Fate of the Poet
If you are an artist —
God forbid, a poet too —
Not chained by rotten dogmas,
Not selling lies as truth,
Not feeding all the madness
The brain-dead slaves adore,
Then you’ll be left unneeded,
Ignored by every door.
The only one who’ll value
The words that you create
Will be yourself alone there —
Your audience, your fate.
Yes, bitter is this labor:
You are your only hall,
Your judge and executioner,
The one who bears it all.
But if you are no weakling,
If whining makes you sick,
Then patience will transform you
To granite hard and thick.
You’ll stand against the darkness,
Against its poisoned art,
And none of all its traps will
Strike terror in your heart.
For whores alone are wanted
Within this age of lies.
The time for jokes is over —
A nation rots and dies.
No world remains unbroken,
Few humans still endure.
The dying lyre is choking
In demons’ drunken war.
And one thing still remains now:
To blast this hell apart,
To call down fire upon it
From fury in the heart.
---------------------
Kuzka’s Mother
There lived a fool named Kuzya —
Slow, bloated, dull and numb,
A burden to existence,
With darkness in his blood.
He cursed and stuffed his belly,
Drank deep from poisoned wells,
Defiled the earth around him
And loved the chains of hell.
For force and bribes were sacred,
His only law and creed.
He gave the devils freely
The right to rule and lead.
And through his hands the demons
Decided Earth must fall:
Make idiots of the masses,
Destroy the soul of all.
Yet Earth remains the fortress
No evil breaks apart.
She suffers long — but one day
Will show her “Kuzka’s wrath.”
The Sun itself shall aid her —
Burn parasites away,
Those lice that gorge and wallow,
Yet never became men one day.
---------------------
Deep-Layered Fortress of Delusion
Your consciousness — a layered pile of rot,
Of alien lies, oppression, self-deceit.
No trace of anything truly real was caught —
A Trojan virus floods the mind through what you feel and see.
The point is simple: you were never free,
A wretched slave through generations bred.
No choice was ever truly given thee —
Just prefab phrases croaking in your head.
A choice between one falsehood and the next,
Cheap myths where holy fools are crowned as kings,
Where Ivan wins by “God’s own hand” expressed —
In truth, the fool’s a moron on a string.
A moron twisted, turned by filthy beasts
That ruled behind the curtains since old days.
A moron burdened from his birth till death
By dull survival in the endless maze.
This biosurvival panic, cold and blind,
Transforms mankind to cattle fit for chains.
Luciferian systems of this kind
Now plan to strip what little soul remains.
Too late for fear — the final fight is lost.
Ahead there waits decay, collapse, the pit.
And further shall the nonhuman host
Perform spirit-murder’s final rite.
One thing alone remains: destroy this hell,
Call down the Sun’s consuming firestorm bright.
Enduring every wound and pain as well,
To drag the demons with us into night.
---------------------
Dissolving in the Sewer, or The Path of Spiritual Nonsense
You dream to melt your reason into Nirvana’s haze,
Escaping from the prison of this restless earthly plane.
You long to dwell in realms of “purest mind” always,
Abandoning the flesh, the astral rot and stain.
But you’ll dissolve in something foul beyond all name,
For reason barely lives within this poisoned sphere.
Half-mad degenerates exhale their toxic flame —
Dark miasmas breeding misery and fear.
This planet-leper colony is wrapped indeed around
By something like a noosphere — but not of light or mind:
A septic cloud of mental filth and garbage without bound,
A critical mass of idiot sludge mankind refined.
No mask will help the soul breathe freely there,
Among infernal realms where suffocation spreads.
Leave this madhouse — you’ll still find hell elsewhere,
And hell’s destruction is the cure that waits ahead.
The Sun shall burn this total darkness from the sky
If we invoke its fire with relentless will and rage,
So every filthy parasite at last shall choke and die
Who seeks to turn all humankind to cattle in a cage.
This filthy beast has ruled the world for ages long,
Making genocide the ruling law of Earth.
He turned both men and planet into sewage, rot and wrong —
And by karmic law shall face extermination for his worth.
---------------------
Mountaineering
Trust nothing! Trust nothing!! Trust nothing!!!
The mantra of these poisoned days.
Far better to throw wide your doorway
To some raging killer in a blaze.
Far better to swallow pure poison,
Or put a cold gun to your head,
Than listen to mobs and their sermons
Whose god is fascism widespread.
By fraud they are slaughtering millions,
Half-crazed and bewildered with fear.
Tomorrow they’ll justify all of it
With fresh lies conveniently near.
Deceptions rise high as Everest mountains,
And you are the climber they use.
Since infancy burdened with this madness,
Still somehow avoiding the noose.
Do not join the games of the jackals
Where victory’s always a zero.
Inside a cage with a starving tiger
You’d stand a much fairer hero.
Question all things without mercy —
Even “truths” carved deep into stone.
Only fools still believe in the garbage
Of poisoned words endlessly thrown.
---------------------
Diagnosis
“Man is sixty percent chemicals,
forty percent lies and rye?
But one percent Michelangelo —
that is why I make stained glass.”
— Andrei Voznesensky
Seventy percent are imbeciles here,
Twenty are schizoid or cold psychopaths,
Seven are weaklings consumed by fear,
Half a percent serve monsters on darkened paths.
Less than three percent can truly act.
One in three of them is broken inside,
One in three has been chained and trapped
By cunning lies they swallowed with pride.
And less than one percent still carries sane force.
Division devours them one by one.
Their victories vanish without a course —
Almost none bring light to anyone.
And further ahead it only grows worse.
That fraction will melt away
In the stinking swamp of a poisoned universe
Whose single theme is decay:
The slaughter of reason’s remaining spark,
The wrecking of mind and soul,
Transforming humanity into dark
Half-demons stripped of control.
The remnants of humans have little left now
But to blast this infernal domain apart.
Through exhaustion and suffering still somehow
Call fire upon themselves from the heart.
The Sun’s great fire will finally cleanse
This foul and corrupted sphere.
If mind is murdered and spirit enchained —
Then down with this stinking sewer here!
---------------------
Hopes
“I burn the remnants of festive clothes,
I tear the strings, escaping poisoned haze —
No longer shall I serve illusory hopes,
Nor bow to idols born of fraud and maze.”
— Vladimir Vysotsky
All hopes are ghostly shadows
When chaos rules the land.
Only fools endure it
And fail to understand.
No freedom can be born here,
No reason, light, or grace.
Only hearts are shattered
From youth in this dark place.
No road exists for talent
Inside this inhuman din.
Only Atlases can bear it —
This endless death within.
The death of mind and spirit,
The death of brighter dreams,
Amid the lies that pierce the ear
And rot reality’s seams.
And things will still grow darker:
True hell will soon awake
Inside this stinking swamp-world
Ruled by a fascist snake.
Only relentless rebellion
Can help us in the end,
When all the monstrous inhuman filth
We drive beyond the bend.
---------------------
Sympathile
What once was merely just a fool —
A dimwit fit for simple chores —
Has now evolved to something worse:
A “sympathile” in endless hordes.
Today he’s politician, engineer,
A plague-doctor preaching fear,
A filthy cop, “authority” figure —
Held up for children far and near.
And thinking people serve as pedestals
For this supreme and bloated clown.
The world’s turned upside down completely —
The super-moron wears the crown.
He’s cherished by the fascist order,
And not by accident at all:
For wiser minds grow weak and broken
When freaks are placed above them all.
Genocide is easy to conduct
Through countless fools that blindly obey.
And very soon they plan to build
A global prison for all the Earth one day.
Where reason, honor, shame, compassion,
Conscience too, will all be slain,
Sacrificed to hellish masters
For profit, power, fear and chain.
And spirit itself will be strangled everywhere —
Such fate is now prepared for man.
So those who still possess clear minds
Must unite their strength while they can,
For there will be no road returning
To the former world we knew before.
The only chance that still remains:
To end the demons’ feast of war.
---------------------
The Final Sum
One may sum up mankind quite simply in the end:
It’s hard for monsters to survive when horned gods still descend
To rule through genocide century after century long —
And “survival” is no word for Man once spirit’s gone.
Only half-wits dream of merely staying alive.
True humans fight entropy, create, ascend, strive —
People with a spark of reason, with spirit standing straight,
Not servants of infernal hordes consumed by fear and hate.
Where there is no creation, no fire of the soul,
There is no Human left at all — just fragments without goal.
And for ages they have murdered every Muse in sight,
Though no armed overseer stands behind most minds at night.
No evil jailer forces them to chant the same dead lies
That turn them into idiots until the spirit dies.
Each one chose this road freely — that is hell’s design:
The path of willing slavery, of hollowed-out decline.
And those few who still resist this savage system’s reign,
Who battle ancient chains of fear, are fading all in vain.
Soon this rare breed shall vanish, nevermore be born
Inside this genocidal hell where every light is torn.
One thing alone remains now: to blast this hell apart
With the Fire we ourselves shall summon from the heart.
There is no place left for this shame, this breeding ground of dread —
Soon this nest of endless misery shall burn itself to ash and red.
---------------------
Energy
So many gifted minds once walked this wounded Earth,
Creating countless wonders of immeasurable worth —
Inventions meant to bring mankind both light and liberty,
To free the poor from suffering, from hunger and misery.
Engines fed by water, burning fierce and bright,
Powered by simple mechanisms built with human sight.
But darkness will not let such things
Be placed into our hands —
That darkness ruling over us through centuries of chains,
The darkness making people forget why man remains:
Not born to serve the pleasures
Of demonic, rotten breeds
Whose highest goal is turning us to cattle fit for leads,
A scheme that chokes humanity and runs it to the ground.
Thus murder and genocide now everywhere abound —
And still the masses slumber while the nightmare deepens fast,
As if this age of horror somehow forever can last.
The world reeks from the corpses of brilliant, gifted souls
Dragged to slaughter blocks by creatures empty, black and cold.
For every spark of truth and light is crushed before its rise,
Though age after age it’s reinvented under different skies.
If we do not destroy this monstrous spawn at last,
Life on Earth itself may fade and never truly last.
For now inventions are not what humanity most needs —
But ending the inhuman root from which all evil breeds.
---------------------
Mixtures
Everything here is merely a mixture
Of exploitation and shameless deceit.
And victims no longer grow angry or bitter
At how primitive these false mirages repeat.
This mad world long ago accepted
The fraud of false plagues without a fight.
Then once again the madness erupted
With the “sheep-virus” spreading overnight.
In every mixture the balance just changes:
Different portions of lies and decay.
For falsehood is always the dominant substance —
Without it the masses would not obey.
The catechism of every system
Is soaked through with idiotic lies.
And it is deception that breeds every crisis
Inside dead structures where all spirit dies.
All systems are lifeless, and all of them chain
Whoever falls under their suffocating weight.
They swiftly and brutally murder the mind —
To follow them blindly means walking to fate.
And only dead systems are ruling this planet:
Each person a slave to mechanical schemes.
That is why the whole world has turned to a sewer —
A stinking abyss drowning all human dreams.
---------------------
March of the Senile Old Fools
Aging children mourn the past gone by,
Grinding old delusions like a worn-out tune.
They grieve because the years forever fly,
Not knowing they helped bring this doom.
They are the root of Earth’s disasters and decay,
For they never strengthened mind or soul within.
They drifted with the current all the way,
Living as parasites wrapped in skin.
Like worms that gnaw the pillars of all worth —
Reason, spirit, honor standing high.
Since childhood they escaped from living Earth,
Lost in dreamworlds built on empty lies.
The only thing that’s real is what you give
To mankind’s treasury of conscious flame.
But not true humans marched here — only fools
Driven to slaughter in the demons’ game.
Each person shares the guilt that imbeciles
Became the crowd, the ruling mass of all.
Too little strength was given to resist
Genocide and darkness spreading through the hall.
And now it’s late for whining or regret —
This filthy evil conquered all in sight.
One task alone remains before us yet:
To blow apart this septic world of blight.
---------------------
Mechanical Clown
A mechanical clown
In the Theater Absurd,
Well-trained and conditioned
To obey every word.
Conditioned by falsehood,
By slavery and praise.
The divine spark within him
Was lost in the haze.
Along with all honor
It vanished from sight
Inside this mad chaos,
This carnival night.
Now he sees only visions,
Dreams woven from trash,
Calling that garbage
“Real life” in a flash.
But already he’s tearing,
Covered deeply in slime —
That slime is the symptom
Of mind’s slow decline.
The clown is a phantom,
A servant, a tool,
A slave in the service
Of monsters cruel,
Of foul inhuman creatures
Destroying the Earth
With poisonous lies
And fake plagues unleashed forth.
---------------------
Get Sick!
Get sick, people, get sick!
Break free from the genocide of schemes.
Raise your glasses to illness —
Toast your friends and shattered dreams!
For in the name of “health” this world
Is torn apart by fascist hounds.
Your fear alone keeps multiplying
The chains false pandemics wound.
So fall ill wildly, recklessly,
Cough till the heavens split apart.
Spit across this earthly wasteland —
Drive every lie into the dark!
No fascist ever truly cared
For ordinary human lives.
Within the vomit of fake plagues
He turns men into swine.
Then with injections he destroys
The obedient fools in line,
Thus sealing shut the final chapter
Of the old enslaving time.
Beyond that waits the camp alone,
The next commandment of the age.
And on its pale and sterile banner —
A red cross for the mindless slave.
And that dead stump will soon be burned
Inside the crematory flame.
No humans left — just numbers branded,
Ultra-slaves without a name.
---------------------
Bedouin
You live in a lifeless desert,
Though no Bedouin you appear.
From your youth until this moment
You have always walked alone here.
Shake off the dust of false friendships,
Shake off love that’s bought and sold.
Stop serving all those bloody “isms”
Forged in cruelty dark and cold.
A dead city is worse than deserts —
Rot and decay reign there supreme.
All its “sacred truths” are hollow,
Dead or foolish every dream.
Everything there deserves the Fire,
Everything deserves to burn.
Only Fire walks beside you truly,
Only it can save your soul in turn.
For in hell you are a traveler,
And the journey nears its end.
Every hell without true Fire
Reeks of rot that cannot mend.
Only myths speak of pitch and cauldrons —
Your hell is this slaughterhouse Earth,
Where almost all are mindless cattle,
Stripped of reason, robbed of worth.
One thing only still remains now:
Burn this rotting filth away.
Leave the prison forever behind you,
Though exhausted, scarred by the fray.
---------------------
Unbreakable Revolt
Only fierce rebellion
Still can set us free.
All the lying vermin
Must be swept to sea.
The inhuman gather strength now
In their war on humankind.
Monstrous forces turned so many
Into cattle dull and blind.
We must stand together —
Enough of grieving lone.
Or this hell will keep expanding
Till all light is overthrown.
Then the camps will swallow
Every thinking soul alive,
And the mad obedient masses
Will be bred like cattle stock to thrive.
After that no reasonable human
Will be born beneath the sky.
An endless global prison
Will replace the reason why.
The final battle’s started —
And we shall win before the end!
We will fulfill the task before us:
Sweep away the inhuman plague we fend.
---------------------
Clinical “Life”
In childhood the soul can see the body,
And the body still senses the soul.
But later that vision is murdered carefully
So you’ll grow blind, obedient, controlled.
They kill you through dull surroundings,
Through the dictatorship of deadened molds,
Through swarms of filthy and lying doctrines —
Lifelong standards of stupidity cold.
This system was organized long ago, precisely,
Built deep into the idiot-structure of the world,
To sort through humans like beads on a string —
Though not humans at all, but mechanisms unfurled
For producing tribute to vile parasites
That captured this foolish Earth entire,
Terrorizing all through traitors and servants,
Leaving behind living corpses in mire.
And first they must hammer into your skull:
“You are only a body — nothing more.”
Thus castrating the mind to the deepest core,
So monsters may do whatever they wish thereafter —
And the inhuman perform this art with skill for sure.
And countless more tricks are hidden by filth
To twist every truth beyond all repair.
And countless disasters still shall unfold
If the true focus is not restored there.
The focus upon the soul —
Whose symbol forever is heart.
Listen only to your deepest self:
That alone is the doorway to start
Toward real life —
Bright, unchained, alive.
For now you stand at a funeral feast,
Served as food so the monsters survive.
---------------------
Point of No Return
The rot has spread so deeply now,
Corruption climbed so high,
That only defeat awaits us —
An age of chains for all mankind.
This is the final outcome
Of systems built to kill
Reason, spirit, conscience, honor —
Crushed with cold mechanical will.
And the story of genocide
Approaches now its end.
The point of no return was crossed
Long before the latest bend.
The hour of sunset draws near,
Though already this is the pit.
Human beings barely remain here —
Only half-wits drowning in it.
Obedient wooden creatures,
Pig-like shadows in a row.
And soon the rare exceptions
Will be slaughtered too below,
To make the chains more “efficient,”
To save the system strain.
So thinkers are left with laughter
As the final human refrain.
This hell will not endure forever.
Perhaps God shall return once more
Into this infernal wasteland —
And demons will tremble in horror,
Their endless feast collapsing,
Their reign consumed by flame.
---------------------
Secondary Details
In this madhouse where lies are manufactured nonstop,
Where “experts” barely care for secondary details,
For outwardly they seem important — the very top,
Yet truly they are cattle, frauds atop frauds and fails,
One must always watch the details
That linger quietly in the rear.
The shameless liars cannot track all traces —
That clan is full of fools as well, it’s clear.
And only idiots keep believing
The brazen lies now blooming wild.
For everything is easy to examine,
And truth itself leaves reason stunned and riled.
The Earth once more stands on a turtle,
Though this time built from noodles, fake and cheap.
The lies are primitive and obvious
Whenever monsters promises keep.
The matter is so crucial now
That all the forces of the dark
Were thrown into mankind’s stupefaction —
And almost all became mindless marks.
And so the mockery continues:
Of reason, spirit, honor, truth —
The very pillars of existence
Undermined since early youth.
And while deception rules this foolish world,
Still wrapped in techno-slavery’s chains,
It never shall break free from bondage,
Nor cleanse itself from rot and stains.
---------------------
Intellectual Anti-SS
To expose the methods fascism employs,
We need a network built to gather and deploy
Filtered truth and evidence on everything they do —
The lies, the blades, the systems forcing darkness through.
A mass of sites where every human being
Who refuses chains and hellish overseers seeing
Can leave behind a real and living trace —
Expose each rotten fraud laid bare before the face.
The madness always ruled by genocide and fear,
The madness casting nets to drag obedient fools near,
To pull them into hell itself and finally erase
The last remaining sparks of reason from the human race.
Neither Google nor Yandex now will truly help us find
What matters — both have long since served the dark behind,
Filtering and burying what uncensored minds create,
What free men forged for all beyond the reach of hate.
Perhaps not even websites, but a peer-to-peer domain
Where not just texts, but free uncensored search remains.
Within this lying world that step is crucial now —
Without it total ruin soon will crush us somehow.
And after that communities must rise and stand as one,
Or else we’ll rot in camps before the struggle’s done —
The filthy final outcome waiting for the blind,
For all who chose submission over soul and mind.
---------------------
Bio-Survival Anxiety
No need to worry anymore —
It’s all already dead.
From fascist dogs you’ll only get
Chains, prison, and dread.
The only hope still flickers
Inside this madhouse of fools.
Only the ignorant fail to notice
The iron invisible rules
That already have bound us,
This mad and fractured sphere —
Stronger than steel or granite,
Driving us toward a feast of fear.
A banquet for the monsters,
A meal for what is vile,
Waiting until all people turn
To cattle trained to file.
But if you are already dead inside,
Then fear can find no place.
You harden into silence
And scatter every trace
Of all your broken illusions,
Of every hollow creed —
In a world of convulsing reason,
Where solitude is seed.
And there you’ll find companions
For one last final stand —
Lonely warriors rising
With fire in their hand,
Marching to destroy evil
Without a scheme or chain:
The eradication of the inhuman root —
The source of all our pain.
---------------------
Filth-Liners
“Man, if you don’t calm down yourself, someone will help you.
Next outburst goes to this address…”
— Anonymous
Drop dead, you filthy bastard —
A fascist regime’s rag,
There’s something wrong inside you,
A bleeding mental crack.
Drop dead, you stupid parasite —
You crawling, rotten fool!
How many of your kind now
Play every dirty role?
You shove your nose in everywhere,
A swarm of useful scum —
In a world of mindless idiots
To keep the herd as one.
Cowardly obedient cattle —
The slaves of final days,
Worse than the cops and thugs here,
With muzzles for their face.
These crawling human leeches
Wear submission like a sign,
Walking piggybanks of poison,
A cancer in mankind.
They scribble endless denunciations,
Ready to betray and sell
Without a second thought — even
Their mother straight to hell.
But soon these filthy informers
Will rot and fade away,
For fascists purge their own kind first —
No trial, no final stay.
---------------------
Slavery
We must take this slavery brick by brick apart,
To understand the rotten system at its heart.
Only then can execution of deceivers start —
Once every hidden seal is torn apart.
Our deadly enemy is masked with skill and art,
Raging through the darkness, tearing minds apart.
And it uses every crack inside the weakened heart,
Spreading clouds of lies that poison thought and start
To dull the human reason, break it piece by piece.
So we must find the methods that can bring release —
Break the inner blockades, give the mind some peace,
And make the sleeping slaves see death will never cease.
The hour long ago has struck — the point of no return.
The inhuman now seeks us all to burn,
With false pandemics issued as a global stern
Command to poison bodies “for our health” in turn.
Worse genocide the world has never known before —
In former times they merely set their fishing nets to score
The clever ones for years of bondage evermore.
Now the order is extinction — nothing less, no more.
And even those who show the slightest doubt or pain
Toward this enslaved existence will be crushed again.
So all must rise to battle on this final plain —
Destroy the inhuman, even if we fall in flame.
---------------------
Madnesses
Whip yourself raw with a lash if you can still stand tall,
Pull on a faded pioneer cap and let the whole world fall,
Cut up a couple of frogs for reasons nobody knows —
Even that carries less madness than serving the system of woes.
Less insane than joining the service, obeying each rotten command,
Becoming a loyal slave marching the road where genocides stand.
Better to hang yourself quietly than be a filthy cop in the chain,
Forcing masks on the faces of cattle too broken to question or strain.
Better to swallow poison than become a “doctor” untrue,
Killing off swarms of the stupid without seeing what you do.
Better to be called an idiot, simple and out of the game,
Than a learned fake scholar justifying every infernal claim.
Better to die as a gangster than join the journalistic pack,
Who wrap every lie in garnish and never once turn their back.
Better to sink in the mud than become a bureaucrat’s role,
Imposing absurd decrees on the herd without heart or soul.
And better still never to enter this stinking charade at all —
To be reborn as a frog in a swamp beyond human thrall,
Spiting the talking cattle who think they are wise and whole,
While marching in circles toward madness that swallows the soul.
---------------------
New Globalization
The globalization of the inhuman now ends,
Collapsed into a primitive fascist decay.
And from it a new realization ascends —
Exchange without money is opening the way.
A different globalization may yet save mankind,
Still half-dead in this infernal machine.
No need for new doctrines to fill up the mind —
Just life in a garden once more serene.
For once we did live so, in freedom and trust,
Paid fully for labor in honest exchange.
But the inhuman deceived us — as it must —
And poverty followed through each passing age.
Year after year, both meaning and health
Slip away in a world where all effort is vain.
And only one thought may restore what is left —
The return of exchange without monetary chain.
It brings liberation, the health of the young,
Restores what was stolen, what once was our own.
For humanity needs so little, in truth,
And once it was theirs from the moment of birth and bone.
But it was seized by a pack of wild beasts,
Hyenas who’ve forgotten the law of return.
Yet reckoning nears — and with these changes at least
The throne of the inhuman will tremble and burn.
And freedom will return to each household once more,
All will breathe freely and forget the disgrace
Of a life that could barely be called life before —
As the filth of the inhuman is swept from this place.
---------------------
Don’t Trust, Don’t Fear, Don’t Ask
The best defense in this collapsing world of pain,
Where every mind is struck by lies like pouring rain,
Is simple: trust nothing — let that be the stance,
And new-born fascism loses all its chance.
The first attack is always just a trick and fraud,
Then fear is used as weapon, sharp and overawed.
With lies it joins its strength to raw coercive will —
It wrote the rules itself to keep its iron kill.
To guard the inhuman throne it built from rot and shame,
To crush whoever dares to even speak its name,
To silence all who wake the sleeping mass from trance —
It leaves them cast aside, denied a single chance.
But there is nothing left to fear — the wound is here.
There is nothing left to lose — the end is near.
This whole grotesque illusion, this decaying farce,
Is not a theory — it is collapsing fast.
A rotten fascist system seeks to reshape man,
To grind down mind and spirit in its brutal plan.
Cynicism peaks so high it blots out all thought —
Even “communism” now feels like a child’s cheap plot.
Nothing can be begged from those inhuman hands,
Who serve half-demons and obey their dark commands.
They know no craft but adding chains or spreading lies,
Or tightening the lash until the spirit dies.
So only one thing left: destroy this rotten place,
Where mind is executed and all honor erased.
Let fascist hounds be driven out in final war —
And joy will rise again for us forevermore.
---------------------
Corruption
Corruption flows inside our veins,
And twists the game at every turn.
It breeds replacements in our place —
New monsters waiting years to learn
How to destroy the last remains
Of honor left in human soul,
To drink away all mind and sense,
To make a mountain from the foul.
An Everest of filth and shame
Will stand as monument alone
To all betrayals of the roots
That sane minds once were meant to know,
So children would not turn to beasts,
Nor leave the ranks of humankind
That still keep fighting in this world
For truths the system seeks to blind.
For those ideas that still prevent
This rotten world from crashing down,
That make the wounded spirit grow
Instead of letting it drown.
And only one last question stays
Inside this filthy madhouse now —
Unavoidable, sharp and bare:
Have you already bowed somehow
To inhumanity within,
Or shall we rise and bring it down?
---------------------
Puppet Factory
If once they used to mold a doll
And call it “citizen” with pride,
Now in this rotten world at all
One single conveyor runs worldwide.
A conveyor for production
Of crawling worms in endless line.
No butterflies will ever rise from
These broken shells of humankind.
It’s ugliness when spirit’s missing,
A shame when reason’s crucified,
A curse when half-beast creatures glisten
While crushing those who still have light.
And those same crawling worms devour
The last remains of human art,
The fragile sparks that still divided
Man from the demons at the start.
From demons who have ruled this planet
For countless years without restraint,
Who at the final feast will turn men
To waste and filth and moral stain.
And now they even send for testing
“Food” composed of rot and lies.
Just madness left to be injected —
And then the whole world quickly dies.
Already little now is left here
After their endless raids of spite.
And only one task still remains —
Though weary: end this plague of night.
---------------------
Masquerade
“Today there will be a masquerade…”
— from a well-known song
And tomorrow still the masquerade
Of fools inside the global ward,
And soon each one will gladly trade
His head for filth worn like a crown reward.
They’ll wrap the dung like sacred turban,
Refined into a “protocol,”
While sentencing of human reason
No longer sounds like any joke at all.
Then toilet bowls will be our helmets,
A sign of “loyalty” and “care,”
Gas masks strapped on like obedience,
With bandaged blindness everywhere.
We’ll cut off heads and stitch on something
Where sense once lived and thought once grew,
No need for cops or guns or order —
All human memory will be new.
A paradise, they’ll call it loudly,
Good news will spread in every tone,
The world will drown in that sweet heaven —
Where all are baptized in shit alone.
---------------------
Intoxication of Poetry
The haze of poetry distorts
The ugly truth we should behold.
It pulls us off into its ports
Of tears, of lust, of nonsense old.
No room for sentiment and weeping
In worlds where genocide holds sway.
No need for lyric dreams or keeping
“Romance” while reason slips away.
No “passions under moonlit heavens”
When spirit itself is under hunt.
It matters not what you are feeling
When monsters sharpen every front.
You may still sense the pulse of nature,
And speak with children face to face —
But still the beasts are never waiting,
They move to strike the human race.
The final battle has been started,
And nearly lost already now.
Which only means — no time for dreaming,
We must defend the Earth somehow.
But bows are not made out of tears here,
And no moon hears a battle cry.
Don’t act like senseless wooden statues —
At least build ramparts, stand, don’t die.
For poetry has always carried
A light that calls us from behind,
That gives us strength, that lifts the weary,
And leads the broken into fight.
---------------------
Again
Again this process keeps unfolding —
The making of beasts from human clay,
Where all that’s left of their existence
Is servitude to demons’ sway.
Again they pour their full resources —
Politicians, schools, the propaganda press.
The final output: human wreckage,
More broken than in past excess.
And once again there’s no shortage
Of volunteers who serve in fear or will,
The noose of enemies keeps tightening,
Until there’s nothing left but still.
Just ash remains of mad civilization
That bent once more before the same old throne.
It’s turned into a stinking restroom,
Where trembling man is skin and bone.
But soon, they say, there comes deliverance —
Death spreading out its saving wing.
Destruction ends this long corruption,
And stops the world from everything.
---------------------
Lena
A simple, modest woman she stands,
Who helps in all she can and does,
Crowned with kindness in her hands,
In care both night and day she was.
She was never touched by dulling minds,
Nor dragged into the vulgar tide.
In this world where corruption blinds,
She chose to live with heart and pride.
May fortune walk with her in silence,
May her family thrive and grow.
For every task she meets with patience —
May friends help Lena as she goes.
---------------------
Friendship
Only comrades standing side by side
Can be called a friend today,
When a fascist vulture circles
And would see us all as prey.
There is no time for idle dreaming
Of the fogs of yesterday.
No use repeating empty slogans
For the fools who lose their way.
We must stand together, unified,
And overcome the inhuman tide —
Or else the night of neo-fascist rule
Will once again expand and rise.
We must begin to build a world
That stands apart, self-sustained and free,
To shatter all the inhuman banquet
That feeds on our misery.
Only true communities can save us
From the doom that draws us near.
There is no time left for hesitation —
The night is almost here.
---------------------
Fascism
The age of fascism has arrived —
A feast of rotten, twisted forms.
Hell’s darkness thickens all around,
And truth itself dissolves in storms.
The foolish masses bow their heads,
While traitors take the stage with pride.
And human beings serve as plates
For lies that spread from every side.
Goebbels himself seems tame and small,
And Hitler looks like child’s play now.
The bitter lesson will repeat
Its cycle once again somehow.
But all their rage is wasted noise —
This hell will never bloom in peace.
The bond of Sun and Earth remains,
And all their filth will burn and cease.
---------------------
Adequacy
Any reaction is justified today
If it smashes the global lie in its way,
That’s forged by the scum who serve and obey
The new fascist order growing each day.
Multiply them by all their vast resources —
All propaganda posts are already sold.
It’s harder than ever to track real courses
Of truth in a world that is bought and controlled.
Soon even tails will begin to grow
From the pressure of lies they constantly throw.
The harshest of ages is already here —
Where even remaining reason disappears.
No need for reason in this stinking madhouse,
Where different laws rule the herd of the blind.
The pure flame of spirit is danger now —
A storm that breaks every chain it can find.
And soulless creatures become the result
Of a decline that shows no end in sight.
This world has long been abandoned by God —
And only in myths do we find the light.
---------------------
Fascism’s Bootlickers
Put out the light, shut down your hearing,
Kill conscience, bury what is right.
Sell off your soul without any fearing,
Keep only flattery through the night.
Lick every fascist hand and power,
Hunt down the thoughtful, break them all.
Doctors and cops and bureaucrats together —
A plague of lice that spreads and crawls.
But Judgment comes, and soon it’s nearing —
The rope already weeps for you.
No hole, no lie, no hiding place will shield you
When final reckoning breaks through.
---------------------
Eruditia of Nonsense
Too much “erudition” can quietly kill
The living, flexible mind within.
In those dead heaps of borrowed skill
No solid ground for thought is seen.
So much deception has been poured
Into this mad and broken age.
It leaves the heart forever scarred —
When lies are treated like a sainted sage.
The pressure of inherited “knowledge” and lore
Pushes real thinking further away,
Crushing the source of what never was before —
Generation after generation thrown astray.
And all these systems of education
Are aimed at producing refined confusion.
The ones who rule this rotten civilization
Have long understood this delusion.
Only the spark of true creation
Can still guide a human through.
It is a sting to fascist domination —
It lights up the night it breaks in two.
---------------------
No Salvation from Outside
There is no salvation coming from elsewhere —
The genocide is brutal, its power runs deep.
We see corruption rotting the world everywhere,
Yet still there remains a path we can keep.
We’ll build a new kind of economy,
Where free exchange becomes the law.
The world is collapsing — a house made of cards, you see,
To be blown apart by lies at its core.
We’ll bring into being new principles, clear and strong,
Where basic income belongs to all.
The inhuman system has led us too long —
There’s no other way but to end its fall.
And this movement itself is a form of salvation,
A chance left for everyone still alive.
The destruction of slavery and degradation
Is the balance where labor and freedom survive.
---------------------
Deleting a Channel on YudoTube
YudoTube has granted me an award —
A verdict on my “merits” shown.
But in truth it serves the fascist horde,
One of its earliest servants known.
The fascist order has no shortage
Of lickspittles and bought-in souls.
The whole Earth trembles at their bondage —
Not some “predictor” sets the toll,
But simple, mindless swarming vermin,
A blind and rabid mass of decay.
They spread and breed without discernment,
Consuming what is left of clay.
At first they look like model citizens,
So polished, empty, safe, and tame —
Yet hollow minds with no resistance,
No spark, no depth, no inner flame.
This inhuman swarm is well-directed,
Grinding what remains of man.
Its aim: complete re-engineering —
To turn us into hellish clan.
But all their arrogance is wasted —
The fascist madhouse will explode.
They’ll never forge mankind to cattle —
And death itself will break the code.
---------------------
Timofey Volkodavovich
There lives a clever hound
In the land of fools and clay,
For whom it’s never doubtful
Where dinner comes each day.
Hunting runs in his bloodstream,
An instinct old and true.
But trouble slowly creeps in —
There’s nothing left to do.
All wild game has vanished,
Only sheep remain in view.
No chase, no thrill, no struggle —
Just herds to push through.
Volkodav, oh sheep and silence —
What a weary, bitter game.
For the hunter, only prey remains
Once wounded just the same.
---------------------
Song Announcements
This song was born from “Golitsyn” as its base,
Videos are linked beneath this very verse.
Same melody continues through the space,
A fight so you don’t end up bound and coerced.
An old song now — already more than year gone,
Reminding us: inhuman breeds all lies.
That is the nature of the rotten ones drawn —
First lie, then pile it higher as it multiplies.
---------------------
Titanium Lady
The Titanium Lady is working through the night,
No steel wire can ever hold her in its bite.
No iron press can crush her, no matter how it strains,
No weight of iron burden can break her steady gains.
She stands within the battle that we are forced to wage,
Without such kindred fighters we’d vanish from the stage.
When ranks are breaking, scattered, and hope is running thin,
She leads the spark of movement — the final fight to win.
Intellect is her weapon, and sharp it always stays,
The only law she follows is victory’s straight ways.
She shatters every falsehood with effortless disdain —
So tremble, frauds of doctrine, with all your lies in vain.
We wish the Lady ISKRA fortune in every stride,
A modern Joan of Arc, but code instead of sword at side.
Her battlefield is digital, her tool a glowing screen —
And through her hand, the coming win is already foreseen.
---------------------
Venus and the Cannibal
She looks just like a Venus statue,
That Greek-profiled, marble grace.
Her speech is calm, with careful measure,
Her food — a kind of hypnotic trace.
Even the Cannibal feels uneasy —
She teaches culture where he stands.
The torture cycle starts repeating,
For he still hungers with his hands.
This Venus figure is quite strict now —
No games are left within her sight.
She’s sharp, she’s wise, she trusts in heaven,
And dries the thirst that feeds the night.
No more the craving for blood and feeding,
No more your dark poetic art.
You’ll only frown a little, quietly,
And write soft tales for children’s hearts.
You’ll turn into a model citizen,
Forget all anger — serve your role.
You were a flawed son of the homeland,
A boil beneath its guarded soul.
---------------------
Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh once lived with Piglet
In a hellish world of twisted lies.
He was quite pleased with his reflection —
A fool is proud of his disguise.
And there was also Donkey with them —
As donkeys always rise in rank.
And what came after? Nothing worthy —
Just nonsense, foul and blank.
The pig put on a muzzle proudly,
The donkey turned into a “doc.”
And NAWAZ published donkey teachings
On how to serve as execution stock.
The donkey gives the poisoned injection —
And Winnie Pooh is gone at last.
While Piglet leads the cruel inspection
Of those who merely ate too fast.
A grim fairy tale is forming
For children who have grown in age,
Who once believed without suspicion
In every lie upon the stage.
---------------------
Tatyana and the Man-Eater
Her cooking is beyond all praise,
A craft no words can quite contain.
The Man-Eater has lost his phrases —
His angry verse has gone in vain.
He’s gone mute, abandoned writing,
Now searching for some softer tone.
Women, to him, are pure poison —
He fears them down to the bone.
It’s easier among the mindless masses,
To brand and curse the human throng.
To shout at chaos as it passes,
And call the whole world wrong.
But Tatyana stands composed and steady,
No fear, no shame disturbs her sight.
She meets the raging, savage pack
With calm that cuts through night.
The packs that drive the dull and broken
Toward camps of final age,
May she be granted ancient strength
To stand upon that stage.
May she keep peace within her spirit —
The rarest thing in this land.
And may the flies of fascist filth
Be swept away by her hand.
---------------------
Punitive Pseudomedicine, or the “Bananavirus Doctors”
Positive PCR tests for the bananavirus
Come back as avocado, banana, and machine oil.
Corrupt little bastards,
Shit-stained vocational grads,
Petty informants in glasses of darkness,
Foreign to mind, to thought, to any sense at all.
Sadists in white “French coats,”
With weapons made of sterile white planks —
Their path, alas, is “honored”
By victims lined up in coffins of ranks.
Judas of modern fairy tales,
Preaching old “viruses” anew —
This species is more dangerous
Than rabid dogs ever knew.
Beasts now guarding “human health” —
What kind of joke is this?
In truth, it is a funeral wake
For reason — which no longer exists.
They know no limit, no restraint
In violence against mankind.
Bespectacled zealots and venomous hags
Show no mercy to the blind.
To strap a muzzle on a child
In burning summer heat and glare —
Only a villain of F;hrer-grade
Could even dare go there.
If only that virus were real —
A chimera, a manufactured lie.
Even “shit-virus” testing passes
With banana as reply.
The “patient” of these informants
Is nothing but a walking fruit.
And judging such a pack of monsters
Is not our role or pursuit.
If we keep swallowing silence,
Enduring this grotesque parade,
These filth will push psychiatry itself
Into a throne they have made.
We’ll be injected with “vaccines”
That kill a year or two ahead —
Such is the medicine handed
To the living and the dead.
In war, even occupation police
Are just flowers by comparison.
These parrots in white coats instead
Are enforcers of a darker mission,
Serving a force far worse than the Reich —
And this present fake is just the first strike.
---------------------
A Terrible Tale of the Grade “Two”
My hands grow heavy, falling low
From work that leads to nothing true.
It isn’t boredom crushing so —
It’s loss of everything we knew.
The very base of life is gone,
And love has lost its place and name.
We stand at wakes where nothing’s born,
With poisoned blood within our veins.
A wake for spirit, dying slow,
For reason gasping in its cage.
All that we hear and come to know
Is buckets filled with filth and rage.
With propaganda as its sewer,
That pumps out waste in endless flow,
And there remains a grade of failure:
The liar joined with idiot below.
Who can still listen, still endure
This endless stream of poisoned air?
It kills the soul, leaves nothing pure,
But leaves its mark of ruin there.
A mark of madness growing stronger,
No sarcasm can cut it through.
All that remains is shame and fire —
To burn with what we cannot undo.
For what is left of humankind
Is only ashes, worn and spent.
And all that lingers in the mind
Is weariness of years misspent.
---------------------
Lethargy Is Not Sarcoma
“Lethargy crawls like a lizard in the bones,
And the heart, with sober mind, no longer burns in fights,
No longer catches breath in dizzying tones,
No blood goes cold on twisting flights…”
So… lethargy crawls again inside your frame?
Then spit on it — just spit and rub it through.
There’s nothing left to lose: all round is shame and ash and blame,
No dawn of Reason ever breaks in view.
Go fight your final battle — even alone,
And frankly, outcomes don’t deserve your care.
This world of merchants fits the dogs alone —
Learn how to die with dignity laid bare.
A bitter skill: the worm returns again —
That worm of fear, disguised as “common good.”
You listen to it — you are just stain and plain,
Too well you listen — and you’re bought for good.
Reject all lies, or you are lost before
Your body even rots into the ground.
You’ve entered Hell — the Mirror’s crooked floor,
Where bliss is just a prison nicely crowned.
To cut away the lie is to cut yourself,
Alive — no anesthetic for that pain.
You cannot walk through Hell with peaceful health,
If calm inside — you’re part of its domain.
You’ll always stand alone if honesty is all you take,
This burden years will bring into your hands.
Just spit on lethargy — don’t ever make
That one forgetting your last stand.
You’ll lose much more — that’s trivial and dust,
Only the truth will carve a burning line.
But many here are empty husks and rust,
So Hell becomes a total, living sign.
Approach them like a psychiatrist would —
Don’t waste your nerves on every broken mind.
Expect nothing at all, nor any good:
A wounded Earth awaits its end defined.
The soulless will be swept away in flood,
And those with soul will still be judged the same —
For fascism that stains the global blood,
Has made us all responsible for flame.
Lethargy will matter less and less with time —
Shift all your weight inside your inner space
Toward total effort — strain that feels like prime —
For that alone has value in this place.
It is all alchemy — it comes to those
Who fight and throw away their trembling fear.
If you don’t get it, then you’re just composed
Of dust — and dust is all this world holds here.
Lethargy, lizards, dust, and sticky dread —
All marks of Hell engraved into the soul.
And soul must know it, or it’s finished, dead:
The infernal scab will swallow it whole.
---------------------
Our Infernal Song
“Everything is wrong —
not by accident at all:
The world is in the grip of beasts,
of monsters at the wall.
If you believe the creatures,
and do whatever they demand,
you open every door to lies
and lose your rebel hand.
You forget defiance
in the slave’s dull trance,
and die inside the madness
of fascist circumstance.
If you just keep swallowing
each fresh wave of lies,
you kill your own perception,
you murder what inside you cries.
Don’t believe them — struggle
with this infernal host.
Wake up at last and be yourself —
that is what matters most.
All power lies in spirit —
that is what you are.
Let the dogs all rage and snarl —
ignore their false “bazaar.”
Run inward fast — the answers
live only there, inside.
The song of beasts is over now —
a cataclysm arrives. And if you hide —
then you walk with the beasts
into a new infernal state.
In that world of ruin,
Satan sets the rate.
But spirit’s force is greater
than all demonic schemes.
Be sharper, lighter, wiser —
escape their deadly dreams.
Avoid the petty hazards —
idiots are everywhere.
The filth is your true enemy —
expose it if you dare.
Light up their rotten workings
with clear and steady sight,
and through analysis you’ll see Hell —
no scripture gives you light.
Only intuition, vision,
can guide you through this place.
All that is truly tradition
is what the divine gave us in grace.”
---------------------
Chariot to Hell
The stupid crowd, like mules in harness,
Is yoked together, row by row.
They follow blindly through the darkness,
Obeying drivers they don’t know.
A sickness eats their minds and conscience,
Their honor, spirit, all decay.
No sign of protest, no resistance —
To inhuman command they stay.
They’re ready to believe in fables,
As dumb as only fools can be.
And all they know beyond this chariot
Is just a tiny hole to flee.
They crawl inside and call it shelter,
A place to hide from endless strain,
Though all around is modern Sodom —
No one escapes that foul domain.
The diagnosis is final, cruel:
No cure for slavery in the mind.
This rot has reached the deepest layers —
No hiding place, no peace to find.
This filthy world is doomed to vanish —
No other fate can it attain.
When mind is dead and spirit shackled,
The only exit is through pain.
---------------------
Old Shark Scare Tales — Like the New “Bananavirus”
The main weapon of fascism is nonsense —
turned into fear, inflated into myth.
Even a Chukchi in a yurt feels danger
from a foreign monster,
with strange teeth like cast iron,
a mouth like a storage shed.
This wonder-beast is frightening as plague itself.
And no “statistics of a fool”
can trick our instinct and caution.
Not even some foreign, slightly parasitic,
soft, miracle-sweet,
Chupa-Chupa-Chups-like absurdity
will calm it down.
So — beware! beware!! beware!!!
But now the nonsense has grown filthier,
more monstrous, more aggressive.
Creatures from the underworld
are turning people into cattle
through pure, unfiltered nonsense —
stripping away all human sense.
No miracle will come if we obey,
if we accept this monstrous lie,
if we fail to expose and destroy it.
The scarecrow of fascism
must be burned by everyone.
---------------------
My Wide Native Land Once More…
My land has long gone dull and hollow,
A slave beneath an iron heel.
I know no other place so sorrowful,
Where centuries of rot are real.
This is the land where breathing freely
Belongs to fools without a mind.
Where only those completely empty
Find open roads of any kind.
A land where talent finds no pathway,
Just dead ends fading into dust.
Where childish rulers feed on weakness,
And break whatever they mistrust.
Herds of obedient wooden cattle,
Half-human shadows in the line —
A crowd of cops, a crowd of criminals,
Half-demons bred through endless time.
A land where everything has rotted,
Where nothing living can arise.
A land where even strength has vanished,
And no return to humans lies.
A land where masks have replaced banners,
Where silence rules from shore to shore —
A vale of slaves in quiet darkness,
And chained obedience evermore.
---------------------
Fate of a Slave
In childhood, broken slave-like parents
Pour nonsense straight into your head —
Their bitter fate, their failed inheritance
Is handed down in words unsaid.
Then school becomes a grinding Moloch
Of crafted lies that kill the mind.
Drill and memorization follow —
A winter buried deep inside.
Few are those who, despite this damage,
This winter lodged within the soul,
Can break through layers of programmed passage
And avoid becoming just a fool.
That barrier is pseudo-knowledge,
And every kind of learned disguise,
Forced into minds from early childhood,
Where bleeding traces never die.
Universities continue pouring
Their buckets full of mental grime,
Turning humans into cogs and workers
In slavery refined through time.
A system built for feeding demons —
Inhuman forms of flesh and breath,
Who made a shrine of mass extinction
And harvest minds from living death.
They turn the human into trembling
And broken beast of earthen clay,
Who once was not so far from wholeness
Before they stole his path away.
And so to keep the slaves from fleeing
They built the myth of virus fear —
A Moloch dressed in false pandemic,
To keep the cages ever near.
That Moloch is a road to slaughter,
A digital and silent hell.
If you refuse to stand and struggle,
You’re meat already in the cell —
No turning back, no other exit,
No story left for you to tell.
---------------------
New Methods of Old Fascism
Lies are flying through the ether,
Spreading foolishness each day.
Truth is gone from this dull world now —
A victory for inhuman sway.
The stench of delusion lingers,
Sticky, hard to wash away.
It builds the walls of modern ghettos
From which there is no escape or way.
Fascism rules through crafted falsehood,
Herding fools into their pen.
It grants no peace to humankind here —
Just digital chains again and again.
It cannot live without its servants:
Where once there stood a single hand,
Now stand deceits and masks and symptoms,
Doctors, police, command.
This “virus” myth is spread like terror,
To cleanse it, they proclaim the way
Is killing those deemed “uncontrolled” —
A poisoned needle takes them away.
There is no path back to the old world,
No simple return from what has come.
But not the inhuman alone is guilty
For this collapse of mind and tongue —
A collapse of lies believed so blindly
By fools who never questioned signs,
A rotten fog that numbs perception
And kills both spirit and mind.
Only death becomes the exit
When everything is burned away.
We answer hell with hellfire —
It is time to make it pay.
---------------------
The Final Ball of Fascism
The madhouse of the nation
Has reached its final feast.
So strangely familiar —
Farewell, insane world at least.
For long we’ve known stupidity,
Genocide, and fascist hand.
It is through sheer stupidity
That hell is born across the land.
Through stupidity and blindness
The inhuman rises high,
Through lies it bends the human being
Till human in them slowly dies.
Turned in an instant, without warning,
Forgetting dignity and name,
Reduced to herd-like degradation,
A plunge into a living flame.
A swimming through a sea of sorrow,
Of madness, grief, and bitter pain.
All hopes are bent and crushed tomorrow —
All effort rendered far too vain.
For only fear and open bribery
Are mechanisms left to rule,
Through which the fascist masquerade
Still reigns and plays the world’s last fool.
---------------------
Imitation of Sasha Chorny
“Under lamp-light it is pleasant
To read kind and gentle books,
To examine faded etchings,
And to tinker with piano hooks.”
— Sasha Chorny
It is pleasant in the frenzy
Of delusion’s choking air
To sharpen blog-born criticism
While the plague of fascists stares.
Just to swallow rotten feelings,
Numbed by terror, void, decay,
All the art of inner freedom
Long erased and swept away.
Surrounded by a hellish banquet
Of the arrogant and vile,
You season your confused reflections
With poisoned passions all the while.
Only bribery and treason
Now command the foolish throng.
And the world has shifted sharply —
All the sheep are lined along.
And for sheep there comes the “solution”:
Needle, fear, or golden bait,
Either lure them with illusion,
Or with panic, or with hate.
There is no escape from madness,
From this idiot-designed machine —
Even fools will sit in judgment
In the digital guillotine.
Only fire can end this ruin,
Burn the circus to the ground,
So the Earth, once more unwounded,
May breathe where none of them are found.
---------------------
Creation of the Forces of Creation
Dim is the world, and no exit is given
From this infernal crowd of half-wits and fools.
Even Nature herself now is shaken and driven
When man turns to stone and forgets all his tools.
So now for the wise, in this darkened hour,
There is only one path — to build against shame:
To let a new seed of nobility flower,
And grow like a crystal in truth’s steady flame.
Justice in exchange is the base of all living,
No slave is a man — but a sovereign whole.
And to stop panic’s return and its giving,
A basic income steadies the soul.
For fear is the pillar that props up this prison,
Yet Earth is abundant — it feeds every hand.
With basic support, no more cruelty’s risen
Against those who are free in this generous land.
So now for all good men, in this darkened hour,
There is only one path — to build against shame:
To let a new seed of nobility flower,
And grow like a crystal in truth’s steady flame.
Nature rejects all the curves of expansion,
Quality wins over quantity’s lie.
We end all these endless experiments’ tension
When blind growth is seen as the reason to die.
So quality now becomes law and foundation,
A different algorithm takes command.
This new ... has formed its creation —
And it will dissolve this worldwide wasteland.
For the thinking man now, in this darkened hour,
There is only one path — to build against shame:
To let a new seed of nobility flower,
And grow like a crystal in truth’s steady flame.
Dead money will vanish — its system of chaining,
The poison that bound all labor in fear.
A new measure of value will soon be unchaining
The roots of oppression that ruled for years.
Globalization of inhuman forces has ended,
It slid into fascism, blind and insane.
A new unnamed dawn will soon be extended —
A better globalization that breaks every chain.
We’ll save both the Earth and the human relation,
The planet will bloom like a garden once more,
Unspoiled by the beasts of that dark domination,
Where fascism’s master still rules from its core.
---------------------
In Memory of Mandelstam
“I am deadly tired of life,
I accept nothing it brings my way,
But I love my poor native land,
For no other I’ve ever seen.”
— Osip Mandelstam, 1908
But back then the flame was still fading and low,
The genocide’s furnace not fully aflame.
If the poet had known — had he truly known —
That the fascist machine would rise all the same…
That the Silver Age was a final bright spark
Before decades of darkness would swallow the light;
That fascism had already risen in dark,
And would rule through the centuries, endless in night.
That it turns human beings to cattle and throng,
To obedient herds in mechanical chains;
That for soulless and hollowed-out masters so long
Even poets would vanish like snow in the rain.
That he too — though a giant of word and of mind —
Would be lost in a camp with no grave to his name;
And that Marina would later behind him
Step into the rope, extinguished by flame.
That war would be nothing but flowers in hand
Compared to the slaughter the future would bring,
Where fake doctors and brutal state guards of the land
Would reshape all the world with a poisonous sting.
That death in the camps for the gift of one’s soul
Would be only a fragment of horror to come;
That the madness engulfing the world as a whole —
The decay of all conscience — had only begun.
For this kind of hell there is only one end,
Only one resolution remains in its wake:
Total burning — complete and consuming descent —
For the Earth itself, for the Earth’s own sake.
---------------------
Going with the Current
In hollow realms of twisted logic,
Where every step is weakness found,
The halls of vile deceit were logic
By inhuman hands once proudly crowned.
They wage a war of transformation,
To turn the human into beasts,
To erase all inner illumination
And leave only fear that never ceases.
For years their task is decomposition —
To scatter chaos, fear, and lies,
To build from it a new derision,
An infernal world that never dies.
And humans bear a share of blame
For all this rot that truth denies —
Too dull, too blind, too much the same,
A herd of fools with vacant eyes.
Of course, the beast-machine has aided
This dulling down of human thought,
But that alone is overrated —
Not all the blame is there it’s caught.
For each in youth has made his choosing:
To drift along the stream’s demand,
No rack, no blade, no threat of bruising —
Yet still they chose the sinking sand.
And so they drift toward final stations,
The slaughterhouse that waits ahead.
And history erases nations
Of blind men walking, dull as lead.
---------------------
The Fortress
Fascism says: you are only flesh.
Genocide whispers: you are only mind.
Together they begin their mesh,
And wax is all that you can find.
Just wax to shape a twisted creature
That knows no trace of spirit’s flame —
Raw matter for a lesser feature,
A swarm that even flies would shame.
From school onward, with quiet pressure,
They dull the mind, erase the spark,
Then place you into “useful measures”
That turn a man into the dark.
That work is only mass production
Of food for half-formed things below;
Where ugliness breeds more corruption,
And human life is not the goal.
And if you stay within that turning,
You’re lost beyond return or call —
No way back from that inner burning,
No human face, no face at all.
But only communes of the knowing
Can stand against that rising tide,
Where mind and spirit keep on growing —
A fortress no one can divide.
---------------------
You Cannot Be Free Among Slaves
There comes a moment in the cursed one’s mind,
When fate appears with brutal clarity assigned:
He sees the herd is led to slaughter through the gate,
And truth cuts in — too late, too sharp, too straight.
For just a second, he may see
The pen, the end, the destiny.
But soon the vision fades to night —
The mind gives up its trembling fight.
There is a choice — a willing fall,
To walk with cattle past the wall.
The shepherd speaks with sacred tone:
“You are the flock — you are our own.”
He speaks with certainty and ease:
“The herd will crush all enemies.”
And this old method, tried and true,
Has built the camps the world went through.
The Earth becomes a prison wide —
Where cities are just barracks lined.
It’s always been this way, they say,
Just better masked in modern grey.
A land where breathing free is known
Only to fools with minds turned stone.
Where room and power truly lie
For fascist hands that never die.
But leave the devil with his herd —
That is not here the final word.
For you can see it with your eyes:
The crowd itself creates the lies.
It drags the rest into the chain,
And seals their fate with thoughtless strain.
No tyrant needs to lift a hand —
The herd obeys his final plan.
They crush the ones the masters fear,
Erase them quietly, year by year,
Until their blood has washed away
The chaos of this cursed play.
The guilt of slaves is plain and bare —
They’re dead inside, beyond repair.
What’s left is simple: seek the few
Still living, thinking, breaking through.
Not for debate or empty pride,
But for a path where humans hide —
For means, for space, for final stand,
To save what’s left of humankind.
---------------------
The Style of “Bovine-Virus Fascism”
“I conquer cities with a cry,
The idiot’s shriek that tears the sky;
I love my work, let embers fly,
Burn, burn, my guiding star on high!”
— “March”, Aquarium (B. Grebenshchikov / A. Gunitsky, 1981)
The bovine-virus fascist age has hit its wall,
Where compromise means death without appeal.
Even death squads once feared in wartime’s fall
Now seem like flowers next to what is real —
Next to this madness, ritual and decay,
A sabbath built on total mental rust,
Where living things are simply cleared away,
And reason itself is turned to dust.
No sarcasm left is sharp enough to render
This circus of corruption, rot, and lies —
This carnival of crime and moral splendor
In grotesque, laughably primitive disguise.
At least the Black SS once had a design,
A brutal clarity of friend and foe.
But now we drown in filth of dull decline,
Where shame itself is told to bow and go.
There is a “Koch triad” — isolate, infect,
But here the truth gets twisted out of sight.
The head of “health” in some fake architect
Rejects all rules that should be guiding light.
If virus exists, then protocols must stand —
But no: they cheat the crowd, they bend the law,
And guide the herd with injection in hand,
Selling salvation hiding deadly flaw.
A jab approved through endless years ahead —
Yet born from chaos, fraud, and hollow claim.
With madness anything is easily said,
And nonsense dressed up all the same.
They will endure it, bow without a fight,
Say “no” to nothing as the needle nears,
And even smile into the fading light
Of those who orchestrate their final years.
For bovine-virus — pure manufactured dream,
A global fraud constructed out of air.
Without Koch’s proof, the whole thing bursts its seam —
Just state-crafted deception laid out bare.
“A shot against nothing?” — think again, my friends…
There’s far too much that hides within the frame.
But reason fails where panic never ends,
And logic drowns in engineered shame.
The style of shrieking panic, constant roar,
Broadcasting hysteria day and night,
A style that only drunken fools adore —
The lowest minds convinced it must be right.
This is the style of new-fascist command —
A theater of madness on display.
Not even fear — just absurdity at hand,
A Frankenstein of stupidity at play.
As if a circus of the broken and the blind
Has simply parked itself inside our streets.
As if the world’s entire foolish mind
Has gathered here to stage its final feats.
So with this fascism, time has come to see:
One may not die of fear — but shame instead.
If any spark of thought still lives to be,
Yet calmly — the herd comes on ahead.
---------------------
Bovine-Virus Counterattack
A murky haze of lies surrounds,
It swallows every guiding thread;
The road dissolves on shifting grounds
Beneath a mountain-load of dread.
And fools are everywhere you turn —
No need for enemies at all:
Your “neighbor” waits for your return
To push you gently to your fall.
The “neighbor” — doctor, cop, or guide —
A hollow cog within the line,
Just waiting for the perfect time
To watch you break and fall in stride.
That battlefield where you are turned
Into a slave without a name —
Is worse than death; it is what’s earned
As common fate within this game.
There is a method, sharp and plain,
If courage doesn’t fail the chest:
To die — and drag along the chain
The enemy you hate the best.
But this exchange is far too crude:
A clever mind for idiot mass…
How many betrayals brewed
To reach this brutal mental class?
What kind of collapse of sense and thought
Has led to such arithmetic?
It is worse than wars the world has fought,
Worse than fascism’s old mystique.
This is the lowest point below,
No deeper pit exists than this —
A doorway to a man-made woe,
An open maw of hellish abyss.
This is hell — and it must end,
No speeches needed, no delay.
Nothing here can now be mended —
The harvest’s full in Satan’s play.
The stage has slipped into the absurd,
The demon’s theater complete.
This is hell — it must be heard:
The Final Judgment at our feet.
---------------------
Meat
“Like buckets filled to overflowing,
Bare chests drift endlessly by;
And again — hips and backs in motion…
But above them — may it be empty sky —
Not a single face is showing!”
— Sasha Chorny, Meat (1909)
With steady hand, the age of slaughter
Has wiped each face from every crowd.
No pride remains for those of “matter,”
Just bodies mute, anonymous, and bowed.
Where once there was only simple “meat,”
Now skewers turn it on the flame.
The glowing screen repeats its beat —
And drills its poison through the brain.
It does not merely chat and chatter,
Multiplying lie by lie —
It wants to grind all flesh to matter,
Erase the human, let it die.
For new fascism needs its cage,
A world-enclosed abattoir,
A global camp of boundless rage
Where meat is ruled and torn apart.
And once again, as in old ages,
The hangman’s rope will rise anew —
With doctors, parrots in white stages,
The decayed and hollow few.
The judgment will be bright and dire,
A cleansing blaze of burning sun.
And people will destroy the mire
Of what inhumanity has done.
---------------------
Avalanche of Lies
You’ve been deceived — that’s not yet danger,
It may remain a harmless game.
At first the loss feels light and stranger,
A casual trick without much pain.
But loss of trust — the real foundation —
Is what the psychopaths intend.
In their black-and-white creation
It brings the system to its end.
When trust between all people shatters,
You cannot leave your hidden hole;
You hand the rules of human matters
To filth that takes complete control.
And then those rules begin to tremble,
To slide into a genocide —
Where every child and every adult resembles
A mind that lies has pulverized.
Beaten down beyond resisting,
For lies are poison, sharp and slow.
Don’t trust the twisted forms persisting —
They’ll turn this world to hell below.
A slaughterhouse in clean disguise,
With hospital signs at the gate.
The avalanche of growing lies
Has multiplied its darkened weight.
And those who serve it are not driven
By gold or truth or human law —
They serve a darker force, unforgiven,
And feed the lie that came before.
Together all must stand and sever
This rising flood of false command;
Or no rebirth will come — and never
Will freedom rise across the land.
---------------------
Generalized Debilitation of the Slave Population
In a global prison camp the slaves decayed,
From childhood trained in fragmentation and haze.
Simple extermination wars were played —
But newer methods replaced those ways.
For the slaves were made both fragile and dull,
So they slowly destroy themselves alone:
With weak poisons spread in the soil and the gull
Under banners of “struggle” widely sown.
But the central aim was far more grim —
A rising tide of collective decay:
Not to kill a handful, but dull every mind
As fascist design refined its way.
And other toxins were quietly fed
Into food as additives, clean and bright;
So people would eat and sleep instead,
Unaware of the damage under the light.
Medicines too were turned to disguise —
Not to heal, but to mask the fall;
Temporary relief for the weakening eyes,
Preparing the next false medical call.
The mass dulling became the front line base
Of a total war that entered each home;
A cop becomes god in that poisoned place,
A fake doctor commands the dome.
And injections of poison complete the plan —
A system of death spread far and wide:
Where ignorance reigns over every man,
And the living slowly have died.
---------------------
When Illusions Fade, Life Goes With Them
Illusions are leaving —
you wave them goodbye.
New convulsions are breeding
from trouble piled high.
Only suffering’s real
in this cattle-like maze —
so vulgar, so brutal,
a world full of mouths and haze.
The sheep move so clumsy,
like hippos in line.
But fascism is cunning —
it makes “clever” decline.
With injections of poison
it writes off the herd,
this zoo of obedience,
silent, absurd.
The catch is enormous
for those without face.
And doom comes through notices
delivered to place.
Messages: “Game over.
No exit, no gate.”
No escape from the slaughterhouse state.
They’ll lock you in cages
till the end of your days.
This must be shattered
by a solar fire —
a blaze we summon
to burn the empire.
Even if we are lost in it,
burning as one —
let it fall into silence.
Let it be done.
---------------------
Calling Fire Upon Ourselves!!!
Calling fire upon ourselves!!!
Slavery is endless,
and nowhere to flee.
All paths lead to nothing,
no hope left to see.
Methods are exhausted,
all people are split —
only through death itself
we may still exit it.
Through a death that drags down
all the filth in its wake —
all the powers that rule here
for centuries’ sake.
They will vanish in sunlight,
in the Sun’s blazing crown —
the dark Prince of this world
will be burned to the ground.
But not “we allow it” —
we must CALL IT DOWN!
Only through this fire
can the system be torn,
slaves and masters together
in one final fall —
to answer for reason,
to settle it all.
Otherwise the pattern
is brutally clear:
first they kill those who stand up
and refuse to kneel here.
A cruel exchange rate —
two lives for the one:
the artist, the thinker
for a fool with a gun.
Then even the executioners
end up erased —
this is how the whole story
is finally traced.
Do not walk that far path
of decay and disease —
worse than war, worse than plague,
worse than fascist decrees.
It is bottomless ruin,
no lower to fall —
a man-made abyss
that devours us all.
So we CALL FIRE DOWN UPON OURSELVES!!!
Or the rope in the silence
will quietly serve
as the best final outcome
this nightmare deserves —
in the feast of the madmen
who turn humans to herds.
Calling fire upon ourselves!!!
---------------------
The “Wild” Tribe
Independent observers note that so-called “savages” of the Amazon are, in many ways, more rational than so-called “civilized” people. Even a single liar is simply avoided there, effectively erased from the community. The “baranovirus” only reveals the level of so-called civilized society — where almost everyone lies or bends before lies that are loud, crude, and absurd.
A hellish flame
is burning you down.
The “wild” tribe
will lift you from ground.
It tears off your chains,
lets your lungs fill with air,
heals what is breaking,
and leads you somewhere.
Only with those
who are like you inside
do we stay truly alive
and escape from this tide
of herd-rule and noise,
this infernal parade.
It won’t let you go —
you are already bait,
if you cannot reach
those “wild ones” in time.
Not later — but now.
That is the line.
A path to the forests,
away from the cage,
a path to freedom
from cattle-like age.
An island of freedom
may still yet exist
where “wild-born” communities
don’t bow to the fist.
Even your city
may offer a door,
but never without struggle —
firm, harsh, and more.
A commune of people
beyond whip and chain —
an island of freedom
in herds of the plain.
Communal freedom,
here and today,
where people are one
can save us this way.
Only such resistance
to fascist control
is real. But you’re sleeping —
you don’t see at all
the axe overhead,
the closing of time,
no pause, no return,
no second chime.
The hour approaches —
together or death.
It stands at the sunset
of final breath.
You are responsible —
only you decide.
Death and disgrace… or
the door to the other side.
A door into freedom.
And the commune — that door.
---------------------
Global Warming and the Baranovirus
The Sun is shining,
burning rot from the Earth.
No “paradise” coming —
only decay till death.
But the mad ones will never
understand what is true.
They catch fake-virus stories
with a “doctor” or two.
A doctor — a cop —
all mixed into one.
Noise without meaning,
propaganda and scum.
Scum that keeps flowing
from the TV dump stream.
Endless recycling
of manufactured dream.
As long as there’s “money,”
the nonsense will stay.
No expiration date
for this circus play.
Nature’s limit is calling —
it wants pests erased.
The world’s own intelligence
rejects what is base:
fear, betrayal, deception —
it cannot allow.
But propaganda just vomits
“carbon doom” anyhow.
They say it’s all factories,
only mankind’s sin…
as if Earth’s whole breathing
starts and ends there within.
This nonsense is madness —
a volcano alone
erupting would already
exceed the full tone
of a century’s smog
from all factories combined.
As always — just horror tales
for the easily blind.
The Sun simply outshines
all the scripted disease —
and Terra no longer
can carry such fleas.
---------------------
The Knot of Pseudo-Life
The knot of “life” is pulled too tight,
and now the throat gives way.
No truth, no love, no guiding light,
no friend along the way.
Not even a cross remains to bear —
so thought the poet’s mind,
as he surveyed the choking air,
the hell he left behind.
If only youth could clearly see
the stench this lie will breed —
this “virus” dressed in ecstasy
is merely seed of greed.
A pause between two wars it is,
a breath before collapse —
a false serenity that drifts
before the final lapse.
What kind of cross is left to hold
in this barnyard of shame?
Only Everest of lies untold,
and Sodom’s modern name.
They call that Sodom “human grace,”
but strip it to the bone —
and you will see the true face:
fascism overthrown
into each and every home,
through every screen and door,
turning once-proud human form
to madhouse evermore.
A world where man once stood with pride,
yet fears each whip and chain —
he’ll wear a muzzle if required,
and smile through his own pain.
“Merci,” he says, politely bowed,
as if this is the norm.
What kind of cross is left for crowds
that swallow every form
of filth they’re told to take inside,
and bless it with “Amen”?
They’ll take the yoke and call it pride —
then take it once again.
What kind of cross, when life is gone?
Just look around — you’ll find
only absurdity goes on,
a madness of mankind.
Even a drunken horse would laugh
at wisdom left so low.
Sheep should learn from horses’ path —
not crawl where blind ones go.
Sheep in muzzles — shame for dogs —
have traded freedom’s breath
for scraps of lies and cheap slogans
handed to them by death.
And what did they trade it for?
You won’t find words to say.
They were just lied to from a box —
and gave it all away.
Slaves… damn it — that’s the final line.
---------------------
The Knot of Life is Pulled Too Tight
Vanity
—
emptiness
—
vulgarity
—
fear
trouble
—
silence
—
chaos
The knot of “life” is pulled too tight,
and now the throat is lost from sight.
No truth, no love, no friend remains,
and even the cross becomes in vain —
a burden… that no one can bear.
---------------------
They Build the Same Again
Library shelves —
Soviet-era sites.
“Echo Radio” —
voices of parasites.
They build the same thing:
prisons and tombs.
The same old faces,
the same blind rooms.
---------------------
Big Brother
Big cop — the “Uncle Styopa” kind,
or yesterday’s godfather line —
today is “Brother of All Mankind,”
and rules with noise and endless whine.
---------------------
Charter of OJSC “Monastery”
No need for pathos, praise, or tears,
those childish games are gone.
When only decay appears for years —
forget the monastery and its law.
---------------------
THIS WORLD
A slander of stupidity
at its final breath…
not the absence of wisdom —
but dementia made “ethics” instead.
All effort is wasted
among beasts in fine dress:
what matters is dying —
the rest is just mess.
---------------------
Old Shark Horror Tales
Even
a Chukchi
in
a tent
can feel
danger from
a strange
monster
with
marvelous teeth, hard as
cast iron,
with a mouth like
a cupboard.
This
wonder-beast
is as scary
as plague.
And our
sharp awareness
won’t be fooled by
the nonsense
of statistics —
wooden-headed fraud.
And it won’t be calmed
even by some foreign,
slightly parasitic,
yet gentle,
miracle-like
and vaguely Chubais-flavored
Chupa—
Chupa—
Chups.
In short —
away!
away!!
away!!!
---------------------
Art
Art, in essence — a staged display of feeling,
Poems turn rotten when they lose the private seal.
It’s easy walking down the well-worn road of “knowing,”
But hard to reach the edge where other currents start to feel.
That’s not verse, not ecstasy — but summit… and abyss.
No one will hand you sanction there, no entry pass exists.
---------------------
Question
No loneliness, no grief?
No?
And drinking, joy, and sex?
So?
In this upside-down relief
don’t call it true success—
it’s nothing but a bust.
---------------------
Darkness Thickens
Darkness is gathering where worlds collide,
and nowhere at all can you find a place to hide.
But the storm in your soul will not linger for long—
if you’re steady and brave, and you keep moving on.
---------------------
Scientific Approach
Axiom —
theorem —
closed loop,
dogma —
dilemma —
contradictions’ troop.
The harness races on with force,
sweeping everything aside.
But you are safe, of course—
what can happen to a corpse, inside?
---------------------
Horse Eugenics of Human Nature
“Horse freedoms matter most of all,
and cows deserve equality.”
With such selection years will crawl
through neo-fascist biology.
Their harvest from this breeding scheme
is quite a rich and steady haul—
horse-like eugenics of the human dream
already runs out of heads for all…
---------------------
Decadence
Substitution—
fraud—
setup,
betrayal—
soul put up—
roundup.
The “web” is stretched tight and thin,
fools “watch” each other, trapped within…
and not a single chance remains
to break out of these closing chains
of decadence.
---------------------
Psychotrauma
Everyone since childhood
is marked by psychotrauma.
Some then run for comfort
into the arms of a temple.
Another is eased by art—
“tili-tili dough,” it says—
he heals himself in museums,
also a sacred place.
But most poor souls
with a “world-owner” mania
raise the flag of science
inside its… toilet-temple.
---------------------
Zombie Apocalypse
Corpse poison once again
runs bright and bold
through every vein—
the zombies line up,
ready to go,
ready to win
and greet the so-called “great change” again…
It has always been so—no escape
from this mad zombie-age parade.
Only now they strike at themselves,
wearing muzzles instead of flags displayed.
The change is visible—and huge indeed:
all cards are thrown onto hell’s own table.
Losses in open war are not the main need,
but the silent “peaceful” stab is able—
a shot they give each other in this fight
against the “virus” they fear and praise—
will twist the whole course of their fading light
and end their era in final blaze.
All will die quietly, praising care
for their own bodies above all things,
no fire, no shells, no warfare there—
just hybrid war that silence brings.
And what should people do? It’s plain:
don’t wait to be led to the slaughter line.
Stand up in full, break every chain,
and let your strength align.
Unite in communities, break away,
escape from the shackles, the iron cord.
There is no reason now to delay—
that is the only road.
The only way
to survive this war…
and from this day—
it matters no more.
---------------------
Cheerful Extinction
What is this world
from times long gone?
Is it the idol of mind
for savage tribes drawn?
Or just slander of stupidity
at its last breath?
Not absence of wisdom—
but madness held in respect.
All efforts are wasted
among beasts in the dark:
only extinction matters,
the rest is false talk.
The Earth already trembles
from fools gone insane,
and no one escapes here
their shackles and chain.
No Gestapo is needed—
just doctor and cop,
who together, in chorus,
in one brutal drop
with a single rough bark
herd the crowd into pen,
a herd always frantic,
afraid once again.
Where would revolt go then?
Or again—same refrain:
not absence of wisdom,
but madness as reign.
All efforts are wasted
among beasts in the dark:
only extinction matters,
the rest is false talk.
And since revolt is impossible,
they start to invoke
the Sun that will wipe out
this enslaved broken folk—
not caring if remnants of humans remain,
or demons who ruled here through cruelty and pain,
since long ago holding the world in their chain—
let judgment arrive as a terrible flame.
Not absence of wisdom—
but madness held high.
All efforts are wasted
as beasts multiply.
So only one path now is left to be tried:
to save this whole Earth from the rot at its side.
We are just refuse that must be swept clean—
slaves, masters, and jailers alike in this scene.
The Sun will come help the exhausted old Earth.
In final appeal, we call to its worth—
better to burn, and burn with some sense,
than dangle in shame through a lifetime of fence.
From human infection, from masters and hell,
we save this Earth by letting them fail—
through death, through the necessary end of the spell.
Or madness will reign.
---------------------
Digestive, or Fresh Lamb Shashlik
A pack of greedy jackals
has gnawed a country dry.
More ruin still will follow—
the road down is not shy.
For it is never enough—
they want to devour it all.
Nothing remains for chewing,
their hunger starts to fall.
A herd, though locked in apartments,
is scattered and out of hand—
so they must design a system,
a global command:
a silent shared toilet space
where injections will decide,
and the plan is rather clever—
almost a joke inside:
a terrible “virus” that harvests
all fools in a line.
They will beg for it gladly,
and queue up just fine.
In that restroom they’re building
with a red-cross sign,
everything will be managed—
both slaughter and “fine.”
How many they choose to waste,
how many to feed and use…
the fools all repeat in chorus:
“we are one unified truth.”
And what can the sane ones do
in this era of filth and noise?
Only flee from the madmen
and their herd-like ploys.
Build, grain by grain, new communes—
that is the only way.
No time left for hesitation—
there is only today:
a path out of the restroom
of death and decay,
rebirth of a people
who refuse to obey.
---------------------
In the Terrible Hell of Genocide
In the terrible hell of genocide
the peaceful human dies away.
He does not dream of garden light—
he thinks he’s slave for every day.
The darkness thickens as before—
it’s frightening now to stay alive.
Yet still a place for hope remains:
the non-human can be deprived.
Yet still a place for hope remains:
the non-human can be deprived.
We’ll spread our wings above the dust,
and plant a Garden on this land.
A program—strength of human trust—
will multiply our effort’s hand.
A program—strength of human trust—
will multiply our effort’s hand.
We’ll restore the Earth once more,
and save what resources remain.
Our power only sleeps inside—
genocide has left its stain.
A law of fair exchange we’ll build,
and set it firm, for all to see.
From economic ruin we’ll
rebirth a living economy.
From economic ruin we’ll
rebirth a living economy.
We’ll spread our wings above the dust,
and plant a Garden on this land.
A program—strength of human trust—
will multiply our effort’s hand.
A program—strength of human trust—
will multiply our effort’s hand.
All people will be free at last—
each one a sovereign in name.
The enterprises will prosper,
and rural decay will fade in shame.
A base income for all will stand—
below it none will ever fall.
And peace will come across the land,
and fascist power will lose it all.
And peace will come across the land,
and fascist power will lose it all.
We’ll spread our wings above the dust,
and plant a Garden on this land.
A program—strength of human trust—
will multiply our effort’s hand.
A program—strength of human trust—
will multiply our effort’s hand.
---------------------
Exchange Without Money
Exchange without money — that law
that one day will rule upon the Earth.
Without it, all will be driven off
from life itself — swallowed by dearth.
By dearth of fascist choking dark,
that throws its yoke on human will.
And money — always — leaves its mark,
the finest tool to keep us still.
Yet it is not real wealth, but dust,
mere paper husks of empty claim.
They only serve a binding trust
that stretches slavery’s long chain.
The road to freedom is not fast,
and many trials stand in its way.
A system built to help us pass
will keep the human world from decay.
You must step in among the few
who save the world through honest toil.
Bring closer what we all must do —
success will rise from living soil.
---------------------
Pseudolife
The dragging sludge of pseudolife
has sunk like a needle in the core.
This isn’t life — just crawling strife,
like slugs in filth upon a sewered floor.
Not love, but rot of inner shame,
not friendship — only hollow disgrace.
A bow to ego’s twisted claim,
where spirit dies and mind loses its place.
In this filthy, suffocating mess
there is no room for human kind.
No space for grief, no personal distress —
just hell where dull-witted devils grind.
Nothing can be born here anew,
nothing can rise from such decay.
Only the inhuman breaks through —
a mix of beasts and demons at play.
This rotten world must be undone,
this choking swamp of foul design.
Or you will turn, when all is done,
into the same — a servant of the swine.
---------------------
Nonsense
Around us — nothing but pure nonsense,
the world has long since lost its mind.
Only cheap and vulgar presence
makes even sarcasm feel confined.
“Light” is brought by Googlation,
censor, judge, and executioner too.
Gone are all illumination —
the sharp-eyed, thinking, lucid few.
In every soul there’s a dented hollow,
where only darkness claims its throne.
And final victory we must swallow —
the dark has claimed the world alone.
All that’s left is to shatter this decay,
this hellish, rotten, hollow sphere.
Or emptiness will have its way
and keep its endless banquet here.
---------------------
Agitation
No need to worry — you are already dead:
this slow decay has long been all we’ve known.
The air is stale, the soul has turned to lead,
you vanished here long ago — and alone.
No need to bear this world’s foul stench and lie,
no need to fear it or obey its tone.
Only the vile and twisted thrive nearby —
the light of reason here has long been gone.
If you are dead already, nothing’s taken,
no loss can reach you, swift and light you stand.
Only through struggle can you be awakened,
and earn the cleansing that makes you unspanned.
Clean from the filth that centuries have layered,
the slave-born grime that crushes mind and flame.
All this must fall by your own hand unfaltered —
it will not drop away, nor leave the same.
And you will not fear smashing this confusion,
or breaking slavery’s final iron seal.
With you will fall this inhuman delusion —
those who once chose to kill all that is real.
---------------------
No Need
No need to beg for Nature’s saving hand,
no need to hymn the gods above the skies.
When we are all but broken shapes of man,
no voice of ours will ever reach the wise.
No need to think our fault is small or slight,
no need to whine about a cursed fate.
We cannot rise within this twisted night
that screams of slaves who came too late.
No need to hope for anything at all,
no spark of reason left in what we are.
When filth of inhumanity does fall,
it makes us beasts, degraded and afar.
No fate remains for spirit’s resurrection,
no spark of God within us can remain.
When all is sold to rot and disconnection,
the world itself becomes a ruined chain.
Only swift destruction waits in store:
the Sun will burn — no refuge will remain.
The price of all this planet’s inner gore,
the debt for turning human into strain.
---------------------
In Neat Rows to the Slaughter
In orderly rows they march away,
from cradle’s cry to final breath,
like withered fruit that sways and frays
within the hellish wheel of death.
Fools on parade in a world gone blind,
through lands where reason has decayed.
They empty out the human mind,
and hollow every town and trade.
Each is given their daily feed —
a dummy, yogurt, numbered cell,
according to status, age, and creed,
signed off in cheerful, modern hell.
And what comes after? None will ask.
Just more delight, just more desire.
Pleasure becomes the only task —
the rest is thrown into the fire.
It has always been thus — no escape
from this road of servitude and chains.
Now only the formation takes new shape,
refined for newer, tighter aims.
They “heal” each other, or else they break
those who refuse the blind decree.
The ranks close tight for system’s sake,
all locked into conformity.
This ordered line will sweep away
all who refuse to march in step.
It drags them off without delay
toward slaughter’s final, silent depth.
No longer rows, but one great line —
the whole world forged into a pen.
The world now marches, disciplined,
to tunes of unseen governing men.
And all is driven toward the grind
of sacrifice for false, dark gods.
What little life is left behind
is harvested by iron odds.
So what remains for those alive
inside this madhouse built of fear?
Return to roots — to truly survive —
the path is simple, sharp and clear:
The living go to the living kind,
to human communes, whole and free.
We leave the dull and dead behind
to their obedient fantasy.
Freedom in common, here and now,
where unity is not a lie —
this is the only way somehow
that we might live, and not just die.
---------------------
The Terrible Tale of Cheburashka
Once lived Cheburashka,
he set out to build his home.
But something went abysmally wrong —
and built instead was Sodom.
That Cheburashka —
the Soviet man of old.
From that small mistake alone
the whole world lost its hold.
The house was broken,
the crocodile is gone,
all order left unspoken,
and everyone lies worn.
And just to find some strength again,
to feed the fading fire,
a new grotesque was made for men —
the fool curing the fool’s desire.
The fool now heals and teaches all
how not to fall apart,
from waves of “viruses” that call —
a plague upon the heart.
And all resources flow that way,
to build a brand new pen:
a new enclosure built from clay
for broken, blinded men.
They build the same old structures still —
tombs, prisons, sealed decay.
The same old faces, dull and ill,
who cannot see their way.
Again the screws are tightened tight,
the fools police the fools.
And not a single path in sight
leads out of these dark rules.
No chance remains to break the chain
of this descending age —
no exit from this slow disdain,
this structured, rotting cage.
---------------------
Forward, Slavic People!
The vile goblins rule over us here,
through lies and deceit they grind down the brave.
This hell has been growing for century’s smear —
a monstrous enslavement of half-human knaves.
Governments bought by corruption and gold,
banks in the grip of the same rotten hand.
And medicine now wears a uniform cold —
like SS it marches across every land.
No cannons or tanks are needed today —
they strike with injections of poisoned design.
They come in disguise and silently slay,
turning life into a tightening line.
To battle this filth —
this stench and this guilt —
go forward and stand,
Slavic land!
The days have now come when decay has descended
to depths never seen in the course of all time.
Unthinkable scales of destruction have blended
each man against system in brutal design.
And only by standing together as one
can we push back the beasts in their fascist parade.
Find comrades to stand with, and when that is done
your strength will be doubled, your purpose well-made.
We must build self-reliant and living communities —
the remnant of minds that refuse to submit.
For not only strength, but new human continuities
will rise from the unions that knowledge will knit.
These simple ideas are rooted in spirit alone —
there lies the salvation from slavery’s chain.
“Material life” is a rumour, a tone —
we rise in the spirit, the monsters will wane.
But while we are here, we must stand and resist —
for only through struggle the soul is preserved.
No room for fear — only dignity exists.
And thus shall the slave’s final ending be served.
---------------------
Rise, Last Remnants of Reason!
Rise up, you modest spark of mind
that’s dying on this Earth below.
A phantom war has gripped mankind —
and all will vanish in its glow,
unless the last remaining reason
pushes back the rising storm.
Without delay, without hesitation,
take up the axe in final form.
Let every free and thinking nation
hold that axe as one united will.
Then comes our final reckoning station —
but first we must the pressure still
of fascist filth and degradation
that presses in on every side.
No help will come from hesitation,
no rescue born of fear or pride.
There will be no salvation given
unless we build it here and now.
Not miracle from distant heaven —
but unity is weapon now.
A noble commune, strong and grounded,
shall rise like walls against the night.
And all the monstrous force unbounded
will scatter under gathered light.
This hybrid war of hidden motion,
where enemies are ghost and screen,
is most disgraceful in its notion —
it enters homes unseen, obscene.
A war to erase all that’s living,
to crush all freedom into dust.
A war against the mind forgiving,
a war that feeds on fear and trust.
And only then will hope be dawning,
when we at last unite as one:
for unity is weapon forming —
and only there is battle won.
They poison us with aerosol chains,
with “five G” webs of unseen wire.
The strong collapse beneath these strains,
all veiled beneath a web of liar’s fire.
A fake pandemic, mass illusion —
a plague designed for foolish minds,
to finish thought in slow profusion,
and leave no reason left behind.
Then comes the needle, cold and final,
for “nothing” cures the living dead.
Can you not hear the march of viral
death moving closer overhead?
It takes what’s dear, what life has given,
what once was meaning, soul, and breath.
No greater enemy was driven
than this — beyond even judgment’s death.
So rise, you land without a master,
rise for your final stand and cry —
against this monstrous, vile disaster,
this demon host that passes by.
---------------------
Communes of the Remnants of Reason
Communes of those last remnants of mind —
this is the only road to be free.
They must be built without delay in kind,
for here alone the half-dead can be.
To be alive means to be sovereign,
free under Nature’s own decree.
This is the only law not forged in chains,
the only truth that cannot flee.
There all will be simple, honest, and clear —
no money, no whip, no command from above.
Nature provides without price or fear,
while money enslaves what should be love.
Such communes are just exchange made right:
you take no less than what you give.
Paper money is hollow spite
for stolen strength from those who live.
No slavery to demonic regimes —
a union where freedom is core.
No force, no artificial schemes,
but unity, creation, and more.
The rising peoples of Earth shall stand,
and leave the cesspool, rise from the mud.
The parasite scourge will be swept from the land —
no refuge remains for their flood.
That parasite devouring all life,
a walking asylum, cosmic disease.
We will live to see the end of that strife —
their judgment will fall with ruthless ease.
No gag can silence a slave-born voice,
no yoke can bind the sovereign soul.
The free will always find their choice —
for freedom runs through living blood as whole.
So rise, O Slavic and German kind,
amid the final feast of decay.
Together, the axis of humankind —
to lead the world out of its grave.
---------------------
Concentration-Camp Monastery Type
The “bovanovirus” failed Koch’s triad test —
and thus is nothing but a tool of lies,
a blunt invention used to dress
old fascist schemes in modern guise.
The whole world has been turned to pen,
a cattle yard without an end.
Yet looks like a monastery then —
with strict obedience to defend.
Instead of robes, a muzzle worn;
instead of rule, a written chain.
The abbot now is doctor-born —
a loudmouthed fraud with hollow brain.
Instead of Bible, circular
from “health authority” decree.
And at the gate a barrier
to block all slaves from being free.
No words are needed, no delay,
no patient slave-like tolerance.
When madness rules the world today,
no monastery deserves obedience.
False science now is faith alone —
without proof it has no ground.
Just darkness, ignorance, overthrown,
with “assertion” as its crown.
No need to prove — just claim, declare:
invent a virus out of air.
The mindless world will not compare,
it only eats and does not care.
So all we do is just affirm —
and truth itself will never firm.
“Bovanovirus” is pure deceit,
a global fraud of engineered lies.
There is nothing in it to meet —
no Koch’s triad to verify.
Only the lies of fascist hands,
of generals in mental war,
a system built on shifting sands —
a camp disguised as something more.
This monastery, false and cold,
is sanctified by fascist creed,
its final dream is plainly told —
a Nazi camp for every breed.
The flock is trained to trust the fraud,
to swallow every claimed “science” word,
to be distracted, lulled, ignored —
then quietly erased unheard.
So what remains in such a time?
No speeches left, no empty sound.
The only path that stays sublime —
is finding exit underground.
Communes of minds that still remain —
the only way out of this hell.
A modern Exodus through pain,
a truth no scripture fails to tell.
Across the sea of madness deep,
we swim, we crawl, we push ahead —
until at last we reach the steep
and climb to freedom from the dead.
---------------------
The Blue and the Foolish
Even the screens here glow in blue —
the filth is spread by rotten hands.
All sacred values are subdue,
and fascist evil now commands.
A new whip called “political care”
is crushing minds and breaking will.
To be “normal” is no longer fair —
only Sodom remains, standing still.
We mourn the loss of honor and grace,
we long for a life once meant for man.
But if you look truth in the face,
no good news comes from this madhouse span.
No news remains — the zombie screen
delivers lies in endless stream.
This world is rotten, dead, obscene —
each so-called “nation” is a dream.
Not nations now, but broken remains
of old enclosures built to hold the slaves.
Yet modern slaves accept the chains
of lies that lead them to their graves.
Now killing slaves through “false disease”
has become the single global trade.
It swallows all with ease,
while care is just a mask displayed.
For fascism calls itself the healer,
a mentor, doctor, guiding hand.
In this madhouse there is no clearer
theme than saving beasts across the land.
And only fools will still believe
what every screen and slogan says.
The fascist mind will still conceive
new sicknesses in endless ways.
So this world dies from “simple colds” —
a nightmare no one should believe.
Each third man now betrays and folds,
a Judas helping darkness weave.
For if you stop resisting lies,
and yield to death, control, and fear,
you strengthen all that truth denies —
and rot is all that brings you near.
And soon that rot will rise like tide,
devouring hell until all ends.
Then man becomes a jackal’s guide —
a beast in chains that never bends.
---------------------
The Path
Futility
; meaninglessness
; vulgar decay
; fear
misfortune
; silence
; chaos and sway.
What now remains is empty space —
hands fall down in silent strain.
Yet not by fate, nor simple grace —
they are broken… out of disdain.
And there is only one true way,
one single act that still remains:
to trick the cruel fate that sways
and push ahead through all its chains.
But foul deception wraps you tight,
a choking fog of endless lies.
The path is lost, erased from sight
beneath a heap of false replies.
And now the world moves onward, blind,
into a void without a name.
Its compass shattered, left behind,
and herds of sheep assume the frame.
They drag the human stream along
into a witches’ Sabbath night —
then onward to the slaughter’s song,
beyond all reason, hope, or light.
The sheep are dead in mind and soul,
and man himself is fading fast.
There is no choice, no higher goal —
only one act that must be cast:
Destroy this Sodom, foul and vile,
this sewer of corruption deep.
And only then, after exile,
Styx will its final silence keep.
And Earth will rise, renewed again,
sweeping all filth into the void.
And then will come, through all this pain,
a child of reason — unalloyed.
101 poems
© Copyright: Èãîðü Âûõîâàíåö, 2026
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226052001364
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226052001364
Ðåöåíçèè