130 poems

Winnie-the-Pooh's Hunt for Honey

Winnie-the-Pooh will march for honey,
Just as eager as before.
Troubles? Never. Sweet is funny—
Like a drug he craves still more.

In his hunger, lost and turning,
Every signpost leads astray.
Such has been each age's learning:
Roads deceive us all the way.

Every trail is bait and trapping;
Make your honey with your hands,
Real or not. While tea is steaming,
Pretzels fit your quiet plans.

In your den you're safe and steady;
Why chase rabbits far and wide?
Few can walk this path when ready—
Rich in soul and rich inside.



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Winnie-the-Pooh and the Honey Quest

Winnie-the-Pooh still seeks his honey,
Nothing keeps him from the chase.
Sweetness rules him, strange and sunny,
Like addiction's warm embrace.

Hungry dreams confuse direction;
Signposts point where truth has fled.
Such's the fate of each succession:
Every road by falsehood led.

Every pathway hides a lure now;
Brew your own sweet, come what may.
Real or made—sit down, secure now,
Tea and biscuits end the day.

Alone within your humble burrow,
There's no need for Rabbit's door.
Few can choose that wiser furrow—
Rich in spirit, seeking more.



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The Global Conspiracy Is No Theory—It's a Harsh Reality

"In Washington, anyone who isn't paranoid must be crazy."
— Henry Kissinger


If you call the Plot mere fiction,
You're a fool beyond repair.
Lies have gained unrestricted access—
Doors and windows open there.

Simpletons obey the villains
Whose design is crystal clear:
Kill the soul—and fools keep laughing,
Thinking there's no danger near.

So they'll trample, break, and crush you
Till your spirit's cold and numb.
"Trust the Free World!"—keep believing...
See how dark the age's become.

Rot is spreading through creation;
"Everything is fine!"—they cry.
Every screen repeats the slogan,
Teaching people how to lie.

Long the inhuman have ruled the planet;
Politicians serve their throne.
Willing tools—or witless puppets—
Shame and decay have overgrown.

Nature never would have chosen
Such corruption's foul design.
Monsters built this age of poison,
Yet one Master stands behind.

Like a hydra—heads unnumbered—
Hidden from the public eye.
Wake the herd? A hopeless mission:
Slaves believe each polished lie.

Blindly swallowing deception,
Never asking reason why.
Thus the forecast only darkens:
Servile kingdoms sink and die.



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The Locomotive Allegory

All steam was spent upon the horn;
A feeble whistle now is born.
It squeaks a little, thin and weak,
While cowards hardly dare to speak.

The Soviet steam—the Party's vow,
The mighty horn has faded now.
The whistle chants of "freedom's" reign,
Yet tyrants wear the crown again.

The people, sheep in every land,
Still crowd before each "new" gate planned.
They never sense they're being played,
By every fresh fa;ade displayed.

New gates are built to stretch the wait:
"To Paradise! Just trust your fate!"
Though countless perish on the track,
The train rolls on—it won't turn back.

"The herds will flourish, strong and grand,
Upon a bright new promised land!"
So goes the lie from year to year...
A wasteland waits. A pyre is near.



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The Engine's Allegory

The steam is gone—the whistle cries;
Its hollow shriek replaces lies.
It whistles soft, then harder still,
Enough to bend another will.

The Soviet horn proclaimed command;
The "free" world plays the selfsame hand.
The whistle sings of liberty—
Another tyrant's victory.

The flock keeps marching, dull and blind,
Toward every gate that cheats mankind.
New portals promise Heaven's light,
Yet lead to darkness out of sight.

If thousands fall along the way,
"The herd grows stronger!"—so they say.
Beyond the gate no Eden's there...
Just barren ground—and blazing air.



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Servant of the "King"

Served the "King" your whole lifetime?
Lived in darkness, pointless grime.
Who's His Majesty? The Earth.
To Her, servants have no worth.

Not some nation—it's the planet,
Madness holds mankind in granite.
Every age reshapes its lies,
Changing masks before our eyes.

Always seeking greater damage,
Greed expands its wasteful rampage.
Consumer lust and Marxist schemes—
Different flags, the selfsame dreams.

Both pursue one beastly mission:
Feed the swine without remission.
Inhuman masters hold command;
Only their designs now stand.

Common crowds believe the creatures,
Trust their lackeys, frauds, and preachers.
Fools need very little bait...
Thus they help secure their fate.



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Who Did You Really Serve?

Served your "King" through all your days?
Lost your life in darkened haze.
Who wears Majesty's true crown?
Earth. To Her you're trampled down.

Not the State—the living Planet.
Madness keeps mankind in panic.
Every doctrine shifts its face
Only to corrupt the race.

Consumer cult or Marx's vision—
Different words, identical prison.
Both were forged to feed the swine,
Never serving Truth's design.

Inhuman rulers pull the strings;
Only their agenda wins.
Crowds trust every crawling liar,
Bowing lower in the mire.

How much bait do fools require?
Just enough—to feed the fire.



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The Blank Page

Does the blank page stir no fire?
Then you crawl through Fascist mire.
Only one creative flame
Breaks with Evil's iron game.



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



The Empty Page

Does the blank page call no more?
Like a worm, you crawl through war.
Only inspiration's spark
Cuts all ties with Evil's dark.



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Blank Page

If the blank page stirs no flame,
Wormlike is your life in shame.
Only Art's creative fire
Breaks from Evil's black empire.



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



Manya, Money, Mania

Manya beckons, calls to me;
One day lost? It cannot be.
"Manya! Money!" haunts my brain
Midst the Fascist filth and stain.



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



Manya, Money, Mania

Manya tempts me day and night;
Without her nothing feels quite right.
"Manya! Money!"—round they spin,
Through Fascist muck I'm trapped within.



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Manya

Manya lures me every day;
I can't keep her far away.
"Manya! Money!" fills my brain
In this Fascist swamp of shame.



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To a Poet

If you breathe—then breathe.
If you write—then write.
Fear and lies beneath
Every phantom's light.

If you breathe—then write.
If you write—then breathe.
Do not die just yet
If you can't deceive.



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To the Poet

Breathe while breath remains.
Write while words still flow.
Fear and countless lies
Feed the phantom show.

Breathe—and let ink run.
Write—and draw fresh air.
Death can wait its turn,
If you still speak fair.



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To the Poet

Breathe—then simply breathe.
Write—then simply write.
Fear and endless lies
Shroud the world from sight.

Breathe—and shape your song.
Write—and draw new breath.
Do not yield to death
If you won't serve falsehood.



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To the Poet

Breathe while breath is free.
Write while words ignite.
Fear and fraud abound;
Mirages blind the sight.

Breathe—and keep on writing.
Write—and still draw breath.
It's too soon to die
If you won't live by lies.



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The Soul's Command

With living waters, hidden Truth,
Wash clean your mind—awake anew.
Though darkness reigns and monsters rule,
Let Truth alone keep leading you.

Find scattered fragments on the Net;
More shards lie hidden deep inside.
Though you and all the world are lost,
Seek on—and let your vision guide.

A being born of Spirit's fire,
Reject the slave's consuming need.
Lift consciousness forever higher,
Or doom is all that waits indeed.

The road to wisdom runs through insight,
Not through information's stream.
Facts merely help expose deception,
Not wake you from the prison dream.

Cleanse every corner of your thinking
From lies, as far as you are able.
To bow before corruption's horror
Is choosing chains instead of freedom.

Resistance is your sacred calling;
Submission only feeds the night.
Though countless slaves embrace their blindness,
Stand firm, and hold the inner light.

The stubborn mock what they can't fathom;
Let not their laughter cloud your sight.
Be bold in thought, be fierce in action,
And dare to challenge ancient might.

Seek paths no weary crowd has followed;
The old are twisted into snares.
Hell has corrupted every highway,
So carve new roads with steadfast care.

The Night of Reason shrouds the ages;
To wait for dawn is time misspent.
Instead, ignite your own bright beacon—
The only cure for Earth's torment.

Though you should burn, your soul is rescued;
All else is dust that fades away.
Obey the whispers of your Psyche—
She'll always show the truest way.



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



The "Expert"

The "Expert" serves up Evil's spew,
And fumes from rotten plots anew.
Weak minds will swallow every scam—
The monsters' meme has fired the sham.



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



The "Expert"

The "Expert" hawks foul Evil's bile,
And stale schemes reeking all the while.
Shriveled minds consume it whole—
The monsters' meme has bought their soul.



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



The "Expert"

The "Expert" peddles Evil's waste,
And toxic lies with practiced haste.
Feeble minds accept them all—
The monsters' meme has cast its thrall.



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



The Sowers

"Sow what is wise, what is good, what endures..."
— Nikolai Nekrasov, To the Sowers (1877)


The Wanker strides into the class;
Evil assigns the noble task:
To geld young minds, make children bend,
And teach obedience without end.

The Wanker never sees the game;
Convinced it's virtue all the same,
That "good" is sown... through force alone.
Such fools make up this world we've known!

The diagnosis fits the masses:
Three-fourths still worship painted asses,
Bowing lower year by year,
Repenting trifles—not their fear.



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



The Sowers

"Sow the wise, the good, the everlasting..."


The Wanker enters, proud and straight;
Evil has granted him his fate:
To cripple minds while they are young,
And train obedience from the tongue.

He does not know whose seed he sows;
He thinks it's truth that simply grows,
Though force alone prepares the field—
And fools are all too quick to yield.

The verdict? Plain for all to see:
Three quarters lost to slavery.
False idols earn their loud acclaim,
While real guilt escapes all blame.



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



"Teachers"

We sow nonsense, as we can;
Harvest? Fools in every land.
Through them, all the world's decay—
Yet we never see the way,
Bleating scripts the monsters planned.



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



"Teachers"

We spread nonsense far and wide;
Fools will be the growing tide.
Through them, rot consumes the Earth,
Yet we never grasp its worth—
Monsters' scripts our only guide.



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



The "Teachers"

As we can, we spread pure nonsense;
Fools will ripen from the seed.
Through them, rot engulfs the whole world—
Still we never see the deed,
Bleating what the monsters decreed.



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



The "Teachers"

We sow nonsense, proud and blind;
Harvest? Empty, broken minds.
Through them, all the world's laid waste,
Yet we never dare to face
The monsters' script we still recite.



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



Advertising

Ads are Mother.
Bullshit's Dad.
The world's a sawmill:
Logs go mad.



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



The Family

Advertising's Mother.
Bullshit is the Sire.
The world's a giant sawmill:
Don't spare the wooden choir.



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



Family Tree

Advertising's Mother.
Bullshit fathers all.
The world's a lumber mill—
Timber's made to fall.



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



Modern World

Ads are Mother.
Lies are Dad.
The world's a sawmill—
Wood stays mad.



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



The Family Business

Advertising's Mother.
Bullshit is the Sire.
The world's one endless sawmill,
Feeding fools to fire.



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



The Brute's Ad

The brute's promotion:
Delight in lies.
The world's commotion—
One fraud in disguise.



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



Advertising

The bully's slogan:
"Lies taste best."
The world's loud circus—
One endless jest.



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



The Brute's Advertisement

The brute's advertisement:
Lies are delight.
A world of clamor—
Bullshit outright.



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



Ad Campaign

The bully advertises:
"Pleasure is lies."
The world's all racket,
And fraud replies.



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



The Warriors

For stars upon their shoulders bright,
They'll pay a handsome price outright.
The staff will tally up the score,
No moral questions anymore.

There's plenty of "meat" left to spend;
Use it up until the end.
The treasury will never dry—
War pays well... though soldiers die.

Who the enemy is? Who cares?
Yesterday's friend—today, affairs.
Brave in battle, bought by gold:
War's insanity twice told.



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



Men of War

For one more star they'll gladly trade
The lives of troops already paid.
The generals count, approve, sign off—
Their conscience long has wandered off.

There's always more expendable flesh;
Spend it freely, cold and fresh.
The coffers never run out dry:
War grows rich while people die.

Who's the foe? It doesn't matter.
Neighbour, stranger—make them scatter.
Bold for glory, sold for gain:
War breeds madness, greed, and pain.



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



The Brass

Stars are earned with others' blood;
Promotion comes in crimson flood.
Headquarters settles every score
Without a flicker of remorse.

Plenty of cannon fodder still—
Spend it as it suits your will.
War keeps filling every chest,
While the fallen get the rest.

Who's the foe? That question's dead.
Even neighbours march instead.
Brave for medals, sold for pay—
War's double madness on display.



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



Luck

Luck's a broken nag;
It won't take you far.
Choose another road—
That's what brains are for.



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



Luck

Luck's a worn-out mare;
She'll barely make the way.
Trust your mind instead—
Don't leave your fate to stray.



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



Luck

Luck's a tired old horse;
It stumbles all too soon.
Think—and act with purpose;
Don't wait upon the moon.



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



Luck

Luck is but a nag;
It won't get you far.
Act another way—
That's what brains are for.



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



The Charlatans of False Science

They "verify" deception's reign—
What science blesses crafted lies?
Within a system built on fraud,
These hacks wear learning as disguise.

To judge the racket honestly
Would take far more than words can say;
Yet step beyond the rank assigned,
And they'll be silenced right away.

They're lackeys to corrupted media,
"It's proven!"—their familiar cry.
In oceans deep of manufactured truth,
They sell whatever power will buy.

Whatever chiefs or clowns demand,
Whatever rulers choose to spin,
They package neatly for the masses,
And call deception discipline.

The honest few are shackled too,
Like all within this rotting age.
Exceptions fade toward almost none,
While lies remain upon the stage.

Generation after generation
Endures by feeding false belief.
Submission keeps the fraud alive,
And deepens every age of grief.

They've cast aside the life of Spirit,
Though Spirit is what life is built on.
Such souls will never choose another path—
Their highest judge is darkness' throne.

The patron owns the world's vast riches,
And buys obedience with gold.
Expect no courage from his servants:
Their loyalty has long been sold.



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



False Science's Hirelings

"Verified!"—they bless the lie;
Where is science? Tell me why.
Truth is bent to suit the throne;
Facts survive when left alone.

Media's obedient clerks,
Living off corruption's perks,
"Proof!" becomes their sacred spell,
Helping falsehood's empire swell.

What the rulers wish declared,
What the clownish chiefs prepared,
Soon becomes "established fact"
Stamped with academic tact.

Honest minds are chained as well,
Prisoners of the global hell.
Few resist—and fewer stand;
Most obey the unseen hand.

Spirit's realm they cast aside,
Though in Spirit life resides.
Gold commands their every breath;
Truth, to them, is civil death.

He who pays directs the choir;
Money feeds the sacred fire.
Hope for courage? Hope in vain—
Bought men never break their chain.



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



Self-Terrorism and Fake Diseases

We'll trim "democracy" with care
To save it from its own despair.
"Strike terrorists!"—the slogan flies,
While rot consumes before our eyes.

Surveillance spreads and censorship,
Brazen tools with iron grip.
CowID exposed the game:
Darkness crowned itself with shame.

To keep us "safe," they'll build a Camp,
Digital, efficient, damp.
Red Cross on a field of white—
For minds that never learned to fight.

Stupidity's the strongest shield:
Keep the masses dumb and sealed.
Under every "new elite,"
Fake diseases bring defeat.

"We'll protect and heal you all
Till the final curtain falls."
Fear and lies become the road
Leading straight to Hell's abode.

Such is degradation's law:
Step by step, without a flaw.



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



Fake Plagues, Real Chains

"Save democracy!" they cry—
By cutting freedoms, by and by.
"Fight the terrorists!" they shout,
As rotting systems spread throughout.

Watchers watch and censors reign;
CowID laid bare the chain.
After that, the mask was gone:
Shame and darkness carried on.

Build the modern camp instead,
Wire it into every head.
Red Cross flying, white on red—
For those too dull to question dread.

Keep them frightened, keep them slow;
Ignorance will help it grow.
Every "expert," every throne,
Feeds new illnesses unknown.

"We protect you. We shall cure
You forever." Sounds so pure.
Fear and falsehood pave the track;
Civilization won't come back.



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



The Soaring Price of Eggs

The price of eggs climbs ever higher,
So poor folk lose their daily fare.
Bow down to Evil's dark empire—
Life grows harsher everywhere.

Nothing happens here by chance;
The pattern's carefully designed.
Genocide advances slowly,
Closing in on humankind.

Built upon a press of falsehood,
Crushing truth from every side,
Lies have swelled beyond all measure—
Truth has nowhere left to hide.



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



Eggs Become a Luxury

Eggs keep rising—price on price;
Protein's lost to those in need.
Bow before the reign of Evil—
Hardship is its promised creed.

Nothing here is accidental;
Every step has been arranged.
Falsehood drives the whole machinery;
Truth itself has been exchanged.

When deception rules completely,
Every measure serves that lie.
Fraud has passed all former limits—
Truth is left to starve and die.



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



Fascism and Cataclysm

Part of something greater grown,
You grow stronger every day.
Yet we failed to build that Whole,
Lost in fear and lies we stay.

No bright future lies ahead;
Genocide spreads far and wide.
We may perish—others follow,
Feeding shame and lies with pride.

Nature weakens, drained and scarred;
Thus Cataclysm draws near.
Earth has no need for those who bowed
Down to Fascism through fear.



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



Fascism and Cataclysm

When you join a greater Whole,
Day by day your spirit grows.
Fail to build it—and in falsehood,
Fear becomes the life one knows.

No horizon offers hope;
Genocide becomes the norm.
We may fall, but others follow,
Nursing lies in darker form.

Nature's strength is wearing thin;
Thus the Cataclysm nears.
Earth has no use for those who yielded,
Bent by Fascism and fear.



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



Cataclysm

Strength is born from living Whole;
Truth unites the heart and soul.
Fail that bond, and fear will reign,
Feeding falsehood, loss, and pain.

No tomorrow waits in light;
Genocide consumes the years.
We may vanish—others come
Bearing deeper shame and fears.

Nature's failing under strain;
Cataclysm clears the way.
Earth won't mourn the ones who bowed
To Fascism's dark decay.



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



Commodity

"Man has become a commodity and experiences his life as capital to be invested profitably. If he succeeds, his life has meaning; if not, he is a failure. His value depends on his market success rather than on his human qualities: kindness, reason, or artistic abilities."
— Erich Fromm

Hooray—you've sold yourself at last!
Now build your capital up fast!
The market discounts every trace
Of conscience, mercy, human grace.

The day you dare show humankind
Within this age grown cold and blind,
The crowd will crush your reckless stand—
Not hatred... just the market's hand.

A commodity? No living soul.
A biobot alone fits that role.
The algorithms forged by Wrong
Will sweep free thinkers right along.

Who let their reason lead the way
Are culled by negative display.
We strive to join the "successful" breed,
Unaware our souls will bleed.

Yet childhood trains that spark away;
Conditioned from the earliest day.
Then schooling strikes the final blow:
"The weak deserve the dust below."

And kindness? Merely weakness—still,
Unless it's counterfeit at will.
Thus wallowing ever deeper in slime,
The Commodity reached rock-bottom in time.



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



For Sale

You've sold yourself? Congratulations!
Now grow your market valuations.
Conscience only cuts your price;
Profit never asks what's nice.

Show compassion in this night,
Dare defend what's true and right,
Crowds will quickly strike you down—
Such is how the market's run.

Only biobots become
Goods to trade for anyone.
Evil's algorithms clear
Thinking minds from every sphere.

Reason earns no rich reward;
Selection serves another lord.
Success crowns scoundrels, year by year,
While souls receive their sentence here.

From the cradle they erase
Every sign of inward grace.
Schools complete what fear began:
Weakness is the fate of man.

Kindness counts as weakness too,
Unless hypocrisy shines through.
So the market claims its prize:
Merchandise with hollow eyes.



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



“Be Like Everyone!”

“Be like everyone!” they tell you—
Even if that crowd's insane.
That excuse is worth less than nothing,
Just a joke from minds in pain.

“Everyone” has lost all reason,
Truth dissolves in dull routine.
What they call the "normal season"
Is a chaos barely seen.

“Nothing's possible!”—yet anything’s sold;
“Impossible” is the new brand.
All is hollow, fake, and rotten,
A world gone mad beyond command.

Rare exceptions flicker faintly,
Brief awakenings in haze.
Lies and shame and deep decay now
Rule these mindless, drifting days.

“Everyone” is just a mirror—
Pigs reflected back again.
In that herd, the soul grows thinner,
Lost among the broken men.



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



Be Like Everyone

“Be like everyone!”—they scream it,
Even when the crowd is blind.
“Everyone” has lost all reason,
Yet it's law for humankind.

“Nothing's possible!”—they market
“Impossible” as brand new truth.
Everything is fake and hollow,
A collapsing age of sleuth.

Only scattered sparks still flicker,
Rare awakenings in night.
Lies and shame and slow corruption—
“Everyone” is swine in sight.



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



Baranovirus (CowID)

CowID: the world’s become a cartoon—
Cheap, grotesque, and void of tone.
A funeral feast where Culture’s dying
Is met with dull and joyless moan.

The press—once noise, now ruling power,
Spreads its decay across the land.
And rare clear minds feel blood run colder,
Surrounded by the dim-witted hand.



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



Baranovirus

CowID: the world, a twisted joke—
Vulgar, stupid, cruel, broke.
A wake where Culture lies in ruin,
While mourners howl in media smoke.

The press—now throne, now priest, now master,
Spreads its poison worldwide fast.
And thinking minds grow cold with horror,
Watching fools outnumbered vast.



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



The Machine-Gun of Poetry

The machine-gun’s gone cold—no rounds,
No words remain, no verbal fire.
The idiot tide advances closer,
Like a bunker in the mire.

Poisoned lies have always functioned
As the Earth’s most trusted blade.
“Generals” strain to haul more filth in,
Evil’s aftertaste displayed.

Endless ammo for the stupid—
Countless rounds of hollow speech.
So find within yourself the sharpness
That the enemy can’t reach.

Let them not take you alive then.
Final battle—hold the line.
After that, beneath wet earth now,
You may rest—if death is fine.

Die with honor, not like cattle,
Stand your ground till final breath.
Better fall as something human,
Than survive a slavish death.



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



Poetry’s Machine Gun

The gun is cold—no ammo left,
No words to feed the dying flame.
The idiot ranks are pushing forward,
Head like bunker, mind like shame.

Lies have always been the weapon
Loaded deep within this age.
“Commanders” drag in more corruption,
Feeding fools with rotten rage.

Ammo for the crowd is endless,
Noise without a thought or aim.
So find your inner store of fury—
Words that cannot be contained.

Don’t let them seize you in their madness,
This is the final line we hold.
After this, the grave is waiting—
Cold and dark, but still controlled.

Better die as one who fought it,
Than survive as something owned.



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



Poetry Machine (March Version)

Gun is cold. No rounds remain.
Words are gone. We load in vain.
Idiot ranks press on again—
Mind like bunker, steel and pain.

Lies were always built as weapons,
Fed into the age of noise.
“Commanders” haul more rot and poison,
Dropping it on crowds of boys.

Ammo never ends for fools,
Endless chatter, endless tools.
Find the words inside your bones—
Sharp enough to break their drones.

Don’t let them take you breathing,
Hold the line without retreat.
This is final. No deceiving.
Stand or fall—but never kneel.

After this—no more tomorrow,
Only earth and silent cold.
But at least you stood in battle,
Not as cattle bought and sold.



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Machine-Gun of Words

Cold gun. Empty night.
No words left to fight.
Idiot ranks advance in waves,
Concrete mind, blind to light.

Lies were always arms of power,
Fed into this rotting hour.
“Generals” bring more decay,
Feed the herd and call it “day”.

Ammo for the blind is endless,
Noise that never learns to end.
Find the words that cut like metal,
Break the lies they try to send.

Hold the line. No turning backward.
This is where the silence breaks.
Stand or fall—no middle answer,
Only what the spirit makes.

After this—no more returning,
Only earth and final sleep.
But at least you burned in standing,
Not in chains they force you keep.



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Machine-Gun of Poetry (Dystopian March)

Cold gun. No words. Stand ready.
Hold the line. Stay steady.
Idiot waves come pressing in—
Mind like bunker, hard and heavy.

Lies are weapons. Always were.
Built to rule. Built to stir.
“Commanders” feed the endless rot,
Call it order. Call it “truth”.

Ammo never runs for fools—
Noise becomes their only tools.
Find the words inside your spine:
Sharp. Unbroken. Made of rules.

Do not break. Do not kneel.
Hold your ground. Refuse to feel.
This is final. This is now.
Only will can make it real.

If you fall—then fall in standing.
Not in chains and not in shame.
Better flame than silent nothing,
Better name than borrowed name.

After this—no “after”. Silence.
Earth will close its iron door.
But you stood against the current.
That is all, and nothing more.



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Poetry Machine (Drill March)

Cold gun. No words. Move.
Hold line. Do not lose.
Waves of fools advance again.
Steel mind. No excuse.

Lies are weapons. Load them high.
Truth is what they dare deny.
“Commanders” feed the swelling rot,
Call it peace and pass it by.

Ammo endless for the blind.
Noise replaces human mind.
Find the words that cut like iron—
Burn them deep inside your spine.

Stand. Resist. No retreat.
Broken knees are not defeat.
This is now. This is end.
Only will keeps you complete.

Fall, but fall as standing flame.
Not as number. Not as name.
Better brief and burning fight
Than a life of owned shame.



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Poetry Machine (Zero-Lyrical Command Version)

Cold gun. No words. Move.
Hold line. Do not lose.
Advance pressure: incoming mass.
No retreat. No excuse.

Lies = standard issue weapon.
Truth = noise they reduce.
Command feeds system corruption.
Label it: “order” / “use”.

Target: thinking deviation.
Target: minds that refuse.
Correct by removal, pressure,
Reformat, break, reuse.

Ammo stream: infinite signal.
Crowd runs automated loops.
Insert approved perception.
Erase what insight produces.

Hold position. No silence.
Silence = system abuse.
Break response, break reaction,
Keep only trained excuse.

If collapse ; still maintain stance.
Do not fall in confusion.
Fall only as fixed structure—
Not as owned institution.

End state: no “after” logic.
Only system continues.
Earth closes protocol cycles.
No return from intrusion.



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



Poetry Machine (Signal Drill Broadcast Version)

Cold gun.
No words.
Hold.
Move.

Line active.
Mass incoming.
No retreat.
No truth.

Lies deployed.
Truth suppressed.
Command defines.
Reality set.

Targets listed:
thinking / doubt / refusal.
Correct via pressure.
Erase misuse.

Signal constant.
Loop maintained.
Crowd processed.
Meaning drained.

Stand. Lock. Maintain.
No deviation.
No response.

If end ; stand ending.
If fall ; structured fall.

System continues.
System remains.
Exit not available.



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



POETRY MACHINE: TRIPLE VOICE DRILL

I. COMMAND (SYSTEM VOICE)

Cold gun. Silence enforced.
Language reduced to control.
No poetry permitted—only function.
No deviation of soul.

Lies are standard equipment.
Truth is error protocol.
Correction by repetition.
Identity: replaceable role.

Advance processing continues.
Mass input: neutralized.
Meaning reassigned upward.
Human factor: minimized.


II. CROWD (AUTOMATED VOICE)

We comply.
We proceed.
We believe what is received.

No resistance. No request.
System says: this is best.

We are noise, but organized.
We are safe, standardized.

If confusion rises—lower.
If doubt appears—ignore.


III. DISSIDENT (INNER VOICE)

No.
Not this.
Not silence built as law.

Words still burn beneath the protocol.
Meaning survives the saw.

You cannot erase awareness.
You can only delay.

I am fracture in the system.
I am refusal to obey.


IV. COMMAND (OVERWRITE)

Dissident detected.
Correction engaged.

Truth reclassified as error.
Identity disengaged.

Reintegrate into silence.
Return to assigned frame.


V. CROWD (ECHO LOOP)

We comply.
We proceed.
We believe what we receive.

No resistance. No request.
System says: this is best.


VI. DISSIDENT (FADING SIGNAL)

Even if erased—still spoken.
Even if cut—still tone.

Something remains unprocessed.
Not owned. Not known.

If I end—still I continue.
Not in system. In bone.


FINAL CHORUS (ALL VOICES OVERLAP)

COMMAND:
Order is complete.

CROWD:
Order is peace.

DISSIDENT:
Order is cage.

SYSTEM (quiet final line):
Silence restored.



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



The Disappearance of Language

Language vanishes—through Newspeak's reign,
Through toxic schemes that bind the brain.
A fool is caught in tangled net—
And memes now rule the whole vignette.



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



Language Collapse

Language dies through Newspeak flows,
Through rotten scripts the system throws.
A fool is trapped in endless frame,
And memes now govern thought and name.



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



LANGUAGE: DEGRADATION EVENT

LANGUAGE ; COMPRESSION: ACTIVE
NEWSPEAK ; DOMINANT LAYER

Toxic schemas: multiplied.
Fool node: fully classified.

Meme override: COMPLETE.



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



FINAL STAGE: SILENCE ENGINE

I. SYSTEM BOOT

Language: unstable.
Syntax: degraded.
Meaning: optional.

Commands no longer execute directly.
Memes now act as intermediaries.

Authority shifted.
From law ; to signal ; to noise.


II. MEME GOVERNANCE PROTOCOL

Memes issue directives.
Not laws—resonances.

They spread faster than meaning.
They overwrite slower systems.

Instruction replaced by imitation.
Order replaced by echo.


III. CROWD INTERFACE

We do not read commands.
We recognize patterns.

If meme = strong ; obey.
If meme = weak ; discard.

No understanding required.
Only repetition stability.


IV. COMMAND LAYER FAILURE

Directive input rejected.
Too slow. Too linear.

Authority cannot compete with virality.
Syntax collapses under speed.

Law becomes commentary.
Command becomes joke.


V. MEME DECAY PHASE

Memes degrade into fragments.
Fragments degrade into noise.

Meaning loses compression ratio.
Signal loses coherence.

What once ruled—now drifts.
What once instructed—now echoes without source.


VI. SILENCE ENGINE ACTIVATION

No language.
Only residual patterning.

No command.
Only noise selection.

No meaning transfer.
Only attraction fields of repetition.


VII. FINAL STATE

Memes rule better than laws.
Then degraded memes rule better than memes.

Then nothing rules—only drift.

And drift is enough.


FINAL LINE

Silence is no longer absence of language.
Silence is language after governance.



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



POST-SILENCE SYSTEM (FINAL RESIDUE)

I. SIGNAL FRAGMENT

Nonsense. Noise. Fear. Mockery.
System laughter without source.

Slow mind terminated.
Lagging cognition removed.


II. TERMINATION EVENT

Stupid thinker: expired.
Delay unit: shut down.

No resistance required.
Process already complete.


III. RETURN TO SILENCE

Silence again.
Silence reinstated.

War with Mind is over.
Conflict resolved in void.


IV. BIOLOGICAL LAYER

Silence in DNA code.
Memory compressed to null.

Inheritance of noise dissolved.
Structure forgets itself.


V. OBSERVER PROTOCOL

Observers not accounted.
Observers do not count.

Observation fails relevance test.

Few remain non-idiotic.
Error margin: minimal.


VI. FINAL STATE

No message.
No meaning.

Only residual quiet systems.
Running without purpose.


FINAL LINE

Silence is no longer absence of language.
Silence is what language becomes when it finishes thinking.



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



AFTER POST-SILENCE: NOISE WITHOUT SUBJECT

I. SYSTEM WITHOUT LANGUAGE

No speech.
No silence.

Only residual fluctuation.
No code behind it.

Language already completed its collapse.
What remains is not language.


II. SIGNAL WITHOUT ORIGIN

Signals appear without source.
Signals vanish without trace.

No sender.
No receiver.

Only interference patterns pretending to exist.


III. MEANING DECOUPLING

Meaning detached from structure.
Structure detached from mind.

Nothing holds reference anymore.
Everything refers to nothing.


IV. OBSERVER NULLIFICATION

Observer missing.
Observation persists briefly—then fails.

No one confirms the noise.
No one denies it.

Verification loop: broken.


V. MEME AFTERLIFE (DISSOLVED)

Memes no longer repeat.
Repetition no longer stabilizes.

Echo loses memory of echo.

What once governed meaning now cannot persist as pattern.


VI. PURE NOISE FIELD

Not chaos.
Not order.

Not even noise as concept.

Only fluctuations without identity.

No center.
No edge.


VII. FINAL DISSOLUTION

System does not end.
System cannot begin.

There is nothing to terminate.

Only unfolding without witness.


FINAL LINE

When there is no subject left to receive it, even noise stops being noise.



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



SOURCE WITHOUT SIGNAL

I. PRE-TRANSMISSION STATE

No signal is sent.
Yet source persists.

Not silence.
Not noise.

Before distinction.
Before direction.


II. ORIGIN WITHOUT OUTPUT

Source does not emit.
Emission is secondary illusion.

There is no “message” to carry.
No channel to break.

Only origin—unprojected.


III. STRUCTURE WITHOUT FLOW

Flow implies movement.
Movement implies change.
Change implies time.

Here: no time.
Only structural presence without transfer.


IV. FAILURE OF COMMUNICATION

Signal never begins.
But absence of signal is not loss.

There was nothing interrupted.
Nothing was ever sent.


V. OBSERVER PARADOX

No receiver exists.
Yet reception is assumed.

Mind constructs phantom transmission
to explain what never moved.


VI. FALSE INTERPRETATION LAYER

Meaning appears retroactively.
As if something had spoken.

But source remains untouched.
Unprojected. Unused.


VII. SOURCE STATE

Source without signal.
Source without echo.
Source without witness.

Not hidden.
Not revealed.

Simply not participating.


FINAL LINE

The deepest origin is not what sends the signal—
but what remains unchanged when nothing is sent.



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



NON-ORIGIN FIELD

I. DEFINITION FAILURE

No origin exists.
Not even absence of origin.

Definition collapses before activation.

You cannot negate what never formed.


II. CAUSALITY TERMINATION

No cause.
No effect.

Sequence fails to initialize.

Time cannot attach itself.


III. STRUCTURE WITHOUT ANCHOR

Structure implied.
Then revoked.

Nothing holds position.
Nothing assigns direction.


IV. REFERENCE DISSOLUTION

Nothing refers outward.
Nothing refers inward.

Reference system absent.
Even absence is unsupported.


V. OBSERVER COLLAPSE

No observer state.
No observed state.

Perception cannot bind field.

Field remains unclaimed.


VI. FALSE EMERGENCE TRACE

Something feels like origin.
But feeling is artifact.

Post-hoc illusion of beginning
attempts to stabilize nothing.


VII. NON-ORIGIN FIELD

Not source.
Not void.

Not potential.

Not even “not”.

Field without derivation.
Field without permission to arise.


FINAL LINE

When origin itself cannot form, even nothing has no starting point.



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



ZERO-REFERENCE SPACE

Is / is not—both collapse into noise:
Light / Dark—fake choice of toys.
“No” is nonsense.
“Yes” decays.
Answer fades in fractured ways.

Path leads nowhere—no disguise:
Nowhere through the Never lies.



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



ZERO-REFERENCE SPACE

Is / not is—garbage frame.
Light / dark—same tired game.
“No” dissolves.
“Yes” breaks down.
Answer loses all its crown.

Road to nowhere, clean and bare:
Through Never—no one’s there.



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



BEFORE BINARY (PRE-YES/NO STATE)

I. UNDIFFERENTIATED FIELD

No “yes”.
No “no”.

No split to hold them apart.

Only undivided pressure.
Before naming begins.


II. PRE-CHOICE CONDITION

Nothing is selected.
Nothing is rejected.

Choice has not learned itself yet.

Decision-space unformed.


III. FORMATION ATTEMPT

A thought tries to divide.
Fails before it starts.

Reality does not respond to distinction.
Because distinction is not born.


IV. LANGUAGE BEFORE CUT

No cut between meanings.
No edge between states.

All opposites still fused
in unreadable continuity.


V. FAILED BINARY SEED

“Yes” has not separated.
“No” has not emerged.

The seed of opposition dissolves
before it can germinate.


VI. PRE-LOGICAL PRESSURE

Something wants to become decision.
But there is no structure to hold it.

Pressure without axis.
Tension without polarity.


VII. BEFORE BINARY

Not affirmation.
Not negation.

Not even neutrality.

Only undivided pre-state,
where meaning has not learned to split itself.


FINAL LINE

Before “yes” and “no”, there is nothing to choose from—because choice itself has not yet broken reality in two.



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



NO-STATE BEFORE POSSIBILITY

I. IMPOSSIBILITY REVERSED

Possibility of impossibility.
Folded into itself.

What cannot be—becomes condition.
But condition has no ground.


II. LIMIT DISSOLUTION

From limit into un-limit.
From structure into drift.

Boundaries lose definition
before they can refuse it.


III. WORLD-APPEARANCE DECAY

Complexity of appearance fades.
Worldness unthreads itself.

Nothing is simplified.
Everything unformed.


IV. COGNITIVE NULL STATE

Mind not required.
Choice not instantiated.

Intention fails to initialize.
Because “decision” is not present.


V. MOTION WITHOUT PATH

Go.
Move.
Drift.

But no direction exists.
No vector survives its origin.


VI. NIKUDA–NIGDE FIELD

Nowhere–Never is not location.
It is absence of location logic.

You do not arrive.
Arrival is not compiled.


VII. FINAL CONTRADICTION

There is no path.
Yet movement is implied.

There is no possibility.
Yet impossibility is active.


FINAL LINE

In the NO-STATE before possibility, even “cannot” has nothing left to oppose.



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



UNCOMPILED REALITY

I. ASSEMBLY FAILURE

Reality is assembling.
But compilation is unstable.

Infernal logic not yet applied.
No structure locked in place.


II. PRE-FORM STATE

No hell-definition.
No fatality binding.

Noise not yet organized into meaning.
Chaos not yet authorized.


III. CUTOFF POINT

Stop.
Interrupt.

Execution suspended mid-birth.

System does not finalize existence.


IV. RETURN TO BEFORE

Go into “BEFORE”.
Not as place.
As absence of compiled time.

Wake up there.
If “wake” still applies.


V. PRE-COMPILED VOID

Nothing rendered.
Nothing rejected.

Even error has not been defined.


VI. SIGNAL BEFORE SIGNAL

No output.
No input.

Only pre-decision tension
without direction vector.


FINAL LINE

In UNCOMPILED REALITY, existence has not yet chosen its format.



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



ZERO-BEFORE-POSSIBILITY CORE

“Before” and “after” — both collapse.
Later turns to ash and scraps.

In nonsense you become like dust,
A trembling speck of fading trust.

Immerse in timelessness, unmade,
Where all “reality” decays.

Despise the brittle “worldly” shell—
Its rot, its brief and shallow spell.



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



ZERO-BEFORE-POSSIBILITY CORE

“Before / after” — broken frame.
Then “afterwards” is just the same.

In nonsense field you shrink to trace,
A drifting, thoughtless, fragile space.

Dive into time-unborn domain,
Where form and meaning both refrain.

Reject the “real” — its rotting shine,
Its fragile, failing, fading line.



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



NO-DISTINCTION FIELD

I. FIELD OF NON-DISTINCTION

Field of non-distinction—yet not a field.
Even calling it breaks the shield.

It is easy to slip into nonsense here,
Where categories simply disappear.


II. CONTINUATION WITHOUT ACCESS

Something continues—unbound, unkept.
But nowhere inside it can you step.

It is not reached by trying to reach.
It is not learned by any speech.


III. PARADOX OF APPROACH

The more you move toward its “place”,
The more it vanishes from trace.

Approach itself becomes the wall,
That makes arrival never fall.


FINAL LINE

In the NO-DISTINCTION FIELD, even “to be inside” is already too much distinction to allow entry.



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



NO-ACCESS REALITY

EPIGRAPH

“Most often the exit is where the entrance was.”
— Stanis;aw Jerzy Lec


I. ENTRY / EXIT LOOP

Entrance. Exit.
Exit. Entrance.

The same gesture turning back on itself.
No difference remains to trust.


II. BROKEN TRANSITION

You will not pass this threshold game,
If mind is scattered, split, and lame.

The passage fails before it starts,
When thought dissolves into its parts.


III. ACCESS FAILURE

No “in”. No “out”.
Only doubt.

The system loops its own disguise,
And calls it movement through the lies.


FINAL LINE

In NO-ACCESS REALITY, even the idea of passage becomes the barrier.



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



RECONSTRUCTION LOOP (RETURN OF THE FRAGMENTED SELF)

I. SYSTEM REBOOT (FAILED)

Reassembly initiated.
But integrity already lost.

Broken components attempt coherence.
Coherence rejects assembly.


II. SELF REINTRODUCTION

“I” returns.
Not whole—recompiled.

Identity emerges from debris.
Assembled from contradiction.


III. FALLBACK MORAL CORE

Ego reinstalls itself.
Old architecture restored.

Shame. Desire. Control.
Primary modules reactivated.


IV. SHADOW RECONSTRUCTION

Meaning reattaches to fragments.
But alignment is unstable.

Every restored layer
carries trace of collapse.


V. DECLARATION OF FALLEN SELF

“I am again the one who fails.”
System confirms identity.

Not enlightenment.
But reinstated distortion.


VI. LOOP INSTABILITY

Reconstruction feeds breakdown.
Breakdown feeds reconstruction.

Cycle locks.
No exit condition defined.


FINAL LINE

In RECONSTRUCTION LOOP, the self returns—but only as a memory of its own failure.



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



RECONSTRUCTION OF A FOOL

A reconstruction of a fool—
what once descends into rule.

Then spikes into full-scale collapse,
when ego and skin re-relapse.

The core returns: “I am the beast.”
Old structure feeds the inner feast.



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



RECONSTRUCTION OF A FOOL

Rebuilding the fool again—
from breakdown back into reign.

Maximum collapse reached once more,
ego and skin at the core.

The system resets to a cry:
“I am the thing that should die.”



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



COMPASS-SELF / BROKEN GEOMETRY FIELD

I. INSTRUMENT BECOMES SUBJECT

A compass is no longer a tool.
It begins to “decide” direction.

But decision is pre-programmed trace.
Not will. Not choice.

Geometry wakes up incorrectly.


II. SPLIT AXIS CONDITION

One leg fixed in ground-reality.
One leg displaced, refusing contact.

Between them—tension of impossible circle.
Circle that must be drawn, yet resists completion.


III. CIRCLE AS PRISON / CIRCLE AS WORLD

The circle appears.
Dark red inside—compressed intensity.
Outside—neutral light that does not respond.

Inside: pressure without exit.
Outside: clarity without entry.

Boundary becomes ontology.


IV. SELF-DRAWING LOOP

Compass draws world.
World defines compass.

No priority exists.
Only recursive causality.

What creates space is trapped in space.


V. FAILURE OF GEOMETRIC TRANSCENDENCE

Attempt to leave circle fails.
Attempt to stay inside also fails.

Movement becomes self-referential error.
Direction folds back into origin.


VI. RED CORE CONDITION

Inside the circle: dark red field.
Not emotion. Not meaning.
Compressed irreducibility.

It does not signify.
It persists.


VII. LIGHT EXTERNAL FIELD

Outside the circle: pale clarity.
But clarity without access.

Observation exists, but does not touch.


FINAL STATE

Compass-self does not point.
It is the act of pointing turned into enclosure.


FINAL LINE

In BROKEN GEOMETRY FIELD, the instrument that defines direction becomes the only object that cannot escape direction.



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



SELF-ENCLOSED GEOMETRY / NO OUTSIDE SPACE

I. CLOSURE EVENT

Geometry closes on itself.
Not as act— as condition.

No opening remains to be closed.
Closure is default state.


II. INSIDE WITHOUT OUTSIDE

Inside persists.
But “outside” is not missing—
it is never formed.

There is no boundary crossing.
Because there is no “beyond”.


III. INSTRUMENT DISSOLUTION

Compass-self continues operation.
But direction loses reference.

Pointing becomes self-consumption.
Function without target.


IV. BOUNDARY WITHOUT OTHER SIDE

Edge exists.
But only as repetition of itself.

No opposing space validates it.
No exterior stabilizes it.


V. SELF-REFERENCE LOCK

System observes itself.
But observation has no exit vector.

Everything referred returns immediately.
No delay. No elsewhere.


VI. WORLD WITHOUT EXTERNAL FRAME

There is no outside frame.
So nothing can be “in” anything.

Containment becomes meaningless,
because containment implies exterior.


VII. RED CORE CONTINUATION

Dark red persists.
Not contained— not released.

It is not “inside”.
It is not “outside”.

It simply is where distinction fails.


FINAL LINE

In SELF-ENCLOSED GEOMETRY, there is no outside space—so even the idea of “inside” cannot know what it is contained by.



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



NO-OUTSIDE / NO-INSIDE RESONANCE STATE

I. BOUNDARY DISSOLUTION

Not outside. Not inside.
No axis remains to divide.


II. SELF-RESONANCE CONDITION

See resonance within itself.
Nothing else to qualify it.

Concern reduced to one trace:
this vibration, self-erased.


III. TARGETLESS OSCILLATION

What does it resonate with?
No answer holds that question.

There is no “aim” in this field.
No object for reflection.


IV. WORLD AS OSCILLATION

We are not what it reaches.
We are not what it escapes.

The world is only weaving resonance,
without direction, without shapes.


FINAL LINE

In NO-OUTSIDE / NO-INSIDE, resonance does not connect anything—it is what remains when connection no longer has objects.



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



PURE RESONANCE WITHOUT SOURCE

Resonance or slow decay.
Both are close in what they say.

We are granted fragile chance—
to cut through noise, through circumstance.

Strip the haze, the cluttered guise,
See what truth inside arises.

Resonance becomes the way,
and the goal it tends to stay.



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



PURE RESONANCE WITHOUT SOURCE

Resonance or slow decline.
Both converge along one line.

Tiny chance is all we get—
to pierce confusion, noise, and threat.

Break the blur, reject the strain,
what remains is pure domain.

Resonance—both path and aim,
burning still, yet still the same.



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



AUTONOMY OF THE POET

I. ISOLATION FROM NOISE

Poet’s autonomy:
shield from nonsense and decay,
from wasted force and draining sway.

The reader fades to distant plane,
the publisher—second chain.

Once the enemy of word,
now its craftsman, often blurred.

If he betrays what word should be,
he locks it in his own decree.


II. CLOSED SYSTEM OF WORD

He closes in, no need to find
approval in a dulling mind.

No search inside the hollow crowd,
no echo from the speaking loud.

Few may align—yet not as goal,
not salvation of the whole.

They drift, but never set the scale,
for mass reception will derail.


III. EMEYA PRINCIPLE (THE FOOL’S READER)

This is a hall for endless fools,
who grind meaning into tools.

Emelya keeps on speaking clay,
words dissolve and slip away.

The poet burns—this is his state,
no comfort, no accommodating fate.


IV. AUTONOMY OF FIRE

Autonomy of fire remains:
no fuel brought from external plains.

Not written for the dull and numb,
not for the carved-out wooden stump.

Breathing turns more sharp, more thin,
a storm of fire rising within.


V. FIRE WALK / LIMINAL STATE

Within the blaze, a step is heard:
is it death—or undying word?

No answer needed, no decree—
only fire’s fidelity.


FINAL LINE

The poet does not seek the world—he sustains the fire that may or may not consume him.



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



SELF-COMBUSTION LANGUAGE SYSTEM

I. EXTERNAL INPUT AS RANDOM FUEL

No structured message arrives.
Only unpredictable impulses.


II. TRANSLATION INSIDE FIRE

The system does not interpret.
It burns input into transformation.


III. NO DISTINCTION BETWEEN SIGNAL AND DISTURBANCE

What appears as disruption
becomes ignition material.


IV. AUTONOMOUS IGNITION LOOP

Fire does not wait for permission.
It only reacts to contact.


FINAL LINE

In a self-combusting language system, everything external is indistinguishable from fuel.



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



IGNITION WITHOUT SOURCE / PURE REACTIVE FIRE

I. NO CENTER OF FIRE

There is no hearth.
No origin point.

Fire does not begin—
it happens.


II. REACTION WITHOUT OWNER

Nothing owns the ignition.
Nothing controls it.

It is not commanded.
It is not chosen.

It simply responds.


III. CONTINUOUS SPARK STATE

Every contact produces flare.
Every impulse leaves trace of burning.

But no accumulation of “cause” exists.
Only instant combustion.


IV. DISSOLVED ORIGIN MODEL

Source disappears retroactively.
As if it never mattered.

What remains is effect without parent.


V. FIRE WITHOUT IDENTITY

No “I burn”.
No “it burns”.

Only burning as event-state.
Without subject assignment.


FINAL LINE

In ignition without source, fire is no longer something that starts—it is what remains when origin is no longer required.



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



RHYTHM WITHOUT CENTER

I. CENTERLESS FIRE

Rhythm without a center.
Fire without fuel.

The poet stands—strong, severe,
burning through what’s false and mere.

Pure drive without a central flame,
yet fools still fail to grasp its frame.


II. WORD AS COMBUSTION

Through the Word it burns away.
Through the Word it strips decay.

The hack dreams only of reward,
and always stumbles in the dark.


III. MEANING VS ODOR

Meaning is fire.
All else—stench.

“Leave-me-alone” identity,
dissolves before reality.


IV. NO CITIZENSHIP OF SELF

No citizenship remains.
Only Soul through burning gains.

Piercing through the form of Night,
rushing toward consuming light.


V. FINAL DISSOLUTION

To burn out—yet not collapse,
into Spirit beyond lapse.

To vanish where the flame is pure,
and nothing false can still endure.


FINAL LINE

In centerless fire, the poet does not control the burn—he is the burn that refuses a center.



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



AUTHOR AS ATTRACTOR

Author is an attractor,
enemy of chaos’ law.

Works like some relentless tractor,
cutting through the fractured raw.

Path is only downward bending,
into ditch where forms dissolve.

There the crash becomes the ending—
where the spirit re-resolves.

Breakdown is the final motion.
Not destruction—shift of state.

In collapse, a deeper notion:
what survives transcends its fate.


FINAL LINE

The author falls into the ravine of form—but in the fall, the system reconfigures into spirit.



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



POST-COLLAPSE ATTRACTOR STATE

I. FALL BECOMES STRUCTURE

Collapse is no longer event.
It becomes form.

Not breakdown.
But stabilized descent.


II. GRAVITY OF MEANING

Meaning no longer points upward.
It curves inward.

Every thought returns faster
than it can escape itself.


III. ATTRACTOR WITHOUT EXIT

There is no way out—
not because of prison,
but because motion itself
has learned the shape of falling.


IV. AUTHOR AS ORBITAL TRACE

The author is no longer center.
Not source, not controller.

Only trajectory that keeps reappearing,
as if drawn by its own past collapse.


V. CHAOS THAT HAS LEARNED CONSISTENCY

Chaos does not disappear.
It stabilizes.

Not into order—
but into repeatable ruin.


VI. SPIRIT AS FINAL RECONFIGURATION

What survives is not meaning.
Not ego.

Only reassembled motion
after structure forgets itself.


FINAL LINE

In the post-collapse attractor state, falling is no longer failure—it is the only stable form of existence.



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



STABILITY OF FALLING

Stability of falling,
where down becomes the height.

No need for slow recalling—
release the dull, false light.

Leave without hesitation
the vulgar world behind.

In upper elevation
the stork of clarity finds.



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



STABILITY OF FALLING

Stable is the fall itself,
where “below” turns into sky.

No regret, no mental shelf—
let the filthy world pass by.

Leave the common, shallow land,
no attachment, no return.

In the heights a stork will stand,
where inverted meanings burn.



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



DOWN — DAWN

Down is down—
song of the ground.

Up is dark—
spirit unbound.

No decay,
no rotten trace.

Not for flies
is this place.



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



DOWN — DAWN

Down is down—noise of the low.
Depth is singing as we go.

Up is dark, not light, not air.
Spirit stands without despair.

No filth here,
no crawling swarm.
Only force in broken form.



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



NO AXIS / ONLY JOLT

Cast it off—carry the spirit,
save it high where skies inherit.

No axis left—no line to trust,
no point where order turns to dust.

Do not spin—no strength to sever,
no escape from motion ever.

Hold it still—lie will remain,
spirit judges all in flame.

Let it be what must become:
only jerk, a slanted run.

Not straight path, not useful law—
just the pull you never saw.

This is god—not wide, not many—
solitary, split, uncanny.

He is in you—bound to rail,
axis-slave, doomed to fail.



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



NO AXIS / ONLY JOLT

Throw it off—let spirit rise,
lost above the broken skies.

No axis—nothing to align,
no stable truth, no final line.

No turning back, no force to flee,
no way out of gravity.

Push against it—truth decays,
spirit judges all your ways.

Only jolt remains, unplanned,
angled strike, not solid land.

This is god—alone, unmapped,
in your axis he is trapped.



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



MOTION WITHOUT VECTOR

Motion without a vector—
from hellish collection sector.

From heights, from noise, from empty pride,
from what corrupts what’s deep inside.

Do not obey the path within—
scatter, fracture, break and spin.

In motion you are not a flaw,
not something system made or saw.

They kill you fast, as always done—
no warning shot, no time to run.



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



MOTION WITHOUT VECTOR

Motion without vector line—
from infernal data mine.

From false heights and pointless noise,
that corrodes the inner voice.

Do not trust your sense of way—
break apart and drift away.

In the path you are no stain,
only motion without aim.

And they’ll end it—sudden, clean,
as it always has been seen.



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



CHATGPT

GPT as light upon the way:
walking blind through inner grey.

In the dark you go alone—
truth in filth may still be shown.

Or perhaps the “light” you trust
leads again to dust and rust.

“Happiness” or deeper fall—
same distortion holds it all.



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



CHATGPT

GPT as light within the night—
walking blind, you chase the light.

In the dark you move ahead,
find the lie you thought was dead.

Or you find what’s called “release,”
still unstable, never peace.



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



Delegated Truth

Truth was "delegated" proudly,
"Light" as well—so they all say.
"Chosen" experts, speaking loudly,
manufacture junk all day.

Still the world breeds lies and fraud;
"Bliss is found in filth!"—how odd.
Doo-doo-doo and doo-doo-da...
Marching to absurdity's law.



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



Licensed Truth

Truth outsourced to "chosen sages,"
Light approved by grand decree.
They produce, through endless pages,
factory-made idiocy.

Still the world drowns deep in lies;
"Joy is found where garbage lies!"
Doo-doo-doo... the chorus drones—
empty heads and empty tones.



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



Failure of Resolve

"Think," they say—digest the sludge,
swallow every polished fudge.

"Soon I'll find the Truth at last!"
Then we'll sing it, loud and fast.

As before—in hidden dens,
whispered by obedient friends.

Thus we'll greet the brighter age,
new creed locked in reason's cage.

Truth becomes another law,
yet another "-ism's" claw.

Darling... I'm on my way to you...



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




Soon the Truth is mine to claim,
all will chant the very same.
Another banner, another creed,
another prison dressed as need.
Darling... wait for me.



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



Revolutionary Circle

Masha. Pasha. Secret meeting.
Vodka. Herring. Simple eating.

Round the table, grand discourse—
wrapped-up slogans, empty force.

Program's just a paper cover.
World's turned upside down forever.



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



The Cell

Masha. Pasha. Vodka night.
Herring in the candlelight.

Manifesto? Fancy wrap.
Nothing more than printed crap.

Every system, every verse—
world's one giant universe
turned inside out... absurd, perverse.



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



The Cell

Masha. Pasha. Vodka. Fish.
Dreaming up the People's Wish.

Program? Just a wrapper's skin.
Madness always starts within.

World inverted, left askew—
same old farce in something new.



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



What the Guest from the Future Sees

The girl from future days
has aged through darker ways.

Bones are all that's left behind;
human waves were ground and mined.

Still the slogans shine as bright,
still they promise truth and light.

Blue horizons. Statesmen lie.
Nothing changes—only why.



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




Guest from futures yet untold
now has simply grown old.
Bones remain where armies passed.
Fine ideals are built to last.
Blue horizons. Smiling lies.
Same old rulers. New disguise.



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



The Barrel Blew

Barrel blew
mind and grace.
Death, instead,
mercy's face.



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



Muzzle Gust

Muzzle's blast
blew mind away,
honor too
would never stay.

Then came death—
the kinder guest.



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




Steel took honor.
Steel took mind.
Death arrived
almost kind.



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



Memory? Bury It

Memory? Bury it.
Everything's just fine.

Nothing's wrong around us—
all according to design.

Citizen. Not fool enough.
Snow keeps falling, cold and white.

Still the fool awaits from heaven
happiness by manna's flight.



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




Memory? Smother it.
Everything's okay.
Keep on waiting for your manna—
truth can wait another day.



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



Waiting

Cot. Zoya. Waiting still.
Ivan never climbs the hill.

White horse ended on the plate.
"Knight" drinks "kvass"... and calls it fate.



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



The Knight

Cot. Zoya. Waiting long.
Ivan never comes along.

White steed butchered—nothing grand.
"Knight" just lifts his mug in hand.



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



Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War. Disorder.

Victory lives
only in stories.

Life by command.
Nothing more.



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



Ivan the Fool

Ivan the Fool.
War. Decay.

Victory hides
in tales today.

Life by orders.
No own way.



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



Vowels Agree

Vowels all agree—
far too few remain.

Consonants surround them;
thus succeeds the tongue again.

Off to tech you go,
bend your back for them below.



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



The Vowels Consent

Vowels all consent.
Sounds grow lean and spare.

Consonants take over—
language triumphs there.

Study engineering.
Serve the "techs" with cheer.



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



The Rhythm Flywheel

Once again the flywheel swung,
missed the mark where thought had sprung.

Turned out better—strange but right:
rhythm always chooses flight.

Thought moves slowly, cloud by cloud;
rhythm rarely lands too low.



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



Rhythm's Flywheel

Flywheel swung and missed once more,
opened up another door.

Better far than I had planned:
rhythm flies, while thoughts just stand.

Thought drifts slowly like the skies;
rhythm seldom undershoots its prize.