Jobs
"To rise to Heaven—that is toil,
To rise to Heaven—that is work indeed!"
— Jonathan Swift?
A sack of bones must drag its load
Toward Hell's grim gates—that is the chore.
Bid one last farewell to the soul once sold,
Then off to work—what else is life for?
And all the striving fools invest
Will soon be ground to dust and mud.
Is climbing Heaven's heights a test
When done unpaid? And fighting Evil's flood—
Will anyone respect the cost,
Or pay a prize for such a deed?
The slave walks where his soul is lost—
To Hell's front gate: that's where they need
His hands, his back, his years, his breath;
That's where the money waits in line.
He serves the road that leads to death,
Because that road is called "the climb."
---------------------
Work
A bag of bones crawls down the track
Toward Hell's black gate for daily pay.
The soul is left behind its back—
No one rewards the harder way.
To rise to Heaven? No profit there.
To fight with Evil? Who would care?
The slave walks on where money dwells—
The wages wait at gates of Hell.
---------------------
The "Strong" Man's Right to Sink in Filth
Strength alone, to fools, appears
Worth the risk at any price.
Thus the nation drowned for years,
Serving "strong men" cold as ice.
Yet their strength is all a show—
Fools can never see the lie.
Under Evil's heel they bow,
"Guarding families" till they die.
"Guarding families"—again
Round the ring of slow decay.
Monsters know the trick too well,
Set the villains on display
In the posts that shape the land.
Round and round the cycle goes.
Reason dies by careful hand—
Crushing minds is hardest work.
Greatest risk of all, in truth,
Is degeneration's slime.
Live on as a shameless brute—
You're a piece of filth in time.
---------------------
The Cult of Strength
"Strong men" lead, and fools obey—
Thus a nation rots away.
Under Evil's iron boot
They protect their little loot.
Monsters place their loyal swine
Where the seats of power shine.
Reason falls. The cycle stays.
Filth survives—and filth decays.
---------------------
Red and Black
"The moment a man commits a folly,
he hastens to justify it with good intentions."
— Stendhal, "Red and Black" (1830)
Once a plane came gliding down,
Crowds would cheer throughout the town,
Greeting every pompous "hero,"
Proud beneath the banners scarlet.
Now another hero lands—
Black-clad masters rule the lands.
Once it marched in red attire,
Now in black—but same old mire.
Red or black, the tale's the same:
Docile masses, different name.
"Good" is waved like some bright token,
While the fools stay blind and broken.
Building Hell and calling it Heaven,
Lying hard from dawn till seven.
Again and again they play their part—
Falsehood rotting mind and heart.
---------------------
Red to Black
Yesterday the banners glowed red,
Today they're black instead.
Different colors, same old chain,
Same obedience, same stain.
"Good intentions" lead the show,
That is all the masses know.
Hell is built, yet called a prize—
Thus the lie survives and thrives.
---------------------
Lubok and the Embodied Phantasmagoria
Catacombs and shells and bombs—
Driven underground by force.
Fear has clogged the mind with clots,
Lies and monsters rule the course.
Like the paintings Bosch once made,
Come to life on every side.
In a few, the blood runs cold;
Most are lice consumed by pride.
A new Bosch now paints the Devil,
Monstrous lice beneath his reign.
Sense and madness blur together—
Fools become the goats of shame.
Now those goats attack and ravage,
Goat-louse hordes in global glitch.
Devils teach the little savages
How to end their every itch.
First of all: obey, obey!
That is law and sacred creed.
Countless "illnesses" demand
Endless cures for those in need.
Drugged and dulled by constant treatment,
That becomes the highest art.
At command the louse goes marching
Off to war with willing heart.
Long ensnared by hostile schemes,
Half-crushed kin still linger on.
Those who doubt are branded traitors—
They must all be trampled down.
Hear the Devil's propaganda:
That is duty number one.
Or you'll eat a prison ration
Till your days on earth are done.
Neutral in this Boschian Hell?
Such a thing can never be.
You're with us—or with the enemy;
There is no third destiny.
Still the monsters lie with fervor,
Still their frauds infest the air.
For the lice, the Devil's risen
As a god to worship there.
---------------------
Bosch Repainted
Bosch once painted Hell in oil—
Now it walks the streets alive.
Lice obey and goats attack,
Truth is buried under lies.
Every sickness needs a cure,
Every cure demands control.
March to war when ordered to—
That is how they farm the soul.
Neutral? Not in Hell, they say.
Choose a master, choose a side.
Thus the Devil wears a halo,
And the vermin kneel with pride.
---------------------
Meeting in Hell
"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
— William Shakespeare, "The Tempest"
Empty stood the nether hall.
One late devil, after all,
Looked around—the horned had gone,
Not a single fiend shone on.
All were busy up on Earth,
Helping Lucifer give birth
To his newest grand design:
Expanding Hell by grander lines.
Sons of foolish lands now kneel,
Serving Satan with their zeal.
Scratch the surface of their creeds—
Darker rot beneath them breeds.
Year by year it swells and grows,
Stronger through the lies they chose.
Thus whatever still survives
Finds no refuge from its rise.
---------------------
Hell's Assembly
Hell stood empty. One late fiend
Reached the hall and found it cleaned.
"Where's the crew?" he asked in dread.
"Earth," another devil said.
Lucifer expands his state;
Hell requires a larger gate.
Fools obey and call it good,
Building damnation out of wood.
Probe their slogans, strip the paint—
Satan's fingerprints grow plain.
Year by year the darkness swells.
Why stay in Hell when Earth works well?
---------------------
The President of Hell
The road to Hell is paved with good intentions?
One invader comes from outside,
One from deep within the gate.
Different masks and different methods—
Yet the goal remains the same.
One attacks with force and terror,
One with lies that slowly spread.
In the swamp of false salvation
Both would see the people dead.
What is called a "nation" now
Is a frightened, broken herd.
After media comes the truncheon—
Truth is silenced, fear preferred.
Lie and bully. Raise enforcers
High upon a marble throne.
"Our proud people stand as ever"—
Yet they've never sunk so low.
Media myths and grim reality
Drift apart with every dawn.
Madness spreads its infernal kingdom,
Reason fades and hope is gone.
Thus the road to Hell is laid
By intentions dressed as good.
Making Evil's wooden puppets
Even duller than they stood.
Now the highway nears completion,
One last turn and all is done.
At the root of every evil
Stands a fool who's sold his soul.
---------------------
Highway to Hell
One invader storms the border,
One corrodes the land within.
Different tactics, same ambition:
Keep the herd obedient.
Lie. Intimidate. Promote
Every thug who knows the game.
Then declare the people "proud"
As they sink beneath their shame.
Good intentions pave the roadway—
So the slogan likes to tell.
Yet the bricks are laid by cowards,
And the road still leads to Hell.
---------------------
Saving for a Rainy Day
Save for a rainy day? Too late—
That dark day has arrived!
Yet fools don't see their current fate,
By Evil's lies deprived.
Among the monsters' poisoned tales
They save, believe, and plan,
Projecting decades down the trail—
A frightened, foolish man.
As always, fear has led him wrong;
The masses pay the price.
Fed lies their whole pathetic lives,
They're sacrificed by lies.
The darkest day is when the mind
Grows dim and starts to fade.
And worse—the spirit's slow decline,
By rot and chaos flayed.
When consciousness begins to die,
The night has truly come.
A rotting darkness fills the sky—
And swallows everyone.
---------------------
The Black Day
"Save for the black day!"—it is here.
The fool still saves in fear.
He trusts the lies, he counts his gains,
While falsehood floods his brain.
The blackest day is not the loss
Of money, food, or bread—
It's when the mind begins to fade,
And spirit joins the dead.
---------------------
Better That Than Lies
I'd sooner wreck my failing kidneys
With alcohol and one last spree
Than play a shabby troll, repeating
The lies they call "love" endlessly.
Yet they will never get their wish—
I've kept a joker up my sleeve.
Those who turn men into vermin
Still have surprises to receive.
The mighty lords have lost all measure,
Their masks have slipped, their tricks laid bare.
They've turned to cardsharps and deceivers,
Corrupting minds through fraud and scare.
Rise from your bed, poet, rise!
The hour grows darker than before.
Too many minstrels sing for masters—
Too few still dare to speak of war.
---------------------
Joker
I'd rather drink myself to ruin
Than preach their lies of "love" for pay.
They wait for surrender—
They're waiting in vain.
A joker remains in my pocket still.
The cheats now rule,
The frauds wear crowns.
Wake up, poet.
There are far too many singers,
And far too few voices.
---------------------
Disasters
Disasters—experts know the art
Of keeping slaves' minds occupied.
The fact your life is torn apart
Escapes the fools on every side.
---------------------
Catastrophes
The experts know what keeps enslaved
The minds of those who never see:
That while their lives are being shaved,
They're blind to their own misery.
---------------------
Catastrophes
Disasters keep the slaves amused—
The experts know the game.
That your own life has been abused
Escapes the fools all the same.
---------------------
Enough of Lies
Sick of hearing endless cries:
"Serve this cause!" and "Sacrifice!"
Follow only your Soul's voice
Through the sea of common lies.
---------------------
One Master
Fed up with the noise and fraud:
"Serve!" they shout on every side.
Serve no master but your Soul
Through the tides of public lies.
---------------------
The Soul's Command
Endless nonsense, endless schemes:
"Serve!" they shout through all the din.
Follow only what your Soul
Whispers softly from within.
Trust no slogan, trust no throne,
Trust no lies the masses prize.
Walk the path your Soul has shown
Through the fog of countless lies.
---------------------
The "Russian World"
The "Russian World" reeks rank and foul—
You could hang an axe in air.
Merciless monsters use the crowd
As willing helpers everywhere.
The media spew their savage lies,
And fools believe them like a prayer.
The strength of fascism multiplies,
While reason gasps for dying air.
---------------------
The Stench
The "Russian World" reeks so severe
You could hang an axe upon the air.
The masses serve their ruthless beasts,
While media lies become their creed.
Fascism grows with every year.
Reason fades—
And few still hear.
---------------------
Reeking Empire
The "Russian World" gives off a stench
So thick an axe could hang in place.
The herd assists its ruthless masters,
Trapped within a foul disgrace.
Media churn out wild delusions;
Fools accept them as the truth.
Fascism gathers strength and numbers,
While reason fades and loses proof.
---------------------
Windmills
Windmills! Hooray, you fools at last—
You've saved the Earth, or so you're told.
The wicked Sun will roast your hides;
CO;? That myth grows old.
---------------------
Hail the Windmills!
Windmills! Hooray, you fools divine!
You've saved the planet—what a feat!
The savage Sun will scorch your skin;
CO; won't bring the heat.
---------------------
Green Victory
Windmills spinning—cheers abound!
"Earth is saved!" the fools all cry.
Yet the Sun may bake them brown—
CO;? Nice try.
---------------------
The Voice of Ads
Such grandeur in the advertiser's voice—
As if he'd grabbed God by the beard.
It's just a boor who tricks the fools,
Yet speaks as though the Truth appeared.
---------------------
Advertising
Such pomp within the spokesman's tone—
As though God's beard were in his fist.
A hustler milks another fool;
That's all there is behind the mist.
---------------------
Commercial Wisdom
The voice swells up with holy pride,
As if it grasped God's beard outright.
A vulgar fraudster fools the fool
And sells him darkness as the light.
---------------------
The Grasping States
The grasping States have seized the world
By its throat—"terrorism!" they cry.
Yet they funded many villains first—
Pure fascism dressed in a lie.
---------------------
Terrorism!
The mighty States have gripped the globe
And shout, "Terrorists!" on cue.
Yet yesterday they paid those fiends—
A fascist trick straight through and through.
---------------------
Selective Outrage
They grabbed the world right by the throat:
"Terrorism!"—hear them yell.
But first they bankrolled half the rogues.
That's fascism as well.
---------------------
Family Values, Rashist Style
Stump and log—a perfect pair,
Such a solid marriage there.
Yet each hardship, every scrape,
Smashes all their "sacred" tapes.
---------------------
Family in the Rashist Order
Blockhead weds a block of wood—
What a strong and noble tie!
Every hardship proves the truth:
All their "values" crack and die.
---------------------
Traditional Values
A fool and foolwood, side by side—
A marriage built to last, they boast.
Then trouble comes, and all their bonds,
Their "sacred values," turn to ghost.
---------------------
In Hell
You'll find nothing waiting here—
Only waste yourself away.
Still you hope for something near...
Will the Darkness crush its prey?
---------------------
In Hell
Nothing here is yours to find;
All your searching ends in loss.
Yet you wait with stubborn mind—
Till the Darkness presses close.
---------------------
In Hell
Nothing here you'll ever gain;
All your waiting is for naught.
Yet you keep expecting change—
Till the Darkness has you caught.
---------------------
Hell
Nothing waits for you in Hell.
All your hopes are doomed to fail.
Still you wait for something more...
Will the Darkness crush you small?
---------------------
No Cure for Poetry
There's no cure for poetry—
That is why, when minds decay,
Do not yield to corrosion's reign
Or let it draw your soul astray.
Simply write, and keep on writing—
Those are labors not in vain.
Though the taste remains as bitter
As it always did remain.
You were never Beauty's servant,
Nor her priest in silk array.
Write because you have to write—
And let the false world rot away.
---------------------
Poetry Has No Remedy
Poetry admits no cure,
That is simply how things stand.
Even while the mind corrodes,
Do not aid decay's command.
Write your verses. Write alone.
Such a labor is not lost.
Though it still leaves bitter traces,
As it always has, the cost.
You were never pledged to Beauty,
Never bowed before her shrine.
Write because the fire compels you—
That is reason enough to rhyme.
---------------------
Incurable
Poetry cannot be cured—
Learn to live with that disease.
Though the mind may rust and crack,
Never help corruption please.
Write.
The work is not in vain.
The taste is bitter—
Yet remain.
Not a worshipper of Beauty,
But a servant of the flame.
---------------------
Tolerance
A dwarf is short—that's all there is.
A fool is slow of mind.
Yet some vulgar little fraud
Has reached the "elite" kind.
Only for the poet, though,
No place remains in sight.
Nonsense rules the world today—
And calls itself "the light."
---------------------
The Age of Tolerance
A dwarf is merely short in height.
An idiot lacks the mind.
A vulgar fool ascends the ranks
And joins the "refined."
But poets find no place at all
Beneath the reign of nonsense spread.
Absurdity now greets the world
And passes for wisdom instead.
---------------------
Nonsense Reigns
A dwarf is short.
A fool is slow.
A vulgar fraud
Has room to grow.
The poet has
No place instead.
The age belongs
To reigning BRED.
Where nonsense marches as a king,
And calls itself a worthy thing.
---------------------
Drunks and Rags
Drunks and bums, fascism's scum—
Sign the contract! Charge and come!
:::
---------------------
Recruitment
Drunks and wrecks, fascism's trash—
Take the bonus! Join the clash!
:::
---------------------
On Contract
Drunks and rags, fascism's stain—
Sign right here and charge again!
March ahead and smash on cue—
That's the job they've picked for you.
:::
---------------------
The Red Wheel
The wheel rolled on without a pause.
It once was red beneath its laws.
The masses then were redefined—
A black-clad mob of fascist mind.
---------------------
Red Wheel
Round and round the wheel was hurled.
Once red ruled the captive world.
Then the herd was reshaped still—
Black beneath the fascist will.
---------------------
From Red to Black
The wheel kept rolling down the track.
Yesterday red, today it's black.
The "people" changed from herd to crowd—
Fascism simply spoke more loud.
---------------------
Into the Ku Klux Klan
A common fool goes marching in
To Ku Klux Klan with vacant grin.
His “brother” there—an idiot true,
A rabble bred in rotten stew.
The trash of “Rashka” fills the frame,
Outmatched by CowID’s shame.
---------------------
KKK Procession
A simple fool joins Klan parade,
Embraced by fools of same low grade.
A “brother” there—pure idiot stock,
The rabble rots like broken rock.
And “Rashka’s” scum, a stinking crew,
Is topped by CowID’s bovine fool.
---------------------
The Entry
A fool walks in the Klan with pride,
His “brother” is an idiot guide.
The rabble swells in filthy ranks—
A CowID beast that breaks all banks.
---------------------
To Write a Tale
Solzhenitsyn—mere scribbler’s name,
Only sheep can read his fame.
Pity he did not, by chance,
Mark the gate with sharper glance.
---------------------
Writing a Tale
Solzhenitsyn—hack at best,
Fit for sheep to read and rest.
Shame he never marked the gate
With a sharper, darker fate.
---------------------
A Tale Unwritten
Solzhenitsyn, scribbler vain,
Read by sheep without a brain.
Pity he, in final spite,
Did not “mark the gate” aright.
---------------------
Too Much Talk
Too much talk, and deeds too few—
Opposition lost from view.
How are we to crush the scheme—
Fascism wrapped in globalist dream?
---------------------
Words Without Weight
So much chatter, so much noise,
No more opposition’s voice.
How to break the fascist stream—
Lies of globalist regime?
---------------------
Empty Speech
Talk is plenty, action nil—
Opposition’s gone, it’s still.
How to fight the fascist theme—
Global lies in one machine?
---------------------
Wrapper and Ribbon
Wrapper, ribbon—child believes
Parents never bring decease.
Since today they’re off to see
Daddy’s zoo philosophy—
Wise as Plutarch, so they say,
Leading them in bright display.
---------------------
At the Zoo
Ribbons, wrappers—child is sure
Parents must be kind and pure.
Since they’re going to the zoo
Daddy must be Plato too—
Smart as Plutarch, wise and grand,
Leading them by learned hand.
---------------------
A Day at the Zoo
Ribbons, paper—child believes
Parents mean no harm or grief.
Off they go to watch the zoo,
Daddy’s wisdom guiding through—
Wise as Plutarch, calm and bright,
Everything must turn out right.
---------------------
“Free World” (Sort Of)
Coca-Cola, just for fun,
Full of chemicals and lies.
In this world of no-one’s rule
They still pour you crap and fries.
Movies, slogans, propaganda—
“Freedom” where you get to choose:
Tired of the old regime? Well fine—
Switch the clowns you like to lose.
New fools rise to sell you promises,
Sweetly packaged, bright and clean.
Getting dumber every season—
Still you shrug: “what does it mean?”
---------------------
“The Free World”
Coke for laughs and chemical rain,
Sweetened poison, sugar pain.
In this “free” and ordered mess
They still serve you second best.
Films and slogans, noise and glitter,
“Freedom” sold through corporate filter.
Don’t like thieves? Then change the crew—
Pick new clowns to fool you too.
Same old promises, freshly made,
Sweet enough to make you trade.
Dumber every passing year—
Still you don’t seem to care here.
---------------------
Free World Brand
Coke and chemicals for cheer,
Freedom packaged bright and clear.
Propaganda, films, and lies—
Pick your brand of compromise.
Old clowns out? Just choose some new.
Same sweet promises for you.
Dumber still? No need to frown—
Just keep buying your way down.
---------------------
The Six-Thousandth Poem
Six thousand high—like peaks I climb
My verses rise like alpine stone.
Round numbers please the foolish mind,
And fools adore them on their own.
I never cared for counting much—
But now that number’s in my face,
I shrug it off. Let others clutch
Their poetry in search of grace.
Some hunt for God inside their rhyme—
I’d rather name the filth I see.
Expose the rot of every time,
That suits my path much more than piety.
And I will keep on moving on
Along the track I’ve chosen well—
Where lies grow thin, and masks are gone,
Near that last edge we call farewell.
---------------------
Six Thousand
Six thousand lines—like peaks I climb,
My poems cut the mountain air.
Round numbers please the foolish mind,
And fools and dreamers love them there.
I never cared. But now it stands—
This number, pointless, in my way.
Let others seek some God in verse—
I name the filth of every day.
I’ll walk a road with less disguise,
Where lies are stripped down to the bone,
Where falseness fades before the eyes—
And death stands waiting all alone.
---------------------
Urban Kennel
Hounds in packs, both big and small,
Roam the streets like living hell.
Came at me the other day—
Only those with steel prevail.
In this kennel of the city
Only weapons grant you grace:
I took steel along for safety—
In a beastly, rotten place.
Does the two-legged beast here waiting
Hope a child will meet the jaws?
Cases like this aren’t rare at all—
Dogs get beaten back… at last.
---------------------
City Kennel
Hounds in packs from near and far
Roam the streets like falling night.
Came for me just yesterday—
Only steel can set things right.
In this kennel built of concrete
Only iron keeps you whole.
I took blade along for safety—
In a place that’s lost its soul.
Does the human-beast still reckon
Children may be torn apart?
Such things happen far too often—
Then the dogs are struck… at heart.
---------------------
Kennel City
Dogs in packs all over town,
Snarling, roaming up and down.
Came for me—no other way
But a blade to hold the day.
This kennel runs on fear and steel.
Only force is what is real.
Will the beast still sit and wait
For a child to meet its fate?
First the bite, then retaliation—
That’s the cycle of this nation.
---------------------
Propane-Butane of Total Lies
The devil struck—
Bhutan went stuck,
Then Nepal too
Was swallowed by the glue of lies.
No country stands
(Just sheep in pens!)
It’s global sludge—
A fascist grudge.
If you unpack
(Stop whining back!)
With care and depth
And honest breath—
One thing is key:
Don’t lie to thee
(Where you do dine
Don’t spread the slime).
---------------------
Propane-Butane Lies
The devil came, the system broke,
Bhutan collapsed beneath the smoke.
Nepal soon followed into night,
Lost in the furnace of false light.
No nations now remain at all—
Just pens where frightened cattle crawl.
All is “globality” in name—
A subtler form of fascist game.
If you dissect it layer by layer
(Stop moaning like a tired player),
One rule emerges sharp and clear:
Don’t lie to self—keep vision near.
For where you eat, don’t foul the ground,
Or all you build will rot around.
---------------------
Global Lie System
The devil moved—Bhutan was gone,
Nepal dissolved, the chain went on.
No countries left, just herds confined—
A global cage for human mind.
Unwrap it fully, strip it bare,
And every layer leads to air
Of organized, refined deceit—
A fascist logic, calm and sweet.
So here’s the rule that cuts it through:
Don’t lie to self in all you do.
For where you live and where you feed,
Don’t turn your own home into greed.
---------------------
Herbicides, Pesticides
Herbicides, pesticides,
False diseases like AIDS arise.
For their “treatment”—poisoned breath;
Greedy scum just waits for death.
---------------------
Toxic Cure
Herbicides and pesticides,
Fake diseases in disguise.
AIDS and others—crafted lies,
Fed with poison, sold as “wise.”
For their “healing”—purest bane;
Yet the greedy bear no shame.
All the fraud is well endured—
Profit keeps the sick assured.
---------------------
The Cure They Sell
Herbicides, pesticides,
Plagues invented—truth denied.
For each “cure” they bring you death—
And the greedy hold their breath.
---------------------
The Curability of Cancer
Tumors treated—so they say—
For those who’ve learned the traitor’s way.
Found “success” in a world gone mad,
Where truth itself is something bad.
A syringe of “vaccine” might as well
Be a bullet—warfare’s spell.
Medicine and war entwine,
Both grow cruel, both cross the line.
What is healing called today?
Mass control in masked display.
They’ll cure you gently, step by step,
While reason quietly slips and slips.
A world-wide cult of twisted shape,
Where nothing sane can break escape.
Too late now to fight the flow—
Only cataclysm may still show
How all this blind and frozen force,
This fascist drift, might change its course.
---------------------
Cancer and Cure
Tumors healed—so they proclaim—
For those who sold their soul for gain.
In a world of broken sense,
Truth dissolves in ignorance.
A syringe, a shot, a line—
War and medicine align.
Target practice, battlefield,
Both demand that men will yield.
What they call “the art of cure”
Hides control that must endure.
They will heal you, calm and sweet,
While your mind slips off its feet.
A global rot, a spread disease,
Where all collapse is done with ease.
Too late now for moral fight—
Only rupture brings the light.
---------------------
On Cancer Treatment
Tumors cured—or so they say—
For those who chose betrayal’s way.
Shot or syringe, it’s all the same:
Medicine and war’s one game.
Healing now means control disguised,
Reason quietly anesthetized.
Too late for struggle, too late for law—
Only collapse can break the flaw.
---------------------
Concentrated Cosmic Melancholy
Boredom—passing thousand days,
All of them in dull displays.
Downward, downward we descend…
Faces we can’t stand or mend.
Rare today a human face—
Degradation takes its place.
Aim for minds, but fools will stare,
Twisting fingers through their hair.
You aim for sense—yet idiots
Just mock you with a crooked glance.
No salvation for the skin…
Universal gloom within.
Concentrated in the pit,
Where betrayal fuels its heat.
Rot upon another rot—
That is law, whether or not.
Honest minds are at the bottom,
Stepped on by the crawling rotten.
Lies and filth become the game—
Worship of the same old shame.
Everywhere the frauds are ruling,
Making fools feel less like losing.
For the few who still can feel—
Soon the Sun will scorch the wheel.
---------------------
Cosmic Boredom, Condensed
Boredom—thousands of dead days,
All alike in empty haze.
We’ve hit bottom, end of line…
Faces now we can’t define.
Rare a human face is found—
Degradation all around.
Aim at minds, but fools will sneer,
Tapping foreheads: “Nothing here.”
Seek the wise—yet clowns just grin,
Turning thoughts to vacant spin.
No escape for mortal skin—
Cosmic boredom pressed within.
In the pit where treason reigns,
Rot expands through endless chains.
Filth on filth becomes the law,
Cruelty wrapped in lawless awe.
Honest souls are trampled low,
While the crawling bastards grow.
Lies and sludge fill every street—
Waste becomes the world’s elite.
Frauds are rising everywhere,
Feeding fools on empty air.
For the few who still remain—
Soon the Sun will burn the pain.
---------------------
Universal Boredom
A thousand dead days pass in line—
All of them decaying time.
We’ve reached the bottom, face to face
With endless rot and empty space.
Truth is rare, and minds are blind,
Fools are all that you will find.
Betrayal builds its central throne—
And rot becomes the only law.
The honest lie beneath the feet
Of filth that calls itself elite.
Lies and boredom, thick as tar—
This is what we truly are.
And for the few who still can see—
The Sun prepares its final decree.
---------------------
High School Asylum
School—a heap of raw control
Pressed on minds not yet grown whole.
Lies injected every day—
No discharge: “The mob’s OK.”
---------------------
High School Asylum
School—a pile of rule and strain
Pressed upon the still-weak brain.
Daily doses of deceit—
“Discharged: the blind and incomplete.”
---------------------
Mental Ward: High School
School is chaos dressed as law,
Grinding down the forming core.
Truth is given in small lies—
Diagnosis: “the crowd is blind.”
---------------------
“Fashion” of Sorts
Fashion—say the hollow crowd,
And the fools repeat it loud.
To hear Nature’s quiet call
Is the strangest thing of all—
In this upside-down creation.
Rags and silk in strange relation,
Like a spoon of honey stirred
Into fat that no one heard.
---------------------
So-Called Fashion
Fashion—so the fools declare,
And the idiots take their share.
Nature’s voice? They turn away—
That would spoil the game they play.
World inverted, upside down,
Rags and silk both wear the crown.
Like a drop of honey lost
In a greasy boiling broth.
---------------------
Fashion
Fashion—say the empty minds,
And the fool repeats in kind.
Nature’s voice is deemed absurd—
In a world that’s flipped and blurred.
Rags and silk are forced to blend
Like honey dropped in fat’s descent.
---------------------
The Cuckoo Gone Mad
A clever doctor—solid brain,
Of so-called Techno Science strain.
For him it’s useful, crystal clear—
A crafty bug survives right here.
For others—little profit found,
They boil in their own mental round.
All novelty has flown away—
Just “cuckoo” sings the mind decay.
The world is not some tech-born dream
(“Progress” is dead, or so it seems).
It’s technopathic through and through—
A press of lies that crushes you.
It hides itself with skill and grace,
While dulling every thinking face.
Lectures open once again—
The cycle of techno-strain.
---------------------
Cuckoo Logic
A learned doctor, sharp and bright
Of Techno-Science in his sight,
Sees benefit—quite clear to him—
A clever bug that won’t grow dim.
But for the rest—no gain at all,
They stew inside a mental wall.
No freshness left, no spark, no clue—
Just empty “cuckoo” breaking through.
The world is not a tech-made dream
(Progress collapsed, or so it seems).
It’s technopathologic pain—
A pressure of deceitful gain.
It hides itself, distorts the mind,
And leaves all thinking far behind.
New lectures start the same old show—
The cycle of tech-born woe.
---------------------
Techno-Cuckoo
Doctor of science, sharp and sly,
Finds his advantage on the fly.
For him it works, it’s crystal clear—
A bug survives when he is near.
For others—boiling in the past,
No novelty is built to last.
Just “cuckoo” echoes in the brain—
A signal of returning strain.
No tech-utopia unfolds—
Just technopathic truth it holds.
A system built on polished lies
That slowly dulls the watching eyes.
---------------------
Fools of Nature
Fools by nature drift away,
Far from what is true and plain.
So misfortune holds the day,
Filth becomes their form of gain.
---------------------
Away from Nature
Madmen turned from Nature’s line,
Left behind what once was whole.
Now misfortune is their sign,
Filth receives the final role.
---------------------
Cut from Nature
Fools of nature lose the way,
Break from what is bright and true.
Now disaster rules their day,
And they bow to what is glue.
---------------------
A Stunted Mind in Mothball Lies
A stunted mind, wrapped up in dust
Of total lies and fading trust.
So backs remain forever bent—
No fixing what the masses went.
Each one must save himself alone,
While truth is slowly turned to stone.
---------------------
Mothballed Mind
A stunted mind in mothball lies,
Where truth decays and reason dies.
Bent are backs in heavy chains—
No one breaks the crowd’s remains.
Each must flee and save his own,
In a world turned dead and stone.
---------------------
Encased Thought
A cramped mind sealed in layers of lie,
Where crooked spines refuse to try.
The crowd is bent beyond repair—
Survival now is solitary care.
---------------------
Presumption of Guilt
Presumed guilt—no need to prove:
We are Satan’s chosen brood.
Only few contain the spark
Of god within the human dark—
And they are held to stricter rule.
---------------------
Presumption of Guilt
Presumption of guilt is the law we breathe:
We are the children born beneath.
Only in rare, divided souls
A fragment of the god-head glows—
And they are bound by harsher code.
---------------------
Guilty by Default
We come as children of the night,
Of Satan’s mark, not inner light.
Only in some a spark remains—
And even that is tightly chained.
---------------------
Georgian Fantasy
Chakhokhbili we ate, we drank,
With chacha drowning every grief.
To mountain songs we softly sank
In healing air, in calm relief.
---------------------
Georgian Fantasy
We feasted, drank, and laughed along
On chakhokhbili, rich and hot.
We drowned our sorrow in chacha,
And echoed every mountain note—
In gentle voices, soft and free,
In healing air beneath the sky,
Where even sorrow seemed to be
Too weak to live, too full to die.
---------------------
Georgian Fantasy
We ate chakhokhbili, drank away,
Chacha dissolving every pain.
We joined the mountain songs that play
Across the healing sunlit plain.
---------------------
Comparison
Alternating current flows ahead,
While constant lies of evil spread
Lead the world into decay,
Finishing what’s left away—
The tattered scraps of “nations” fall,
As stagnation swallows all.
---------------------
Comparison
Alternating currents run,
Life in motion, never done.
But constant Evil, slow and cold,
Turns the world to rust and mold—
Bringing stillness, thick and grim,
Finishing what’s left of them—
The torn remains of former “states,”
Where only rot now dominates.
---------------------
Comparison
Current flows in change and spin,
While constant Evil locks within.
It drags the world into decay,
And wipes the scraps of “states” away.
---------------------
To Moo and Bleat
They train you how to bleat and moo—
A beastly system running through.
Even the wise will lose their mind
If they accept the lies designed.
So raise your doubt, make it strong,
And let your intuition guide along.
If Evil’s voice you don’t obey—
You are a person, come what may.
If not—you’re just a beast that shouts and brays.
---------------------
Bleat and Moo
They teach you how to bleat and moan—
A system made of flesh and bone.
Even the wise will turn to prey
If they believe the lies they say.
So sharpen mind, increase your sight,
Let intuition guide you right.
Don’t trust the Evil’s hollow call—
Then you are human after all.
Else you’re just a beast that screams and bawls.
---------------------
On Bleating
They teach the herd to bleat and cry—
A system built on living lie.
Even the wise can lose their way
If they accept what Evil says.
Reject the lie, remain aware—
Then you are human, fully there.
Believe it not, and you descend
To beastly noise without an end.
---------------------
When You Stand Alone
When you are keen and stand alone,
You rule yourself, and you alone.
No evil fool can break your will,
Born from bent backs that crawl and kneel.
A crowd whipped into servile fear
Has nothing that your mind needs here.
The bond with slaves is cut and done—
They serve no purpose for the one
Whose mind is sharp, original, free.
---------------------
Alone and Aware
When you are sharp, alone, aware,
You are your master everywhere.
No wicked fool can reach your height—
The one who crawls will not win fight.
A beaten herd, a whipped-up mass,
Is something your mind must bypass.
For slaves and dullards have no place
In minds that think with strength and grace.
---------------------
On Being Alone
When you are whole and stand apart,
You rule yourself with steady heart.
No fool born from a bowed-down crowd
Can reach the mind that thinks aloud.
The herd is broken, blind, and chained—
For such a mind, it’s just remained
A thing of no necessity.
---------------------
Global Enclosure
“Amongst mankind I’ve no affection,
To other realms I turned direction.
To every dog on neck and chain
I’d give my finest tie again.”
—Sergei Yesenin, 1922
Amongst mankind I have no ties—
Alone I’ve lived since early skies.
In later years I turned to cats,
Not like the herd that serves the rats.
A Global Enclosure Evil builds—
As CowID showed, control it wields.
If lies are doubled, tripled, spun,
Five years’ work becomes just one.
Don’t misread what this verse implies—
A decent freak alone still lies
Outside the eyes of tamed-up beasts
Who make his world feel like a feast
Of nausea, endless, cold, and near.
How many left? The mask makes clear:
So few remain—it signals doom—
A world where reason’s in the tomb.
And yet perhaps it’s what it earns—
A world where mind to silence turns.
---------------------
Global Pen
“I have no friendship among men,
I serve another realm instead.
To every dog I’d gladly lend
My finest tie upon its head.”
—Yesenin (1922)
I’ve had no friendship all my life,
Alone since childhood, free of strife.
In later years I took to cats—
Not like submissive human rats.
The Global Pen is being built,
A world where truth is drowned in guilt.
As CowID showed, the lie expands—
And madness governs working hands.
Five-year plans shrink into days,
As fools accelerate their haze.
Don’t misread what I now write—
A lonely freak still claims the right
To see the herd as broken, blind,
A sickness of the human mind.
How few remain—too few to save—
The mask reveals a world of graves.
Perhaps it’s fitting, after all—
A world where reason’s bound to fall.
---------------------
The Global Enclosure
No friendship found among mankind—
Since youth I walked a different mind.
Now only cats are close to me,
Not beasts that serve so willingly.
A global pen is being made,
Where truth dissolves and minds degrade.
As CowID proved, the lie expands—
And madness governs human hands.
Too few remain who still can see—
A world already lost to thee.
---------------------
Minors of the Mind
Five-year plans—construction lines,
Marching ranks of youthful minds.
Anthill world in cages tight—
Rare is clarity of sight.
The intelligent becomes
Burden for the system’s drums,
Where the worker is “supreme,”
And the peasant just a theme.
Party ranks protect their skin,
Hiding all the rot within.
Honest men are locked away—
“Dissent ruins our day!”
Slave-made order, worse than old,
Now in sickness overrolled.
Every head is aching sore
In this sorrow-stricken shore.
---------------------
Minors of the Mind
Five-year plans of steel and stone,
Youth in ranks, all overthrown.
Human anthill, iron cage—
Rare is insight, rare is sage.
The smart man becomes a flaw
In the system, rule, and law.
Worker crowned as sacred part,
Peasant praised as noble heart.
Party bosses guard their hide,
Truth and justice cast aside.
Honest voices locked away—
“Dissidents corrupt the day!”
Slave-built order, worse than past,
Sickness spreading thick and fast.
Every mind is sore and strained
In this land of grief-contained.
---------------------
Mindless Youth System
Five-year ranks and marching youth,
Cages built instead of truth.
Rare the mind that clearly sees—
Most are trained for bended knees.
Smart becomes a system’s pain,
Worker “king” in propaganda’s frame.
Party guards its fragile skin,
Truth is always locked within.
Slavery now wears a crown—
And the mind is breaking down.
---------------------
Judas in White Coats
A mutant mind, half-brain, half-graft,
A salesman dressed in doctor’s craft.
Of chemical harm he is the priest—
A “healer” turned to profit beast.
CowID was shown, before that AIDS,
Each wave of fear the system plays.
Below all sense, below all floor,
A dullard opens medicine’s door.
He writes his cures in blind routine,
And drags them into family scenes.
Thirty bright coins will seal the lie,
And feed the system’s lullaby.
Madness has conquered every sphere—
Only the vile can function here.
Darkness devours what’s left of mind,
And spirit’s fragments fall behind.
But things are heading to collapse—
A great undoing comes at last.
It will erase the fascist scheme,
And all its rotten downstream stream.
No need to save what’s built on rot—
The world itself is breaking hot.
The spread is total, depthless night—
A living Hell without the light.
---------------------
Judas in White Coats
A mutant intellect, half-dead,
A salesman dressed in white instead.
Of chemical harm he plays the role—
A butcher smiling with no soul.
CowID, AIDS—each fear released,
Each wave of panic never ceased.
Below all sense, below all line,
He scribbles “cures” as if divine.
Thirty bright coins will seal the deal,
And strengthen every lie they feel.
Madness has conquered every land—
Only the vile can understand.
Darkness devours the mind’s last spark,
And leaves the spirit lost in dark.
But ruin comes, a final flame—
A cataclysm ends the game.
It wipes the fascist structure clean,
And all that fed the rotten machine.
No need to save what’s already dead—
A world in collapse, fully spread.
---------------------
White Coats of Judas
A mutant mind in doctor’s white—
A salesman selling chemical blight.
Fear after fear, the system feeds,
From CowID to past disease.
Below all sense, he writes the cure,
And calls the fraud both safe and pure.
Madness rules the living field—
Only the corrupt will yield.
Darkness eats what thought remains,
Spirit fades in endless chains.
But collapse is on its way—
To burn this system down one day.
---------------------
A Vat of Filth
A vat of filth—glazed over bright,
With “rational world” written in light.
The fools are struck by shiny glaze—
What can you do with foolish ways?
---------------------
Glazed Filth
A vat of filth, with glaze on top,
“Rational world” is on the shop.
The fools admire the shining skin—
Not seeing what is deep within.
And what can cure such foolish pride?
When filth is neatly glamorized.
---------------------
Glaze and Filth
A vat of filth, a glossy crown—
“Reasonable world” written down.
The fools admire the shining art—
But what can change a stupid heart?
---------------------
Horned Ones and the Swing
“Only sky, only wind,
Only joy that’s still ahead.”
—Yuri Entin, Winged Swing, 1979
Order of the day? First clear
The clutter from your mind and fear.
To be “normal” means to kneel—
Just another fraud in steel.
They’ve set us all upon a swing:
Choice of lies, or lies that sting.
One deceit replaced by new—
That is all they offer you.
Rot is now the reigning trend,
And still more will they append.
Cuts and bruises in the mind—
That’s the swing for humankind.
In the soul and in the head
These swings are hung like chains of lead.
If you step back and take it whole—
You see collapse has taken hold.
A triumph of the beastly breed.
---------------------
Horned Swing
“Only sky, only wind,
Only joy that lies ahead.”
Order first—fix your mind,
Strip the chaos left behind.
To be “normal” means to lie,
Serving rot until you die.
They have set the swinging frame:
Lie or lie—it’s all the same.
One decay replaced by more,
Endless cycle, rotten core.
Filth has taken all control,
New layers poured into the soul.
Bruises hang in thought and brain—
That is how they build the chain.
If you see it from above—
It is ruin, not of love.
Beastly triumph, cold and blind.
---------------------
The Swing of Lies
“Only sky, only wind, only joy ahead.”
Order up your broken mind—
Normal means to be confined.
On a swing of lies you go:
One deceit becomes the next in row.
Rot replaces rot again,
Pain disguised as fate of men.
If you see the whole design—
Only beasts are left to shine.
---------------------
No Strength Left, but “Sanctioned Might”
No strength is left—but “might” they sell,
With labels smeared in oily smell.
It’s everywhere, beyond the roof—
Yet silence fits the safest truth,
When crowds again begin to bleat…
A surge of “power” hits the seat.
A new-born tsar, with ruthless hand,
Has drenched the order, ruled the land.
Either you wait for execution’s call—
Or serve the merciless, iron wall.
---------------------
No Strength, Yet “Strength”
No strength is left—yet “strength” they bring,
With holy oil on everything.
It’s spilling over, past the sky—
So better shut your mouth and lie,
When bleating crowds begin again…
The head is struck with rising pain.
A new tsar rules with brutal hand,
And stains the order through the land.
Or wait until the butcher’s blade—
Of fascist ranks you’re then remade.
---------------------
Mochi Gone Wrong
No strength remains—but “power” flows,
With sacred glaze the system shows.
The crowd still bleats, the mind is hit—
A ruler drenches all of it.
Silence or slaughter—that’s the law
Of iron order, raw and raw.
---------------------
Sugary Sorrel
Sugary sorrel—that’s the style,
Where critique is wrapped in smile,
And heavily with honey dressed,
So fools can swallow it as “best.”
Such poems are penned by hollow men.
---------------------
Sweetened Sorrel Style
Sugary sorrel—that’s the verse,
Where truth is dulled and made much worse,
And criticism, thick with honey,
Is served as something bright and funny.
Such lines are written by the blind.
---------------------
Sugary Verse
Sugary sorrel—the poetic game,
Where criticism wears sweet flame.
For fools it comes with honeyed taste—
By empty minds it’s always placed.
---------------------
Earthly Hell
The herd is fierce—more vile than beasts
That feed upon its dulled-up mind.
The box of Hell is simply opened—
No mystery there left to find.
But few are willing to look inside,
So all on Earth is doomed to slide.
The herd keeps sinking further down—
Until there is no lower ground.
The bottom’s broken, sealed and gone—
“End times” are quietly coming on.
And on the surface, neat and clean,
The lie is what the crowd has been.
---------------------
Earthly Hell
The herd is worse than monsters made
From minds it willingly obeyed.
The lock of Hell is simple, bare—
But few will ever choose to stare.
So Earth is sentenced, slow decline,
The herd keeps crawling past each line.
No lower ground remains below—
The breaking point begins to show.
The bottom cracks, the limit breaks,
The final “end” the system makes.
And outward all looks calm and sealed—
To lies the crowd has long congealed.
---------------------
Earthly Hell
The herd is worse than any beast—
It feeds on minds it’s trained to feast.
Hell’s mechanism is too plain—
But no one wants to see the frame.
The world descends without repair,
Until there is no “down” left there.
The bottom breaks, the end draws near—
While surface lies appear sincere.
---------------------
Intensity of Knowledge in Earthly Hell
Fruitless labour—hour by hour—
Trying once more Hell to read,
Dress it in articulate power,
In poetic form and deed.
In verse it’s even harder still:
Few can carry through the chill
Of that intensity, that flame—
Lose the glow, and lose the aim.
Lose the charge—and in the lie
Of this Hell you slowly die.
Labour vain, if seen from outside—
Only honest hearts abide.
For the unbought, unbroken few
Clearness comes like morning dew.
For the fools—just money, noise,
And return to working toys.
---------------------
Knowledge Burn in Earthly Hell
Endless labour, hour by hour,
Trying Hell to read and scour.
Trying still to give it name—
Words can barely hold the flame.
In poetry it’s harder yet—
Few can carry what they get.
Lose the charge, the burning line—
And you’re swallowed by the lie.
If the intensity is gone,
Then in Hell you drift along.
Labour vain, if seen from show—
Only honest minds can know.
For the unbought, unbroken mind,
Clear perception they will find.
For the fools—just coin and grind,
Back to labour, deaf and blind.
---------------------
Intensity of Knowing
To study Hell is endless toil,
To name it in both word and soil.
Lose the intensity within—
And you are lost to Hell and sin.
Only the honest see it clear,
Unbought by money, hope, or fear.
For others—noise and endless grind,
And chains that keep the blinded mind.
---------------------
Flow of Time in Earthly Deformity
Tick—and tack, fool—pure chaos,
Time of cattle slowly flows.
But that’s not quite how it stands—
Earthly life itself now ends.
For betrayal, foolish pride,
Servitude to beasts inside
(Just to save one’s fragile skin),
Intervals are wearing thin—
Between each tick, decay expands,
Measuring the breaking lands.
And when yet another floor
Breaks below, once more and more—
All the clocks will loudly sound
Victory of unbound “mind”
(CowID has clearly shown
Such a triumph over bone).
Start the timer, let it run—
Let the Cataclysm come.
So we won’t miss final sign—
Only end can break the line.
To destroy this fascist frame,
Whole world must be burned in flame.
Universal foolishness—
Herd will never break from this.
Three-fourths? Five-sixths? Hard to count
How stupidity amounts.
Honest minds are called insane,
Fear and lies are treated sane.
No escape is left at all
For this rotting, final fall.
Keep your soul if you are “mad”—
Fight the darkness that you had.
Maybe some will still be saved—
In the layers Hell has made.
Fools will be crushed into dust,
As will all who traded trust.
---------------------
Decay of Earthly Time
Tick—and tack—chaos spreads,
Time of herd-bound life now threads.
But in truth it’s not the same—
Earthly life is losing frame.
For betrayal, fear, and lies,
Servitude that slowly dies
Just to keep the skin intact—
Time between each tick attacks.
Every beat becomes decay,
Counting how the world decays.
When the bottom breaks once more,
Clocks will scream what’s next in store.
Victory of hollow “mind”—
CowID has left behind
Proof that madness wins the game,
Calling ruin by its name.
Start the timer, let it race—
Cataclysm takes its place.
Only then we’ll see the sign:
End of all the crooked line.
To erase this fascist mold,
World must burn till nothing holds.
Mass insanity persists—
Herd will never break its mist.
No exact accounting here—
Stupidity is always near.
Truthful minds are labeled mad,
Fear and lies are all they had.
No salvation left to find
In this fractured, dying kind.
Save your soul if you are “wrong”—
Keep the fight against the wrong.
Maybe some will still survive
In the depths where shadows thrive.
Fools will turn to scattered dust,
As will those who sold their trust.
---------------------
Earth Time Decay
Tick and tack—the chaos grows,
Time of herd-bound living flows.
But the truth is breaking through—
Earthly life is ending too.
Betrayal, fear, and blind obey
Speed the intervals away.
Each new break beneath the ground
Makes the clocks a dying sound.
Cataclysm must arrive—
Only then the truth survives.
Fools will never see the end—
Only ruin they will send.
---------------------
The Faded Sun and Herald
The faded Sun, the Herald dim,
And new “ShitNews” on the internet stream—
Each day online they multiply,
Where faith in junk keeps climbing high,
In mass-produced “plus-plus” regime.
Truth is like a dangerous flux—
A swelling pain that quietly sucks.
---------------------
Faded Media
The faded “Sun,” the “Herald” worn,
And “ShitNews” daily now is born.
Across the web it spreads and grows,
Where faith in cheap consumer flows
Of “plus-plus” comfort brightly glows.
But truth is like a dangerous flux—
A hidden wound that slowly sucks.
---------------------
ShitNews Age
The Sun grows dim, the Herald fades,
While “ShitNews” floods the internet trades.
Belief in junk becomes the norm—
Mass “plus-plus” comfort takes its form.
Truth is no light—it’s painful flux,
A swelling wound that slowly sucks.
---------------------
Filth of Lies
Lies in the System, clot-like block,
Cutting the road ahead like shock.
To keep the System standing still—
They purge the crowd with rotting will.
All is lie in this decayed domain,
Dragged down deep into the drain.
Far ahead a camp awaits—
Where lies are mixed in iron gates.
There filth of falsehood will be stirred,
Destroying honour, thought, and word.
A stupid madhouse marches on—
Toward that place where minds are gone.
---------------------
Filth of Lies
In the system lies congeal—
Clots that block the forward wheel.
To preserve the structure’s skin,
They cleanse the crowd of rot within.
Every corner drowned in lies,
Rotten world that slowly dies.
Far away a camp appears—
Grinding falsehood into gears.
There corruption will be fed,
Crushing honor, mind, and head.
Madness marches, blind and vast—
Toward its final gate at last.
---------------------
Lies as Filth
Lies are clots within the frame,
Stopping every path of change.
To preserve the system’s core,
They remove the truth once more.
A rotten world, already sunk,
Moves toward its final trunk—
Where madness gathers, thick and grim,
And reason slowly fades within.
---------------------
SS Hasn’t Died—It Became “Medicine”
SS did not die—it simply fled
Into “medicine” instead.
So don’t believe the ads they spread,
The noisy mix of words and thread.
Trust only the inquisitive mind
That keeps the body well aligned—
Through running, food that’s truly right,
And sense that makes the path feel light.
Let search be active, sharp, and free,
A creative way to see.
Health will rise as burdens fall,
If you don’t heed the idiot’s call.
Throw off opinions forced and sold,
Wrapped in ugliness and mold—
Disguised as “truth,” but built to drain
The thinking mind, to cause its pain.
---------------------
SS Rebranded
SS did not die—it turned
Into “medicine” and learned
How to sell confusion wide
Through advertisement tide.
Trust no mixed-up marketing sound—
Only curious minds are sound.
Running, food that’s clean and real,
Thought that helps the body heal.
Creative search, a living thread,
Brings true health where lies had spread.
Drop the idiot’s advice,
Drop the weight of twisted vice.
Opinions forced, disguised as truth,
Rotting slowly mental youth.
All designed to break and bend
The mind until it reaches end.
---------------------
Medicine as Ideology
SS survives in new disguise—
“Medicine” that feeds on lies.
Trust not advertising’s flow—
Only minds that seek and grow.
Health is built on sense and care,
Not on noise that fills the air.
Drop the burden, see it clear—
False “truth” is what destroys you here.
---------------------
Noodles for the Ears
Information? Just a mess—
Stories matter more, no less.
Not a night, nor single day
They don’t shove this all our way.
Into the dull and hollow crowd,
Falling for the dark and loud,
Craving “spice” and cheap delight—
News gets stuffed into their mind.
---------------------
Ear Noodles
Information? Pure decay—
Stories rule the night and day.
Not a moment passes by
Without this being forced inside.
To the dumb and hungry mass,
Hooked on drama, dirt, and trash—
Always waiting, open wide,
For news to crawl into their mind.
---------------------
Noodles for the Mind
Information is just noise—
Stories are the crowd’s true toys.
Day and night they’re forced inside
A dull, obedient mind.
The herd consumes what stinks the most,
Addicted to the viral ghost—
And calls it “news,” with open ears,
Fed by manufactured fears.
---------------------
The Miracle of Life in Cats
The miracle of life in cats
Is not so easy to explain.
It lives in tails held softly up
Toward the feeder—without strain.
They study carefully the hand
That feeds them from a human land.
A gratitude that’s not like ours—
No human logic in their powers.
The cat is right in all its ways,
No savage rage within it stays.
Not like the breed of “man” we see
That bows before some devilry.
So learn from cats a little more—
They often win in nature’s score.
In many ways they stand above
The broken crowd we call “our love.”
They’re many, yet they do not fight,
No herd of fools to claim the right.
The human mass is cracked and weak—
Its noise is bitter, dull, and bleak.
A courtyard cat will rub your feet
Even when fed and full of meat.
Its mind is calm, its path is clean,
No senseless act is ever seen.
But nonsense rules the human race,
And leads it to its own disgrace.
Genocide and fascist hand
Now spread like rot across the land.
There is no hope—only the end,
A cataclysm fate will send.
We only mourn the cats who stay
While fools turn Earth to waste and decay.
---------------------
Cats and the Miracle
The miracle of life in cats
Is hidden in their quiet acts—
In tails held up toward the hand
That feeds them from a broken land.
They study human foolishness,
A gratitude we can’t possess.
The cat is right in all it does—
Unlike the world that falls and rusts.
Not like the human herd that kneels
To darkness that the system seals.
So learn from cats—observe and see—
They often show what we should be.
They do not war, they do not break,
No senseless hate in every shake.
The human crowd is cracked and blind—
A broken echo of the mind.
A courtyard cat will gently lean
Against your legs, though fed and clean.
Its path is calm, its will is clear,
No random chaos dwells in here.
But humans fall in noise and lie—
Genocide and fascist sky.
A cataclysm ends the game,
And nothing after stays the same.
We only grieve the cats that live
In ruins that the fools will give.
---------------------
On Cats
The miracle in cats is plain—
A quiet mind without the chain.
They give no war, they hold no rage—
Unlike the human broken age.
The herd of man descends in lies,
In fascist noise and hollow cries.
Only catastrophe remains—
To burn away these final chains.
We grieve the cats who stay behind
In ruins of the human mind.
---------------------
Across the Zombonet
Across the endless internet span
There’s more than truth can stand or span:
Small crumbs of honour, truth, and light
Sink in this place of endless night.
The “zombie-box” is not enough—
Online the media spreads its stuff.
Its poisoned sting infects the weak,
Who grow more fearful, dull, and meek.
More gullible, more dim, more blind—
And so the beastly rule of mind
Presses harder every day,
Moving “Overton” frames away.
Walls of lie more strong than stone,
Turn culture’s core into a zone
Where digital enclosures grow—
A prison for the broken low.
For those unbroken—doom may wait,
Yet still it’s not an endless fate.
A global cataclysm nears—
To crush the age of stupid fears.
The sun grows sharper, burning bright,
So lies grow sharper in the night—
More cunning, bold, aggressive still,
Refusing doom, refusing will.
But soon the sun will burn it down—
Look through your window at the dawn,
And see what world was once before
The age of filth we now ignore.
So fight the dark, protect your soul—
Listen only to the whole.
Perhaps from this infernal span
You’ll leave the hell of fallen man.
---------------------
On the Zombonet
Across the net of endless lies
Truth and honour slowly die.
Tiny fragments, weak and small,
Sink unnoticed, lose it all.
Not just TV’s poisoned flame—
Online it spreads the same old game.
Stinging media trains the weak
To be more fearful, dull, and meek.
More gullible with every year,
And so the beast grows strong and near.
Overton shifts the frame of sight,
Turning wrong into “alright.”
Walls of lies like iron steel
Shape a world that cannot feel.
Digital cages close the gate
For minds already sealed by fate.
Yet those not broken may survive—
If cataclysm keeps them alive.
The world awaits its final shift,
Where falsehood’s reign will surely lift.
The sun will rise with burning hand—
And scorch the lies across the land.
Look from your window, see and know
What came before this age of woe.
Fight the dark, preserve your core—
Listen to your heart once more.
Perhaps you’ll leave this poisoned span,
This broken hell of fallen man.
---------------------
Zombonet Age
On the net of endless lies,
Truth and honour slowly die.
Media poison trains the mind
To be more fearful, dull, and blind.
Digital cages close the frame—
And culture burns without a name.
Yet sun and ruin draw near—
To end this age of spreading fear.
Fight the dark, hold to your soul—
Or be consumed within the whole.
---------------------
Choice Between Lies and Lies
“Right” and “wrong” within the flood
Of poisoned lies are judged as good.
Simple, almost stupid rule—
Evil’s code is always cruel.
It leads you only to a gate
Where lie and lie create your fate—
Two false paths, no real way out,
Just variations of the doubt.
The sheep believes in “choice” and “vote,”
And lives quite “happily” afloat
In darkness deep, in silent stream—
Mistaking prison for a dream.
---------------------
Lies vs Lies
“Right” or “wrong”—it’s all the same
Within the poisoned judging game.
A rule so simple it deceives—
Evil always misleads and leaves.
It offers you a “choice” to take—
But every road is still a fake.
Two lies disguised as destiny,
No exit from hypocrisy.
The sheep believes in “freedom’s call,”
And lives content inside the wall—
In darkness, blind and satisfied,
Mistaking chains for open sky.
---------------------
Illusion of Choice
Right and wrong are both the same
Inside a system built from blame.
A “choice” that only masks the trap—
Two lies that fold into a map.
The sheep believes it is set free,
And lives in dark “felicity.”
---------------------
Reading and Watching—Like a Poultice for the Dead
Nowhere to put the heavy tiredness—
In this dumb world it won’t unwind.
To read some junk or watch some nonsense
Is like a poultice for the half-dead kind.
---------------------
Books and Screens—Dead Man’s Cure
No place to put the tired strain,
No way to ease it in this brain.
To watch a film or read some lies—
Like healing balm for half-dead eyes.
---------------------
Content as Medicine
Tiredness has nowhere to go—
In a world too dull and slow.
Reading trash or watching screen—
Like soothing balm for something seen half-dead.
---------------------
Different Products
“Maheev”—with us for twenty years,
Products… and sheer nonsense appears
For centuries, in soft disguise,
Packaged for dull and blinded eyes.
---------------------
Different Goods
“Maheev”—twenty years on track,
Real products in a branded pack.
But centuries of purest blight
Come wrapped in foil, soft and light—
A nonsense feed for empty minds,
For fools the system always finds.
---------------------
Products and Lies
“Maheev” brings products, clear and neat,
For twenty years of honest feed.
But centuries of packaged rot
Still sell to those who think they’re not.
---------------------
Marusya
Marusya, the cat beneath the frame,
Sits by the window, calm and tame.
She asks for just a bit of meat,
Her games can wait, she won’t repeat.
While “madam owner” talks away,
And chats the hours of the day.
---------------------
Marusya, the Cat
Marusya sits beneath the sill,
A quiet cat, but waiting still.
She begs a bite of meat today,
Her play can easily delay.
While “mistress” chats and spins her talk,
And wastes the time in endless walk.
---------------------
Cat at the Window
Marusya waits for meat below,
Her games can wait—she takes it slow.
While human chatter fills the air,
The cat just watches, unaware.
---------------------
Global Fascism
Mussolini—mothballed, sealed,
Hitler, Goebbels—cellophane peeled.
Fascism spreads across all lanes.
Now shown again through CowID glare,
And newer wars that fill the air.
No nations left—just crawling pests,
With twisted minds inside their chests.
The jaws of lies are tightening fast,
Squeezing out thought until it’s past.
A camp is built—its praise is spun
As “tolerance” beneath the sun.
The herd sees nothing, blind and dim,
And calls its life a normal hymn—
If food is given, bills are paid,
Obedience is cheaply made.
Only a few still feel and see,
Yet Hell remains relentlessly.
Still do not drop your “cross” in vain—
It saves the soul within the pain.
---------------------
Global Fascism
Mussolini wrapped in dust,
Hitler sealed in plastic crust.
Fascism spreads across all these.
CowID shows it on the screen,
New wars repaint the world obscene.
No nations now, just crawling fear,
With broken minds that disappear.
The grip of lies is closing tight,
Squeezing out all inner light.
A camp is built, and blind are taught
That “tolerance” is all they’ve got.
The herd sees nothing, walks in haze,
Calls normal all these broken days.
If food is given, bills are paid,
Obedience is softly made.
But few remain who still can see—
The world is Hell, eternally.
Yet do not drop your inner cross—
Through it the soul is never lost.
---------------------
Global Fascism
Old fascists sealed in dust and film,
Yet still the world obeys their will.
A new disguise, a global chain—
Where lies now rule without restraint.
The herd calls Hell a normal place,
If comfort masks the human race.
But those who see must hold the line—
Or lose their soul to the design.
---------------------
The Rabble
The rabble comes from “black” by name—
The root of darkness, guilt, and shame.
A fool that bows to night and lies,
And serves the dark with empty eyes.
Shift the lie a little, then—
And genocide returns again.
---------------------
Rabble
“Rabble” grows from blackness, blind—
Base of evil, warped of mind.
A fool that serves the dark by trade,
And kneels to every lie displayed.
Change the lie a little guise—
And genocide again will rise.
---------------------
The Rabble
Rabble means the dark within—
Mind that serves the root of sin.
Shift the lie, and once again
Follows genocide of men.
---------------------
Health to the Slaves!!!
— So much “health”… but tell me why,
When all is broken, dull, and dry?
A twisted slave, a shame on Earth—
Should rot away to end its curse.
Or else the Earth will stay in flame,
And Gaia burns in endless shame…
---------------------
Health to the Slaves!!!
— “So much health!” but what for thee,
In a slave so bent and free?
A rotten shame upon the ground
Should fade before the final sound.
Or Earth will rot in endless pain,
And Gaia stays in Hell’s domain.
---------------------
To the Slaves
“Health?”—but why to those who break,
To souls that rot for evil’s sake?
Let shame dissolve, let rot decay—
Or Earth will burn the endless way.
---------------------
The Question of a Mother in Labour
“Bricklayers, roofers, plasterers too—
We need workers, that much is true.”
—Stanislav Sukhanov, 2024
I gave birth to a plasterer,
While my neighbour—what a blunder—
Bore an “intellectual type,”
Missing signals, missing hype.
Better off to birth a hedgehog—
Brains make life a bitter pledge, though.
If he’s honest, even worse,
Weak of muscle, weak of force.
Won’t push elbows through the crowd—
That just makes a mother proud?
No, she suffers all the same.
Head of capital repair—what a name!
What a happiness to be!
How to birth that role in me?
Maybe child number three
Will be born administratively—
From the cradle, born to lead,
Building nurseries in speed,
Shifting budgets left and right,
Fixing plans by pure “birthright.”
---------------------
The Question of a Mother
“I gave a plasterer to life,”
Said one mother, full of strife.
While her neighbour—what a shame—
Bore a thinker, not a “frame.”
Better still a hedgehog born—
Brains just make a life forlorn.
If he’s honest, weak, and mild,
Life will crush that tender child.
No elbows, no aggressive fight—
So the mother cries at night.
But to be a “chief” is bliss—
How do I give birth to this?
Maybe child the third will be
Born with bureaucratic decree—
From his cradle he will build,
Shift the budgets as he willed.
---------------------
Birth of a Worker
Plasterer good, thinker bad—
So the mothers now are mad.
Better hedgehog, sharp but small—
Thinking ruins life for all.
Strength is value, thought is loss—
And bureaucracy is boss.
---------------------
Nagging Ads for Betting Scams on Movie Sites
Big winnings—easy, always near,
Any place, any time—come here!
Step forward, fools, the deal is fine—
Just click, ignore the warning line.
No “average” wins, no middle ground—
Only fools are scam-propelled around.
A crook won’t pay too much, you see—
Just enough for belief to be.
So idiots keep biting still,
Hooked on trash against their will.
Their luck is bad, their sense is thin—
A world of scams they’re living in.
---------------------
Betting Scam Ads Everywhere
“Big winnings!”—shouts the flashing screen,
“Just click and join the lucky scene!”
Step up, you fools, don’t hesitate—
Your fortune’s just a simple bait.
No middle wins, no honest share—
Only traps laid everywhere.
A crook won’t spend a single dime,
Just feeds you lies in perfect rhyme.
So fools keep falling, time by time—
Addicted to the promised climb.
Their life’s a scam, their mind’s the prey—
And fraud just grows from day to day.
---------------------
Digital Gambling Lies
Big wins are always “guaranteed”—
A lie designed for foolish greed.
No middle ground, no honest trade—
Just scams in endless ads displayed.
The fool keeps clicking, blind and fast—
A life of fraud that’s built to last.
---------------------
What Never Sleeps
Heroin and cocaine,
Vodka, weed, and nicotine—
So much poison in the air,
Few can move through life quite bare.
But the worst is not the drug,
Not the bottle, smoke, or bug—
It is lies that rule the mind,
Where all fools are kept confined.
Fake diseases come and go—
CowID first, and AIDS before—
Trial balloons of fear and pain,
To control the human brain.
Genocide that never rests,
Day and night it still infects.
Like New York that never sleeps,
Where the herd its ignorance keeps.
Human cattle fill the place,
Lost inside a crowded space.
Global now the same design—
A collapsing, darkened line.
---------------------
What Never Sleeps
Heroin, cocaine, and gin,
Weed and smoke and nicotine—
So much poison fills the air,
Hardly anyone walks bare.
But the deepest poison lies
Not in drugs, but in the lies.
Where all fools are made to fall,
And fake diseases rule them all.
CowID came, and AIDS before—
Trial lies to test the war.
Genocide that never sleeps,
Day and night it crawls and creeps.
Like New York that never rests,
Crowded human livestock nests.
Worldwide now the same design—
Breaking slowly, line by line.
---------------------
Never Sleeping System
Drugs may numb—but lies command.
Truth is buried, mind is sand.
Fake disease becomes the tool—
To govern every blinded fool.
The system never sleeps or ends—
It bends, it breaks, it still pretends.
---------------------
Poison of Lies
The monkey eats bananas fast,
While man consumes the nonsense cast.
A poison everywhere is spread—
For beast and soul, it brings but death.
The two-legged “beast” of broken mind,
That lost its fur, its roots, its kind,
Its tail of instinct long decayed—
Is driven blind and falsely led.
There are examples everywhere,
But fake disease has grown the snare—
A mark of bottom, rot, and fall,
Where spirit fades and thoughts withdraw.
To call them “human” is a lie—
A species drifting, dull and dry,
Between the beast and walking dead,
With spirit gone and truth long fled.
Will a true man wear the mask?
Better bullets finish task.
And the horned one only grins—
The harvest time of folly spins.
And now you may do what you will—
Start new wars, or further kill.
Credulity—the primal sin—
Has dragged the whole wide world within.
No way remains to turn it back
To any pure or former track.
Now decadence is all that’s left—
A world of shame and spirit-death.
For many this is final state,
For few—the path to exit fate
From Hell that now feels natural,
Where the majority serves the fall.
---------------------
Poison of Lies
The monkey eats its bananas fast,
While man consumes the lies amassed.
A poison spread through every land—
For body, soul, and broken hand.
The two-legged beast that lost its fur,
But kept its blindness, fear, and blur,
Its instincts twisted, mind decayed—
Is by deception driven, swayed.
Examples fill the world we see,
But fake disease became decree—
The final sign of bottom-line,
Where spirit dies and thoughts decline.
To call them human is a fraud—
A hybrid made of beast and rot,
Between the living and the dead,
With truth and conscience long since shed.
Will spiritual man wear the chain?
No—better bullets end the strain.
The horned one smiles, the harvest done—
The field is ripe, the game is won.
And now do what you will today—
Begin new wars or lead astray.
Credulity, the primal crime,
Has pulled the world into its grime.
No path remains to restore light,
To bring the broken world to right.
Now decadence is all we know—
And shame is all that grows and grows.
For masses—this is final land,
For few—a chance to understand
The exit from this living hell,
Where fools and lies together dwell.
---------------------
Full Throttle! (Off You Go!)
“Life has only one door.
From one side it reads ‘from self’, from the other—‘to self’.”
— Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
From the self… and off you go!—
A techno twist, a modern flow,
To ancient yoga added in,
Not pride, but cutting through the din.
If nonsense hammers you like lead,
With empty words inside your head—
Know even yogis sometimes fall,
Not half-gods towering over all.
Their sayings sharp, but often thin,
Their outer glow may just be skin.
Yet stubborn will and upward drive—
That is what keeps the soul alive.
Not submission, not decay—
But rising through the break of day.
Hey, you fools—off you go!
Only heights are truly so.
---------------------
Off You Go!
“From self to self”—a single gate,
Life inscribed in shifting fate.
Nisargadatta’s quiet line
Turns into a techno sign.
From the self—off you go!
Ancient yoga, modern flow.
Not arrogance, but breaking free
From dull absurdity.
If nonsense hammers like a drum,
Even yogis sometimes numb.
Not all are gods in shining role—
Some only mimic touch of soul.
Their words are strict, their light is thin,
Half-divine but weak within.
Yet will to rise, to break, to climb—
That is true and sacred sign.
No obedience, no decay—
But ascent into the way.
Hey, you fools—off you go!
Only heights are truly so.
---------------------
Off You Go
Life is one door, inward bound—
From self to self the path is found.
Not submission, not control—
But breaking upward of the soul.
Even yogis lose their height—
Only will keeps burning bright.
So cast the false and rise above:
Only ascent is truth and love.
---------------------
Does the ego crave a fiery verse?
Does the ego crave a fiery verse?
Only a mind already worse—
It brings not strength, but dull fatigue,
And drags your health into fatigue’s league.
---------------------
Fiery Verse and the Ego
Does a fierce verse please the ego’s pride?
Only a mad mind would decide—
It tires the spirit, dulls the fire,
And weakens health through slow desire.
---------------------
Ego and Verse
If ego loves a burning line—
It’s madness, not a sign divine.
It drains the force, dulls inner sight,
And turns to harm what feels like light.
---------------------
Work to Exhaustion
Work to exhaustion? Easy call—
Just the strong get blamed for all.
Others? Just the world’s decay,
Like diarrhea gone astray.
---------------------
Exhausting Work
Work till broken? No surprise—
Only strength is put on trial.
Others drift like waste and flow
In a world that’s lost its glow.
---------------------
Work to Exhaustion
To break the strong is rule and plan—
The rest are just the waste of man.
A world derailed, gone off the track,
Where sense dissolves and never comes back.
---------------------
Off You Go!
Hey, you misfits—off you go!
Only heights are truly so.
Death comes first, and then we see
Which “home” your soul was meant to be.
At the end, you’ll justify
All you were before you die.
Nothing here is judged as more—
Only effort weighs the score.
Slave or master, either name—
Fool who served the dark or flame—
All becomes a hollow none,
When the final step is done.
Only over-effort remains,
Rising through the loss and pains.
Even if the result is naught,
Still it makes you what you sought.
You will judge your final self,
Stripped of lies and hollow wealth—
Only truth becomes the key,
Only love of clarity.
In this Hell, the fight is worth;
If you settle into earth,
Warm and safe in comfort’s cage—
You dissolve into pure waste.
Hey, you misfits—off you go!
Leave this place that drags you low.
Since your soul has always known—
It must shed the evil grown.
---------------------
Off You Go!
Hey, you misfits—off you fly!
Only heights will justify.
Death comes first, and after that—
Where your soul will settle at.
All your life will be reviewed,
By the path your will pursued.
Nothing else has final weight—
Only effort shapes your fate.
Slave or master, fool or king—
All dissolve to nothingnessing.
Only struggle, sharp and true,
Turns the void into a you.
Even failure, even loss,
May still lift you through the cross.
You will judge yourself alone,
When all masks and lies are gone.
In this Hell, the fight is light;
Comfort is the deeper blight.
If you choose the easy way—
You decay into decay.
Hey, you misfits—off you go!
Break the chains that drag you low.
For your soul has always known—
Only upward is its tone.
---------------------
Off You Go
Only heights redeem the fall—
Death reveals the truth of all.
Slave or master, none remain—
Only effort breaks the chain.
Fight in Hell, or rot in ease—
One will break you, one will free.
So ascend, or fade to none—
Only upward makes the one.
---------------------
Humans and Backyard Cats — A Comparison
Only one in every ten
Can snatch the food from others then—
From under noses, quick and sly,
While others simply pass it by.
And one in twenty, rare indeed,
Will use aggression as a creed.
In cats it’s different, clean and plain—
In humans, something far more insane.
Instead of fleas or minor flaws,
A Satanic root now gnaws.
Planted deep by some dark hand,
Spreading through the broken land.
This Satanism breeds the mind
To madness of a growing kind—
In three quarters, more or less,
There is decay and emptiness.
In what remains is dull confusion,
And verbal filth in mass delusion.
But few still keep what once was whole—
Honor, dignity, and soul.
Humanity is like a plague—
Half-dead, infected, vague.
What once was Man is nearly gone,
And damage keeps on rolling on.
What answers this? Fear and ease—
A world that rots upon its knees.
CowID showed the global state,
And war only intensified fate.
The “beast” attacked, or beast-like swarm—
And most fell into captive form,
Down to the very lowest floor,
Except for rare ones left in store.
Soon cataclysm, sharp and wide,
Will wipe this rotting world aside.
The forces far beyond our sight
Will not allow this flood of blight.
But while it lasts, the fools still feed
On lies that suit their deepest need—
Consuming falsehood, sweet and cheap,
And sinking further into sleep.
---------------------
Humans and Cats
One in ten can steal the feed,
From another’s mouth with speed.
One in twenty, cold and grim,
Turns aggression into hymn.
Cats are simple, raw and true—
Humans rot in deeper brew.
Satan’s seed, once deeply sown,
Grew inside what once was known.
Madness now is standard fare—
Three in four are lost in glare.
In the rest is hollow mind,
Or corruption of a kind.
Only few retain the spark—
Honor burning in the dark.
Humanity decays to dust—
Bit by bit dissolving trust.
Fear and ease are all replies—
World immersed in half-truth lies.
War revealed the rotten core—
And it spreads forevermore.
Soon the higher force will clean
All the filth that has been seen.
Till that day, the blind still feed
On deception, lie, and greed.
---------------------
Humans and Cats
Cats compete, but keep their form—
Humans rot into a swarm.
Lies and fear now shape the mind—
Leaving dignity behind.
Few remain, but most decay—
And the world drifts far away.
Soon a force beyond the view
Will reset what once was true.
---------------------
Homebody from All Troubles
A homebody from every harm,
Like a hamster in its charm,
Hides away inside his hole—
Fear becomes his only role.
Madness follows right behind
If you’re silent, deaf, and blind.
If fear is all you ever show,
That’s the seed from which things grow.
Rodents always had their luck
In this twisted mental muck.
Always safe inside their twist—
In the loop they can’t resist.
So again comes war and lie,
Fake disease and passing cry.
Hamsters—come on, take the dive,
Downward where the dead survive.
---------------------
The Hamster Man
Safe at home from every threat,
Like a hamster, small and set,
In his burrow hides from fear—
Madness always follows near.
If you answer only “shh”,
To all evil, all its push—
That becomes the chosen way
Where all rodents thrive and stay.
Same old loop returns once more—
Fake disease and war and roar.
Hamsters, gather, take the fall—
Down you go, the end of all.
---------------------
Hamster Logic
Hide from danger, close the door—
Fear will bring you something more.
Silence feeds the coming lie,
Till you simply rot and die.
Rodent minds in endless loop—
Always circling the same scoop.
War and fake disease return—
And the hamsters never learn.
213 poems
© Copyright: Èãîðü Âûõîâàíåö, 2026
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226061700095
Ñâèäåòåëüñòâî î ïóáëèêàöèè ¹226061700095
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