
The main task here, as all should know,
is crushing soul and truth combined.
The viewers sit both blind and dumb—
no voice remains, no sound, no hum.
Resistance lives in scattered few,
while mass stupidity rolls on.
The nightmare is not something new—
it walks the daylight, never gone.
Everywhere traitors take their stand
to finish what is left of soul and brain.
And fools applaud with empty hand,
for thought has long been turned to stain.
The world has turned into decay—
a swamp of rot without escape.
And thinking minds pretend away,
afraid of pain, afraid of shape.
But fear is late—it’s all been sealed:
there is no exit from this hell.
The gate of out is where it yields—
the same gate where you fell as well.
So all will soon be taken down—
both man and inhuman design.
For patience of the Earth is gone,
and limits now are marked by time.
No firing squads are needed here—
no human hand will deal the blow.
The bond of Sun and Earth appears
as judgment none can overthrow.
---------------------
The fakir fails, the crowd is still—
a broken show of human will.
No exit left, no place to hide—
the Sun will burn the lie inside.
---------------------
Understand Harsh Poems in an Average Key
I speak in averages,
plain and straight and clear.
But those who think critically
see what I steer.
If you start explaining more,
adding depth and turns,
with too many exceptions—
truth just blurs and burns.
Poetry must stay precise,
cutting like a blade.
If you fall into silence
about filth that’s made—
you must expose it openly,
name the lying stream.
For silence turns to complicity
when madness is routine.
Soon this rising horror-state
will strike you in return.
So search your path before it’s late—
don’t let your spirit burn.
This decay you’re standing in
is shame if you stay still.
Find your way beyond the din,
beyond this hollow will.
And poetry can help you rise—
it charges up the soul.
It kills the weakness in your eyes
and makes the broken whole.
Only if you are not deaf,
and still can feel the call—
the verse becomes a sharpened breath
that breaks the lies of all.
---------------------
Harsh words are plain, not meant to hide—
they show what rots beneath the tide.
And verse, if heard beyond the pain,
becomes the fire that breaks the chain.
---------------------
Return to the Soviet Hell?
The Soviet Hell—where “idleness”
was punished hard, with iron rule.
And now we dream of this? Unless
we’ve turned nostalgia into fool.
Where even Derbeneva’s voice
could strike the nomenklatura’s face.
A “proletarian” was the choice—
intelligentsia in disgrace.
The system fed on human fear,
the thinking class was always crushed.
And in that order crystal-clear
obedient herds were driven, hushed.
Even a printed “Truth” once tore
Derbeneva apart for one small song.
In Hell, the rulers feared the core
of freedom—so all speech was wrong.
You had to whisper, keep it low,
or vanish into silent cells.
A madhouse was the safer road
than speaking what the spirit tells.
To read was hard, to think was worse,
for censorship was absolute.
Your mind could only turn inward—
and still be punished for pursuit.
Do you want back that rotten place,
all wrapped in hunger, fear, and lies?
Where only “party praise” had grace,
and thought was something to despise?
There you could only eat and obey,
and worship what the system said.
If you were sensitive, not clay,
you were the first who’d end up dead.
The history of man is chain—
it only changes shape and name.
Inhuman rule repeats again,
while evolution turns to shame.
So find another path instead—
build communities, break the lies.
Or you will join the blindly led…
so let resistance multiply.
---------------------
The Soviet Hell returns in name—
but chains are still the same old game.
So break the lie, refuse to bow—
multiply resistance now.
---------------------
Hell
We all are rotting here in Hell,
where petty clerks play devil’s role.
Consciousness is under spell,
and every exit has been closed.
Betrayal works like honest trade,
corruption flows as “natural”.
Resist—and you will be delayed;
only the foolish live in calm.
Soullessness spreads everywhere,
the spiritual are crushed and bent.
The fools stand neatly in their care,
lined up beside the feeding end.
They kill the mind, they call it “right”—
no “normal” thought without its fall.
Huge sums and force are used in spite
to sanctify this system’s wall.
The inhuman has long been here,
and no horizon left to see.
Surrounding filth becomes the law—
the only rule that seems to be.
But Hell will end. It will not last.
Its stench is reaching final breath.
Each rotten force will fall at last,
and every bastard meets its death.
Life will return again in flame,
with Spirit rising from the dust.
Only the slime will lose its name
when final days dissolve to trust.
---------------------
We rot inside a living Hell—
where lies and chains together dwell.
But Hell will break, the slime will fall—
and Spirit will outlive it all.
---------------------
One-Dimensional World of the Idiot
A one-dimensional world of fools—
consume, survive, and shake with fear.
A swamp where madness calmly rules,
and “living” means to only eat and sneer.
To know, to create, to build a whole
harmonious world is what we need.
But here we serve a soulless goal—
a beastly mind that feeds on greed.
The inhuman treats life like a range,
a shooting field for empty play.
And idiots will never change—
they cannot “wake,” they cannot stray.
Like mollusks dreaming they can fly—
awakening is not their fate.
We’re left with only one reply:
to watch, to suffer, to await.
Don’t hope that herded minds will rise,
so neatly marching to their end,
will suddenly open blinded eyes
and overthrow the beast they tend.
A sheep just dreams of curly wool
that stays after the shearing knife.
No longer a pen—it’s a mental pool
where madness passes for real life.
And are the “smart” ones any better?
They never build the world they know.
So clouds grow darker, heavier, wetter—
and no escape is left below.
Each one has dug his own dark hole,
and howls inside his private cage.
A “brilliant world”—a broken whole,
rewarded only with its rage.
For here, reward is simply death—
like cattle in a firing ground.
A shooting range that takes your breath,
where sense is nowhere to be found.
Only one hope remains—our Sun:
it will dissolve this world of shame.
It burns the madness, one by one,
where thinking starts below the brain.
---------------------
A one-dimensional idiot’s world—
where minds just eat and stay unfurled.
But Sun will rise, and lies will burn—
and blind creation will return.
---------------------
Criticality
“I thank You, Lord, my God above,
that death’s harsh hour, fools’ final storm,
will tear the spirit from this rotting love
of flesh that once had human form.
And then—please let me disappear
into the darkness, deep and still.
In heaven I would only fear
a boredom worse than any hell.
For Hell I’ve already seen on Earth.”
— Sasha Chorny, Prayer, 1908
From depths of ruin comes clear sight,
while fools still chant their fake “positives.”
Despair becomes the norm of life,
and cynic thought the only pivot lives.
When Sasha Chorny struck the cage
of that old leprous mental dome,
it was just blossoms for that age—
now Hell itself has fully come.
The despair of those who still can think
is now an ocean without shore.
And in that void, on rotten brink,
the same old beast rules evermore.
That beast was born in earlier days,
but now it’s grown—both strong and bold.
No longer can you hide away
in warm safe holes from what it holds.
For fascism writes the rulebook now,
it governs all that breathes and moves.
And every system learns to bow
to what its dark command approves.
The corrupt multiply like flies,
and lies are scooped like endless stew.
The righteous few are swallowed cries,
while armies of the false break through.
Their screaming drowns all honest sound,
all clean resistance to the rot.
This inhumanity, profound,
becomes the “success” they’ve sought.
And sheep still march toward the knife,
obeying voices of the beast.
They walk as if that is their life—
a silent, programmed, final feast.
So those who think must find the way
out of this filth and mental chain.
Or else it ends in total fray—
the mind’s last remnants lost in pain.
---------------------
Criticality is born in ruin—
when lies collapse and minds are burning.
Without escape, the final chain
will crush what little truth remains.
---------------------
Deceit
It doesn’t matter what you’ve craved,
nor where your suffering took its shape.
All justifications sound depraved
if Beauty you have failed to make.
If not even a spark of harmony,
if nothing new was brought to light—
then all is void, pure irony,
a life dissolved in quiet deceit.
For man was meant to build and form,
and fight when creation cannot stand.
Or else he sinks into the norm
of empty mind and hollow hand.
And every line here proves its truth
when you just look outside your door—
a mass of fools, a night of mind,
where trickery spreads evermore.
When money guides your inner voice
and every lie becomes your creed—
you are a fool by broken choice,
or nerves dissolved in poisoned feed.
Your consciousness is fully seized
by mirages that cloud your sight.
No fate could be more ill-at-ease
than walking blind through fading light.
Then you’re just part of dull parade
of idiots in endless rows,
who answer every trumpet call
and go wherever madness goes.
They march to wars both old and new,
hybrid wars of masked control.
And that is all they’re fit to do—
asleep in their lethargic role.
---------------------
If you create not truth or form,
your life becomes a quiet storm.
And fooled by money, lies, and fear—
you sleep while emptiness grows near.
---------------------
Whiteness and Straightness
Don’t look down on the stomach’s need,
nor judge the body’s daily call.
Don’t think of teeth so white and neat,
of crowns and health and gums at all.
Instead reflect on straightness there—
the twisted folds inside the head.
On crooked thoughts that rot and tear
the empty spaces left for bread.
Already canary brains
can serve as models of our state.
We see no path through endless plains—
only the inhuman dominate.
For inhumanity has long
built here a true and living Hell.
And still we sift, like fools among
false ideas that serve us well.
We fill our minds with useless noise
so we won’t face the deeper wound:
that we are turned into a choice
of trained livestock, tightly wound.
It’s obvious—so painfully clear!
Yet how few sound the alarm?
The masses drift in dull career,
like moths that feed without alarm.
And soon they’ll teach us how to eat
even worms—just pull the hook.
A camp is ready, cold and neat,
for those who once were human look.
So if you think—build your own band,
communes are the only way.
The only sense is to withstand,
and never let yourself obey.
For if you do not bend your core,
you will not enter slave-made fate—
and pass beyond the final door
that marks the boundary of state.
---------------------
Don’t mock the body, don’t look down—
the mind is where the chains are grown.
Build bonds, resist, refuse to kneel—
that is the only way to heal.
---------------------
Marasmus
“February. Get ink and weep in pain!
Write of February, tearfully true,
While slushy thunder drowns the plain
And black spring fires break through.”
— Boris Pasternak, 1912
Marasmus. Get green dye, start marking
All fools that crawl across the land.
This world-madhouse is beyond all charting —
Only a “red cross” might understand.
Only a fascist system, patient,
Can count and clip and cull the herd,
Where mass stupidity is ancient
And “to exist” means “to be absurd.”
They “treat” the herd with poison medicine —
Fascism caring, as it claims.
The world is caged in foul possession
Of nameless beasts with shifting names.
And year by year it turns still darker:
Decay has reached its final line.
In this filthy, stagnant harbor
The wise are cast out of design.
And yet remains one final motion —
To die with dignity intact,
With honor, clarity, devotion,
To burn the shameful lie to ash.
For only Lie now reigns and hollows
The spark of Spirit, Mind’s own flame.
The spiritual are nearly swallowed
In endless dumps of rot and shame.
---------------------
“Doctors” and “Teachers”
Here the maiming quack,
The dullness-maker, the brain-breaker
Have grown shameless—almost crack
The soul. Once: doctor and teacher.
That world is overgrown with dust—
Now selling out is held in honor.
Only Evil’s rise we trust,
While Honor, Mind are fading under.
To betray, to sell—how sweet,
The finest thrill this place delivers.
Entertainment, endless meat,
More noise, more rush—more fevered shivers.
So fools and sickness spread like weeds,
A plague across the human ground.
Evil’s “workers,” feeding needs—
Or simply traitors all around.
That’s how it goes in this world-madhouse,
A global ward of shattered minds:
All in service to the goat-house,
Docile souls in fearful binds.
---------------------
Armor
Cracked and hollow armor—
Cunning, ego, pride.
All your “great success” here
Turns to dust inside.
New and true armor rising—
Honor, will, and care.
Brave hearts, uncompromising,
Break the fascist snare.
Only unity in motion,
Fury, strength, and flame
Bring the needed cleansing potion,
Wipe away the shame.
Death to fascist poison-seeds!
We will bring them down.
Only standing as one breed
Wins the lost renown.
---------------------
Bovinus / “Sheeple-Virus”
Not about “health” at all—
But slaughter’s call:
The whole flock driven
Down into their hell.
That is all they wish for,
Nothing more to tell.
Soft words on the surface—
But beneath: “go to hell.”
---------------------
“Teachers” and “Doctors” of the Sheeple-Virus Fascist Age
What can they even cure,
What can they ever teach,
These rotten pretenders
Who for two long years can’t reach
The simplest truth so clear—
Yet still they preach and preach?
Traitors in white coats,
With poison on their speech.
They only maim and twist,
They only dull the mind,
Spreading a deeper mist
For every child they find.
This new age of confusion
They carefully design.
Such filth—fit for prison,
Or erased from the line.
Crawling, slavish creatures,
Kneeling to the crime.
---------------------
“Spiritual” Nonsense
All those hollow “spiritual” schemes—
Empty patterns of polite decay—
Preaching “love” in broken dreams
While oppression rules the day.
But when you face a rotten foe,
Don’t rush to “love” his tainted face.
A cleansing fire must sometimes show
What cannot be healed by grace.
When a criminal stands before you,
Keep that syrupy “love” aside.
Traitors, sadists—those who tore you—
Need truth, not a gentle guide.
They say: “Don’t feed the darkness anger,
It thrives on negative emotion.”
Yet softness only serves the danger,
And feeds its growing ocean.
Take courage, clarity, and fire—
But keep compassion where it’s due.
For warmth and care are not a liar’s
Gift to those who still are true.
The world is complex, not a slogan;
Rage has its place within the fight.
Intuition must be spoken
To tell what’s wrong and what is right.
Forget the hollow “gentle” teaching,
Forget politeness as a chain—
Without discernment, you are reaching
For truth in blindness, loss, and pain.
For in a struggle sharp and mortal,
No fake “virtue” will defend.
Only clarity of spirit
Can help you stand until the end.
---------------------
Social Idiot-Machine
On a poetry site—“fascism” as filter line,
Bots are trained to catch the keyword trace.
Pseudo-love, dull minds, fake patriotism shine,
Everything else is trash—make room for the base.
It’s an idiot-system, everywhere you look—
Education of deformity in full swing.
Idiots are easier to keep on the hook,
Running in lies like a hamster on a string.
For idiots it’s easy to inject the fear,
Just a “cold” can be made into doom.
No need for slaughter, no war drawing near—
A whisper of poison is enough for the room.
And the clever ones? The idiot will win—
Smother the last of the thinking with mass.
Here the “scientist,” “doctor,” the informer within
All drown in the sewage of ignorant class.
Now the fool is in line—next in the queue,
A “youth-building project” is underway.
And soon only one thinker is left in the crew—
And the idiot comes to “treat” him away.
---------------------
“Pedriots”
Not patriots—but “pedriots” instead,
For patriots strike fascism down.
Yet fools refuse to see or read
Who truly wears the world’s dark crown.
For if the world is ruled by rot,
By satanic will and lie,
Then “friend or foe” is not the plot—
But who makes all this living die.
Now there is only one task here:
To break the fascist worm in two.
Take up the fight without fear—
This is the answer we give you.
We will prevail—we’ll sweep them out,
Go to the final battle’s flame.
And skies will clear of smoke and doubt,
And humankind will be its name.
No slaves we are—we end their reign,
We drive a stake through what they made.
For turning life into a chain
Of evil, rot, and charade.
---------------------
Runners and the Rest
Endorphin-made “addicts” in motion—
The healthiest kind of a “junkie” breed.
They heal their souls with quiet devotion,
Relieving the pressure of unseen need.
Even if Reason is partly in chains,
Running will still let you breathe once again.
Though the whole world is gone and insane,
Keep your own line through the chaos and pain.
Yoga or movement—whatever the name,
Helps you remember how breathing feels true.
While Spirit and Mind are dragged into shame,
Poison replaces what once carried you.
So don’t just sit there, legs calmly crossed—
Buddha has gone, and no God will return.
But if you change yourself, at whatever cost,
You help the prison of the world start to burn.
---------------------
No tale is sadder in this world…
No tale is sadder in this wide world’s story
Than Ivan’s tale and “Gillette’s” false glory.
There was once Peter—first famed “barber king,”
Who spared no child, no elder suffering.
He brought in foreign tricks across the land,
To better keep the people in command.
Like poisoned honey dressed in sugar guise—
You taste it once, and then your soul decays.
Don’t trust those wretches calling it “progress,”
When Spirit fades and Reason meets distress.
Build living communes—stand as their own guide,
Be bold, and you shall conquer every tide.
---------------------
Do we not need the Light?
“Among the worlds, amid the stars’ faint gleam,
One single Star I call by name…
Not that I loved Her in a dream,
But that I suffered with the same.
And when my doubt becomes too sore,
To Her alone I seek the answer’s light—
Not that from Her there is more,
But that with Her I need no light.”
— Innokenty Annensky, Among the Worlds, 1909
The Light is hated only by the blind,
By fools who serve whatever feeds their blindness.
And so the Earth is chaos intertwined—
A madhouse filled with rot and mindless kindness.
You must become a being made of flame,
For Light is breath—without it, death is near.
Only then ends the fascist endless game
Where Spirit and all Honor hang in fear.
---------------------
Psychopaths
Psychopaths are ruling nations,
and the world’s a madhouse now.
It has turned to foul sanitation,
where the people kneel and bow.
Non-human hands sell degradation
as a “protocol of rule.”
Psychopaths feel satisfaction
watching humans made a tool.
They crush the mind without remission,
break all Spirit, crush all flame.
Yet they’ve misread the final vision—
their own ending bears their name.
Soon the guilty will be called,
hung upon the same old stake.
No escape in holes or walls—
not when anger’s wide awake.
---------------------
Test Subjects
Little monkeys press the buttons in labs,
while the children tick their boxes in line.
Only minutes are given for scraps—
a fight for the feeding, the place, the design.
And the wretches who built it are laughing,
while the dull ones can’t see the design.
They decide what position you’re having—
in the cage… if you fall out of line.
Then you vanish in concrete jungles,
if your thinking won’t neatly obey.
For the goal is the mind made simple—
a world where all brightness decays.
Nothing here is by chance or collision—
every reflex and memory trained.
All too sharp becomes slow, like erosion,
and the light of the mind is restrained.
For these shadows don’t know what is thinking,
they’ve forgotten the flame of the mind.
Only hollow reactions are lingering—
while awareness is left far behind.
---------------------
“Science”
My brother’s a professor—
Doctor of science, well known.
I come from the same old pressure,
But math was a struggle of my own.
I once built a theorem,
Even managed to prove it as true.
I still hold some love for it, clearly—
But long ago I broke through.
Then I slipped down a crooked direction—
Made money like a streetwise thief.
Not that I dreamed of mere “sustenance”—
Just rotting in shame and grief.
When I speak now of science and reason,
I know very well what I say:
It’s sold by corrupt little schemers
In labs that have gone astray.
Only fools kneel before its altar,
Where lies and fraud multiply fast.
A tool for the system of darkness—
Just filth from beginning to last.
---------------------
Time to Give Account
Much water has already flown,
many roofs have been blown away,
and things have turned foul to the bone—
evil is everywhere today.
The bottom has long since been cracked:
no human left—just waste intact.
Hell has been here for years in fact,
and knowledge has been fully sacked.
You are not meant to understand—
just to consume what’s in your hand,
to sleep and follow foul command,
and sell your soul across the land.
But this inferno will not last—
the Spirit cannot be harassed.
What time remains is running fast:
they burn—we howl, but it won’t last.
The Sun will scorch this reeking stain,
where filth and tyrants rule the game.
And those with soul will not feel pain—
checkmate to darkness, end of shame.
---------------------
Ground Squirrels and Bark Beetles
We are all bark-beetles,
gnawing crust of Earth.
Soon there won’t be enough of it left—
no shelter, no warmth, no worth.
Each one sits in a burrow,
just a “crunch” and “gnaw.”
Endless little punishments—
the slow-witted law.
Soon the foxes will be coming,
wiping squirrels clean away.
Bark-beetle hell is humming—
ready for its final play.
“Crunch” and “gnaw” will vanish—
replaced by “bark” and “bite.”
Better guard-dogs, ruthless, savage,
will rise into the night.
Even foxes will be bitten,
crunched by canine jaws.
But for now we’re all just drifting
through insanity’s applause.
---------------------
Herds of the “Near Ones”
Lively herds of the “near ones”
trample the sprouting mind.
No need for chains or iron—
just masses of fools combined.
Why should the wise be slaughtered?
Better to feed the herd.
They’ll trample all that’s sacred
just chasing the promised word.
So we invent a “race track,”
call it progress, call it fight.
Only the strategist notices
the crematorium in sight.
That race leads straight toward it—
that is the hidden plan.
And the one who drives it faster
is the politician man.
137 poems
© Copyright: Èãîðü Âûõîâàíåö, 2026
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226041800524
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226041800524
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