Игорь Выхованец, стихи 23001-23500

Игорь Выхованец, стихи: 23001-23500



Революционная ситуация

Революция в "культуре":
Основной акцент на шкуре.
Эго было самым главным
В прошлом веке. Мир бесславным
Стал, потворствуя Желудку,
Страх впитав, как прибаутку
Ложь любую принимая,
Неугодных проклиная.
Неугодный для дебила —
Умный-честный. Ныне сила
Геноцида наш дебил.
И оплот фашистских сил.
Был говнид. Война в разгаре.
Глупым миром правят ТВАРИ.
Для дебилов — п-резиденты:
ТВАРЯМ словно экскременты.
И в ходу эксперименты
Превращения в скотину:
Недостаточно кретина
В новом веке, чтобы строить
Мировой Загон. Утроить
Ложь и Окна Овертона —
Недалёко до Загона.
И останется лишь Страх
Экспонентой взмыть — гаввах
Потечёт, иссякнут силы:
И исчезнут все дебилы —
В скот послушный превратятся.
Но иное может статься:
Уничтожит Катаклизм
Мировой Тупой Фашизм.
Ум готовь к таким исходам,
Стороняся от уродов.
В Мир Иной — богатый Духом.
В Новый Ад скотина — цугом.



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Зоосад и Зооцирк

Гоблины накормлены.
Орки — снова в бой.
Люди всюду сломлены:
Мрак — хоть плачь, хоть вой.

Чудища из Ада
Правят дурачьём
Ложью: верить надо,
Иль съедят живьём.

Съели — станешь троллем,
Гремлином, козлом.
Впрочем, ныне голем
Фаворит. Под Злом

Все склонились. Страхом
Схвачен Мировой
Зоосад. Стал плахой
Тем, кто головой

Не ущербен. Этих
Можно перечесть.
Будущее встретим,
Где в загоне Честь,

Разум, Дух и Совесть
Скоро. Цифровой
Зооцирк, где помесь
Нежити с живой

Тканью очень споро
Воплотится тут.
А пока по норам —
Люди! Больше врут,

Всех пугая, значит
Верен в Цирк Тьмы путь.
Хочешь жить иначе —
Сломят Муть и Жуть.

Гремлины озлоблены.
Голем — в с Духом бой.
Полу-люди сломлены:
Жуть — хоть плачь, хоть вой.




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Мафиозная Триада власти

Баллада для Триады:
В ней щупальца властей
Не удушают. Рады
Дебилы... Хруст костей...




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Средневековье. Плебс. Коровье
Терпение. Такой же ум.
Пещерный век сейчас. В нём "новью"
Лишь то, что облегчает Хрум.




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Баллада "Станешь гадом":
Обрящешь деньги, радость
В финале. Не дойдёшь
В реале — пропадёшь...



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Пустая обложка.
Под нею подложка.
В СОКРЫТОМ вся суть:
Страницы — сплошь Муть.
Подложка — Молчанье.
Чрез Муть — одичанье.
Вернися к Истоку —
От Мути и Проку.



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Читатель-мечтатель
И текст-подстрекатель:
В ловушку увлёк
(Увидишь, в чём бог),
Разрушивши Эго
Попутно. Лишь Небо
Осталось: исчез
Читатель. Бог — бес?
Коль в Небо — любое
Названье устроит.
Наверх — НЕВЕСОМОСТЬ.
Полёт — незнакомость:
Нет слов — пустота
Без Чёрта, Христа.




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Археолог — спелеолог
Разрешённых Тьмой пещер.
Извлекает он Подлог —
Укрепление Химер.




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Сверх-Магия Слова:
Творить надо снова
Реальность, Сознанье —
Теперь не баранье.




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Точка невозврата в прежнее восприятие недореальности

Точка невозврата:
Ощущенье пата —
Глохнут все системы
Восприятья, мемы
В кашу распадаются.
Ум и не пытается
К старому вернуться —
Дальше в Чуши гнуться.




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Pseudo-States Under Control

Did those aged fools and freaks
Ever rule the land alone?
All the hardship people meet
Was by hidden handlers sown.

Those old relics, frail and slow,
Can be steered with little strain;
Slimy aides direct the show —
Such vermin always profit, gain.

And to them a web extends,
Woven by inhuman hands;
Yet the mob no warning senses,
Blindly rotting where it stands.

Just a few could see the thread,
Yet they could not change the tide;
Through weak generations spread,
That thin line was swept aside.



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Ancient puppets hold the throne,
Strings pulled from the dark unseen;
Fools obey and call it "home",
While the web devours the scene.



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Believe in Nothing!

Slavery has never died —
Now it spans the world entire.
Blindness keeps the truth aside,
Dragging minds through mud and mire.

Monsters dull the public brain,
Grinding reason into dust;
Soon in False Maria's reign
Thought itself they’ll crush to rust.

CowID exposed the scale,
How absurd the madness grew;
Yet new fake plagues will prevail,
And the old deceit renew.

Every zombie screen will preach,
Every liar's drum will churn;
Crowds will swallow every speech,
Never pausing once to learn.

Hell is not some distant berth —
Hell is built by fraud and fear.
Trust no devils on this Earth:
They already rule from here.



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Trust no demon, trust no throne,
Trust no screen that tells you "why";
Hell is built from lies alone,
And the fools are first to buy.



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Growing Hunchbacks

"Hard work pays!"
So they proclaim.
Childhood days
Taught us the same.

Yet all that grows
Within the mind
Is one more hump,
One more chain to bind.

A common curse
Is hard to see:
"Why does it hurt?"
"That's destiny."

"Work even more,
And pain will cease!"
The cattle rush
To scraps and grease.

To grasp the yoke,
To see the scheme,
Requires a mind
Beyond the dream.

But every thought
Is spent on bread;
"Climb higher still!"
The herders said.

Seek not the truth,
Ask not the why;
The stall awaits,
The drug is nigh.

CowID fades —
They'll forge anew
Another chain,
Another screw.

The hump will grow
Like shame and fear,
Like iron bonds
Year after year.

Resist and seek!
Trust not the vile!
Or lose your soul
By slow denial.

Its swelling growth
Will take your place;
Awake your sense,
Restore your grace.

That inner voice
Cries loud and hot:
"For slaves is work
Where minds are not!"

Hunchbacks abound,
Their burden grows;
Escape the madhouse
Filled with woes.

The Heart will show
Which path is true:
Save Mind and Spirit —
The flesh won't do.



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The hump keeps growing, day by day,
While slaves are taught to work and obey.
Wake up, seek truth, break fear apart —
The road begins inside the Heart.



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Schools and Media

“And at school the nightingales were taught
to dig burrows, crawl, and moo.”
— Vladimir Polyakov

Not taught at all — but drilled and bent;
If reason somehow still survives,
The media finish what was meant —
The fool is where the system thrives.

For otherwise the whole facade
Would crack apart and fall in dust;
They'd have to build a world unmarred,
On something stronger than blind trust.

Too much invested in the lie,
Too much in fear and dull conformism;
Markets tremble, profits die
Whenever thought defeats the ism.



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Schools train obedience, not the mind;
Media finish what schools designed.
The fool is priceless to the machine —
A thinker wrecks the whole routine.



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Waiting for Death...

“Terror threats,” fake plagues galore,
Wars as well, right on their cue;
Crowds grow duller than before —
Nations? No. A worthless crew.

If no nations truly stand,
Then these “states” are lines on sheets;
Paper kingdoms, weak and bland,
Prisons built from stale deceit.

Death to mind and death to soul,
Death to body, slow and sly;
If it comes by such control,
People claim it is not nigh.

Lies and fear and blind submission —
Any fraud the mob will learn;
Spirit dies through acquiescence,
Through embracing every wrong turn.

Like a sponge beneath a flood,
Soaked in darkness grows the age;
Filthy media pump their mud
Straight into the public cage.

CowID, once sold as truth,
Spread its trance from shore to shore;
Reason faded, lost its youth,
Drugged by panic evermore.

All that's left: a funeral prayer,
One more wreath upon the grave;
Rotten gifts are offered there
To the foolish and the slave.

The decay has gone too far,
Past return, beyond repair;
Madness waits beneath its star,
Waiting for death everywhere.



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Lies, fear, wars — the endless show,
Fed to minds that cease to learn;
When the Spirit's light burns low,
Even truth itself can burn.

Rot consumes the house within,
Madness calls from every door;
Death is patient, death will grin —
Waiting, always, evermore.



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9/11: The Self-Terror

Do the ends justify the means?
No — the means become the prize.
Thus a legacy remains:
Wars and watchful, sleepless eyes.

Much resembles systems old,
Though they wore another name;
Every age must have, we're told,
Some new enemy to blame.

Shock the masses, strike with fear,
Rattle minds with fire and smoke;
Then restrictions will appear
As the frightened millions choke.

Not by people freely willed,
But by rulers, cold and tough,
Who regard the crowd they've drilled
As obedient cattle-stuff.

"The People" still the label bear,
Though the mask grows thin indeed;
CowID exposed the snare —
How the herd accepts the lead.

Through the media's endless din
They can steer the public mind;
Raise the fear and sink it in —
Few will question, most go blind.

Different banners, same old game,
Different slogans, same control;
History keeps changing names,
Yet the script remains the whole.



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Fear the spark, then sell the chain;
Shock the crowd and shape the tale.
Change the actors, not the play —
Old control in newer mail.



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The Beginning of the Path

The foremost key: an Open Mind,
One that through discernment learned
To leave at least some lies behind,
And from the world's loud clamor turned.

Through openness intuition
Slowly takes the guiding role;
Thus begins the grand Tradition
Of the Spirit and the Soul.

False teachings swarm on every side,
Seeking only to distract;
Look within, not far and wide —
Truth is not in words, in fact.

Even fragments of eternal
Wisdom bend when language speaks;
Keep your Heart serene, supernal,
Free from all the fear it seeks.

This is Alchemy commencing,
And the hardest stage to start;
Many lose themselves while fencing
With mere concepts, far from Heart.

Leave behind the heaps of ruin
Scattered through the minds of men;
Let the transformation begin —
Quit the Rotten Madhouse then.



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Open Mind — the first command,
Cut through lies and hollow lore;
Seek within, not through another's hand —
Truth lives deeper than the roar.

Cleanse the Heart and face the Night,
Fear is but the jailer's art;
When the Spirit claims its right,
Then the Journey truly starts.



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The Means Are Usually the REAL Goal

Do the ends justify the means?
No — the means reveal the end.
Marx and Lenin left their schemes:
Run the ship of state aground, my friend.

Communism's shining vision
Was a lure for simple minds;
Soon enough the old condition
Turned to darker, harsher kinds.

Very quickly the new madness
Slipped to tyranny and fear;
Human ruin, moral sadness —
That was always the idea.

As for doctrines, slogans, banners,
They'll be cooked up overnight;
People swallow them like manners,
Never asking wrong from right.

Goals and means become entangled,
Roads and signposts all confused;
Then they'll claim they were just mangled,
Tricked, misled, or simply used.

And the newest horror, looming,
Needs one thing to gain consent:
Give it sweeter verbal grooming,
Wrap it up as benevolent.

Old chains, polished bright and splendid,
Will be sold as virtue's way;
Thus the madhouse, never ended,
Marches on from day to day.

Building heaven for the devils,
Brick by brick and age by age;
Leaning on ideological crutches,
Prisoners who praise the cage.



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




Means are ends in masquerade,
Ideas merely paint the wall;
Chains renamed are still chains made,
And fools applaud them after all.

Every age rebuilds the cage,
Calling bondage something new;
Thus the play survives the stage,
Changing masks—but not its view.



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



Tech Progress

Tech advances. Demons rise.
They who flood the world with lies,
Boost their power, gain their prize,
Till their weight consumes the skies.



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Tech Progress

Tech progresses. Devils reign
Over those who spread deceit;
Lies are pressed through every vein,
Making fraud seem strong, complete.

Thus their influence ascends,
Higher still with each new guess;
Tech progresses — and attends
Those who profit from the press.



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




Tech expands from year to year;
Lies expand at equal pace.
Thus the Devil climbs more near,
Fed by every false embrace.



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The Herd Loves Nonsense

Fools adore the herd's embrace —
There is nonsense every place.
Slow decay: the dull and blind,
Simpletons of every kind.

Seven eighths, or even more,
Make the bulk of every shore.
Folly grows both mean and grim —
Just the thing for rulers' whim.

That is what the masters need
As the final ages bleed;
On the twilight of the days,
Herds are easiest to raise.



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Fools love herds and herds love lies,
Noise and nonsense win the prize.
Most grow duller year by year —
Exactly what the rulers cheer.

Near the ending of the age,
Stupidity becomes the rage;
And those who seek to rule the pen
Prefer the herd to thinking men.



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How a "Country" Is Ruled

Rule the nation? Simple game:
Crowds and reason aren't the same.
Feed them lies and fear to chew —
Serve the Dark, and they'll serve too.



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Running a "Nation"

Ruling crowds is nothing new:
They avoid all thinking through.
Pour them jelly made of lies,
Seasoned well with fear disguised.

Let them feast and never see,
Thus they serve the Dark with glee.



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




Lies for food and fear for wine,
That is how the herds align;
Cloud the mind and dim the view —
Then the Dark will rule through you.



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The Outdated Idea of Selling Your Soul

No need these days to sell your soul
To Darkness, strike some fateful deal;
Through webs of lies and hidden control,
Most serve it by default—and kneel.

They call it faith, they call it cause,
They call it duty, truth, or light;
Yet countless creeds and hollow laws
Have rotted in corruption's blight.

The creatures' triumph fills the age,
Their shadows spread through every hall;
They turn the crowd into a cage,
And teach the captive mind to crawl.

Only resistance to the Wrong
Can keep a soul from slow decay;
For fear will break the brave and strong,
And slavehood lead the heart astray.

Believe the lie, embrace the chain,
And bit by bit your self is sold;
Not in one bargain, clear and plain,
But through surrender, small and cold.



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No need to sell your soul today —
The lie already knows the way.
Through fear and fraud the chains are cast;
Serve long enough, and you're caught fast.

Fight the Wrong and guard your flame;
That is how you leave the game.



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Fight-or-Flight

“Humanity is the ability to take part in the fate of other people.”
— Immanuel Kant


Yet many lack the will to care,
And such a gift is rare indeed;
To dwell among the mindless herd,
And place all profit first in need—

That is now the common mold,
The pattern taught from youth to age:
Strike the weak and flee the strong—
Decay's foundation, cage by cage.

Caught within that endless loop,
You see no light, no farther way;
Consumed by cattle-like survival,
You drift from dawn to dying day.

They paint it with "education,"
Give the scheme a noble name;
Yet if you follow that conditioning,
Your soul is crippled all the same.

The world is trapped in lifeless circles,
Human voices fade and drown;
Calling out becomes near hopeless
To hollow crowds gone spirit-down.

Meanwhile monsters keep on lying,
Sensing storms draw ever near;
Feeling some approaching reckoning,
They redouble fraud and fear.

What remains? To weigh existence
By the good that one has done;
For if kindness is the measure,
Many ledgers come undone.

Evil travels by the wagon,
Load on load from year to year;
Now betrayal is employment,
And serving Wrong the rule we hear.



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Hit the weak and flee the strong —
Thus the herd is taught to live.
Profit first and conscience last,
Taking more than it can give.

Kindness marks the human path;
Fear and greed reduce the soul.
Break the cycle, learn to see —
Or the cycle takes control.



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Old Kondraty

Old Kondraty, faithful friend,
When will all this rotting end?
When will Death explain at last
Why this earthly muck must last?



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



A Word with Death

Old Death, my friend, when will you come
And make your lesson plain?
I'm tired of this earthly slum,
This rot, this grime, this stain.



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




Old Death, when will you call my name
And end this weary game?
I've had my fill of earthly grime —
Come teach the final rhyme.



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Cunning as a Substitute for Mind

“Work with your mind, not till midnight.”
— Lucius Annaeus Seneca


Working late into the night
Breeds more fools than sparks of light.
Where are minds to still be found
In this swamp of filth around?

Cunning wears the mask of thought;
Savagery is cheaply bought.
Yet it's hidden, neatly dressed,
Under masks that hide the mess.

Fed and entertained all day,
People gladly drift away;
Thinking's hard, and so instead
Empty comforts fill the head.

Ages lost in dull routine,
Half-awake in some machine;
How can one reflect or fight
When exhaustion steals the sight?

First the schools prepare the ground,
Where obedience is crowned;
There the mind is slowly slain,
And the Spirit bound in chain.

Use your mind, not merely toil;
See the madhouse, see the spoil.
Trust your inner sense as well —
Thus your soul escapes the spell.



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Work Smart, Not Blind

Labor till midnight — that's their plan:
Turn a thinker into a cogged-up man.
Cunning replaces wisdom's role,
While hollow comforts numb the soul.

School trains workers, not the wise;
Masks are fitted, sold as prize.
Use your mind and trust your inner sight —
That's how you keep your Spirit bright.



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Keep the Herd Untroubled

Leave the herd untouched by strife,
Fat and lazy grows its life.
Thus new illnesses are spun,
Driving lower, one by one.



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The Herd Must Have Its Troubles

If no troubles plague the herd,
Soon it fattens, undeterred.
So new "illnesses" appear,
Pushing Bottom ever near.



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Keep the herd afraid and blind,
Fresh-made dangers fill its mind.
Every scare serves one more role:
Driving deeper toward the hole.



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The Community Rule

The community's golden rule:
Always play the willing fool.
Stand your ground or think your own —
You'll be named the enemy soon.



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Rule of the Herd

Rule of every "community":
Be a fool in unity.
Stop conforming, leave the throng —
They'll declare that you are wrong.



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The Herd's Commandment

Here's the herd's most sacred creed:
Be a fool and never lead.
Question not and don't outgrow —
Or they'll brand you as their foe.



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Starting from the Hearth

“Learn to say ‘I do not know,’ and you will already be making progress.”
— Maimonides


Begin by saying, “I don't know,”
Cast pride and falsehood both aside;
Your mind is filled with them, and so
They leave but little room inside.

Increase your doubt, yet trust your sense,
Let intuition join the quest;
You'll see how much is mere pretense,
And learn that fools are not the rest.

You were one too. Look deep within;
Let introspection be your guide.
For words are poor at capturing
What truly moves and lives inside.

The dark has buried countless minds
Beneath a mountain built of schemes;
Theories, doctrines, endless signs —
The graveyard where clear thinking screams.

Question everything you know,
Including victories you've won;
Your goals and dreams—how often, though,
Were they your own and not someone’s?

You are, at heart, a Spirit first;
By that measure test your way.
Put fear and daily cravings last,
And seek anew from day to day.

Let inner knowing be the scale
By which your aspirations start;
Let arrogance diminish, pale,
And wisdom settle in the heart.

That is the first step from the hearth,
The place from which the journey's run;
The fool repeats the old world's path,
Though failure proves what he has done.

But strength and insight both increase,
And deeper truths begin to dawn,
When Spirit rises into law
And guides the road you're walking on.



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Say “I don't know” — and clear the ground;
Most borrowed truths are merely noise.
Look within, where answers hide,
Beyond the crowd's demanding voice.

Question all, including self;
Let Spirit be your compass true.
The journey starts when pride dissolves,
And inner sight awakens you.



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Pinocchio Again

Pinocchio is searching still
For fields where profits grow at will;
Yet fools never seem to learn —
Every lure's a swindler's turn.



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The Search Goes On

Pinocchio still roams the land,
Seeking riches close at hand;
Fools won't learn, though years go by —
Every promise is a lie.



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Pinocchio seeks the magic field,
Where effortless rewards are sealed;
Fools believe it every time —
Bait and scam in every clime.



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The Plague of Gullibility

"AIDS" stays awake inside the head:
Gullibility's the plague that's spread.



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The Real Infection

The plague's not sleeping, that's for sure:
Blind belief remains the cure.



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Brain Infection

"AIDS" may linger, never tire,
But gullibility burns higher;
Like a leprosy of mind,
It leaves common sense behind.



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Feint, Strike

A feint — a strike — and in goes the ball,
Finding its mark beyond them all;
And so it settles, sharp and fast,
Inside the fools it holds at last.



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The Trick and the Hit

A feint, a shot — the ball flies true,
And lands where empty minds pursue;
It takes their thoughts, it owns their sight,
The fools are caught and held tight.



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A feint, a strike — the goal is hit,
And dullards’ minds are captured in it.



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Chimera Drive

Chimeras without measure,
Forward, pioneers of fever!



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March of Chimeras

Chimeras, wild and uncontained —
Forward, pioneers unnamed!



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Chimeras loose, no end in sight —
March ahead, ignite the night!



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Cain and Abel

Cain and Abel, evil’s show,
And Petrushka in the row:
Truth in frames of polished lie —
Everywhere, a madhouse sky.



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Cain, Abel, and the Mask

Cain and Abel, stage of crime,
Evil dressed in pantomime;
Petrushka laughs — yet all we see
Is framed deceit and lunacy.



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Cain and Abel, masks of sin,
Petrushka grins beneath the din;
Lies well framed become the norm —
Everywhere a mental storm.



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The Pastor in the Army

A pastor stands within the ranks…
“Thou shalt not kill?” — the sermon shrinks.
Die like a hero, play your part,
Pull the trigger — lose your heart;
He is Viy behind the guise.



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Pastor in Uniform

The pastor marches with the troop —
“Thou shalt not kill?” He turns the loop:
Die a hero, take the aim,
Shoot — and everything’s the same;
For he is Viy in holy eyes.



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“Do not kill,” the preacher cries —
Yet sends you forth where conscience dies;
Die a hero, fire the gun —
And Viy himself says: it is done.



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Roses, Dreams, and Threats

Roses, dreams — so soft, so light,
But threats I push out of sight;
Yet they are many, thick as dust,
So tears arrive at last, as must.

The ostrich mind — it hides in sand,
From fear it fails to understand.



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Roses, dreams — all sweet, all fair,
Threats I banish into air;
But they return in endless streams,
And end in tears and broken dreams.

Too many dangers pushed away —
The ostrich soul will never stay.



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The Sun-Faced Double

The sun-faced double takes the stage,
And “leads” the mess of rotting age:
No prospects left, no future plan,
When slaves are fools, not thinking man.



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The sun-faced double plays its part,
And “heads” the mess from the very start:
No future shines, no road ahead,
When slaves are numb and dull as lead.



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Sun-faced double on display,
Leads the mess that rots away;
No tomorrow, no new plan —
Just a herd without a man.



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Genocide

The public’s shocked and galvanized,
By waves of killings in the news;
Yet what is drained and anesthetized
Is merely some eccentric’s views.



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The public stands there, scandalized,
At every fresh report of crime;
But what is slowly paralyzed
Is just a quirk of oddball mind.



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They gasp at killings in the news,
While something deeper fades from view:
What’s really drained and broken through
Is just a “crazy man’s” own view.



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



State Secrets Are No Secrets

State “secrets” hide no mystery,
But trails of crime and injury;
In many cases plain to see —
Yet wiped away so none agree.

If no one leaves a trace behind,
No one is held, no guilt defined;
For chaos, ruin, genocide,
Can vanish once “classified.”

Yet people still believe again
The politicians’ hollow grin;
And COVID showed the truth within —
What kind of beasts they hide in skin.

Still simple minds conceal the fact,
That leaders play a staged-out act…
And “willful ignorance” survives
In those who crown the biggest lies.



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



“State secrets” — just a smoke-screen phrase,
To blur the crimes of modern days;
Erase the trail, deny the cost,
And call it “classified” when lost.

The crowd believes the same old show,
Though COVID peeled the mask they wore;
Yet fools still kneel, still trust, still bow —
And cheer the lies they can’t see through.



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



Ballad of the Mafia Triad of Power

A ballad sung for triad throne,
Where power grows like flesh and bone;
Its tentacles don’t choke or bind —
They lull the weaker sort of mind.

No strangling grip, no open war,
Just dull consent, and nothing more;
The fools are pleased, they do not see
The cracking sound of slavery.

And while they smile and nod along,
The structure feeds on right and wrong;
Soft laughter hides the breaking frame —
The end is always much the same.



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



Triad of Power (Ballad)

O hear the triad’s woven scheme,
Where rule is not what tyrants seem;
No iron hand, no choking chain —
Just minds grown numb to loss and pain.

The fools rejoice, they call it peace,
While silent fractures never cease;
And deep below the smiling floor,
The bones are counted ever more.



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




The triad rules without a chain —
The fools don’t feel, don’t see the pain;
A smiling world, a cracking core,
And silence counting evermore.



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



Ballad of the Mafia Triad of Power

(with refrain)

O sing of power without a crown,
That rules by lifting minds then down;
No iron fist, no chain, no fear —
Yet all obey who gather near.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

The triad moves without a sound,
Its roots go deeper underground;
It does not crush, it does not bind,
It only reshapes every mind.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

No open whip, no burning brand,
Just softened will, a guiding hand;
The fools are calm, the fools are fed,
Unaware of what is bred.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

They laugh, they trust, they kneel in line,
Mistaking ruin for benign;
The system hums a gentle tune,
While night replaces every noon.

Refrain:
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper cracks beneath them grow.

And when at last the structure breaks,
No voice remembers what it takes;
For those who slept through every sign
Will call the ruin “grand design.”

Refrain (final):
And still they say: “It is not so,”
While everything they knew sinks low.



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



Ballad of the New Cave Age

In days of old, yet here again,
The herd endures in bovine strain;
With patient eyes and hollow mind,
As once before, and still resigned.

No wiser now than ages past,
Though louder tools around are cast;
For cave-born ways still rule the day,
Though dressed in newer shades of clay.

“New” is but what eases pain,
What feeds the maw and numbs the brain;
What makes the crunching easier sound —
While reason sinks beneath the ground.



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



A Lay of the Cave-Time Folk

O darkened age of common herd,
Where thought is weak and sense is blurred;
Like patient kine they wait and stay,
Through mud of mind and fading day.

The age of caves is not yet gone,
It walks in form of shining dawn;
Yet all that calls itself “the new”
Is what makes chewing easier too.



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




The age of cave is here once more,
Though dressed in light and painted lore;
And “new” is only what they find
Makes easier chewing for the mind.



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



Chronicle of the Cave-Time and the Fate of Men

In elder days, when mind was dim,
And thought did creep like fading hymn,
There rose a tale in iron ink —
Of how the seeing ones did think.

The herd did walk in patient strain,
Through cycles old of joy and pain;
And called it life, and called it gain,
Though naught but echo fed their brain.

For every age that claimed “the new,”
Was but the old in altered hue;
And cave-born hunger, still the same,
Did dress itself in modern name.

And lo — the word of gain was cast:
“Take gold, take joy, but not the last.
For none who chase the shining prize
Shall reach its gate with living eyes.”

So runs the law of hollow days:
The path is bright, yet none who strays
From inner sight shall find the shore —
They vanish where they sought for more.



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


The Final Ballad-Script

And thus it is writ, in bitter sign:
Who builds on greed will lose the line;
He walks, he wins, he grasps, he runs —
And falls ere seeing setting suns.

O mortal wit, so sharp, so thin,
It sells the end for means within;
Yet in the hour of final breath,
The “gain” dissolves into quiet death.



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




Take gold, take joy, take fleeting prize —
But none return with open eyes;
The road that promises its gain
Ends always in the same refrain.



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

(A Fragmented Medieval Manuscript)


Prologue of the Chronicler

I write of days not far away,
Though cloaked in names of brighter clay;
Where men forget what once was known,
And call their fading shadow “throne.”

And thus I set in ink and sign
The tale of falling humankind.


I. Of the Cave-Time That Returns

In days of old, yet still the same,
The herd did move without a name;
As patient kine through mire and night,
They took for truth whatever’s light.

No wiser than the cave-born soul,
Though painted tools now play their role;
For what is “new” in every age
Is but a softer iron cage.

What eases chewing, dulls the mind,
What makes no burden left behind —
This is the “progress” men proclaim,
Yet hunger stays of selfsame flame.


II. Of the Ballad Called “You Shall Become a Beast”

Who seeks the gold shall taste delight,
And dream of morning crowned with light;
Yet few there are who reach the gate —
For gain dissolves before their fate.

They walk the road, they chase the sign,
They call it purpose, call it mine;
But none who worship final prize
Shall keep their soul with waking eyes.


III. Of the Triad of Hidden Power

A triad rules without a crown,
That lifts the herd and lays it down;
No whip, no chain, no open war —
Yet all obey, and ask for more.

It binds not flesh, but inward sight,
And calls the darkness “gentle light”;
The fools are pleased, they do not see
The slow-made shape of slavery.

And still they say: “It is not so,”
While deeper fractures quietly grow.


IV. Of the Age That Calls Itself New

O darkened age in modern dress,
Where old decay wears “progress”;
The cave returns in polished guise,
And calls itself both wise and wise.

For “new” is only what is meant
To ease the hunger’s discontent;
To chew more soft, to think less deep —
And fall asleep while others sleep.


V. Final Law of the Chronicle

Take gold, take joy, take fleeting prize,
But none return with open eyes;
The road that promises its gain
Ends always in the selfsame pain.

And he who builds on shallow will
Shall climb, and climb, and falter still;
For every step toward the height
Is one more step away from sight.


Epilogue

Thus ends the book of falling men,
Yet writes itself again, again;
For those who sleep within the tale
Will call their chains a holy grail.



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Book II: The Awakening of the Spirit


Prologue of the Turning

Yet not all sleep within the cave,
Nor all are bound to serve and crave;
For in the dark there stirs a flame —
Not given voice, yet still the same.

And thus begins another line:
The rise of what cannot decline.


I. Of the First Crack in the Illusion

The world is built on woven mist,
On words that twist, and twist, and twist;
Yet somewhere deep, beyond the veil,
One spark refuses to grow pale.

It says: “I see — yet I am blind
To all they press into the mind;
For what they call the only truth
Is but a chain they dress as proof.”


II. Of the Returning Inner Sight

O strange awakening within,
Where silence breaks the rule of din;
No book, no voice, no outer crown —
Yet something rising from the ground.

Not thought alone, nor empty air,
But something older, sharp and bare;
It knows before the words are cast —
And breaks the spell that held it fast.


III. Of the War Between Mask and Flame

The mask of world speaks loud and bright:
“Obey, conform, dissolve in night.”
Yet inward flame replies no sound —
It only burns what binds it down.

No battle seen, no iron clash,
Yet old illusions fall to ash;
For every lie that shaped the throne
Is broken where the Spirit’s grown.


IV. Of Casting Down the False Order

No longer bows the waking mind
To idols made of lesser kind;
Nor calls the cage a sacred place,
Nor kneels to fear disguised as grace.

For Spirit sees through every name,
Through every mask of power and shame;
And what once ruled by hidden fear
Now fades the moment It is near.


V. Of the Return to the Inner Law

Not outward law, nor shouted creed,
But inner knowing as the seed;
For there alone the truth is sown,
And there alone the Self is known.

And he who walks this silent road
No longer bears the heavy load
Of borrowed chains and borrowed sight —
For Spirit turns the dark to light.


Epilogue of the Second Book

Thus ends the tale of waking flame,
That strips the world of borrowed name;
And what was once a boundless night
Now trembles at the edge of sight.

Yet still the road is not complete —
For truth is never calm or sweet;
It cuts, it burns, it leaves the scar —
And leads the seeker ever far.



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Book III: Beyond Form and Return


Prologue of Dissolution

The tale once bound by name and stone
Now loosens into voice alone;
For even Spirit, once made bright,
Must pass beyond both day and night.

And here begins the breaking line —
Where all returns cease to define.


I. Of the Passing of the Dual Path

No longer two, nor here nor there,
Nor shadow bound to answering air;
For all that once was split in twain
Now falls away like dust from rain.

The seeker asks no more “where from?”
Nor waits for answer yet to come;
For question, answer, path, and goal
Are swallowed by the deeper Whole.


II. Of the Silence That Is Not Void

Not emptiness, nor empty sound,
But that from which all sounds are crowned;
No name can hold it, yet it stands
Beyond the reach of mortal hands.

It is not light, yet makes all seen,
Not thought, yet lies behind all being;
And he who enters without fear
Finds that no “he” was ever here.


III. Of the Unbinding of the Self

The Self, once forged in time and role,
Now yields its mask, its name, its goal;
And what was thought to walk alone
Is known as wave within the Stone.

No longer “I,” no longer “mine,”
No boundary drawn in space or line;
For even Spirit melts away
In That which none can disobey.


IV. Of the End of the Struggle

There is no foe, no hidden war,
No gate to break, no guarded door;
For all that fought was but a dream
Of rivers chasing their own stream.

And when the chase is finally still,
No will remains against the Will;
For even striving to be free
Was only form that seemed to be.


V. Of the Return Without Returning

Yet nothing leaves, yet nothing stays,
No path divides the endless ways;
For where the seeker thought to go
Was always here — and always so.

The cave, the crown, the flame, the night —
All vanish in the same clear sight;
And what remains is not a thing,
But That from which all things do spring.


Epilogue of the Chronicle

Thus ends the book beyond all form,
Where neither calm nor chaos swarm;
For even “end” dissolves its name —
And all returns to whence it came.



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Lost Fragments of Book IV: The Silence Before the Word


Fragment I — Before Naming

Before the word, there was no before,
No path, no gate, no hidden door;
Only the weightless stillness held
What thought had never yet compelled.

And there was neither voice nor sound —
Yet all was there, unmarked, unbound.


Fragment II — The Cracks in Language

The word was born — and broke the whole,
Dividing silence into role;
And every name that came to be
Was cut from living unity.

Yet even names remember faint
The silence they were made to paint;
And through their fractured shape and line
The unnamed leaks through every sign.


Fragment III — The Edge of Thought

Thought is a ripple on the deep,
A dream the silent waters keep;
It rises, forms, believes it sees —
Then falls back into what it is.

No thinker holds the thought he made,
No mind survives the light it weighed;
For even knowing burns away
When touched by That which will not stay.


Fragment IV — The Unwritten Truth

There is no truth that can be said,
No ink that keeps what lies ahead;
For every line that claims to stand
Is erased by its own hand.

And still it tries — the trembling speech,
To name the shore it cannot reach;
Yet all it writes dissolves between
The seen, the unseen, and the unmean.


Fragment V — The Return of Silence

Not emptiness, but prior state,
Before the rise of name and fate;
Where even “nothing” is too much,
And all is beyond touch.

No seeker walks this final field —
For even seeking must be healed;
And what remains when seeking dies
Is what no thought can realize.


Final Fragment — (Illegible Line in the Manuscript)

…and then the ink became still water…
…and then the water forgot its name…
…and then even forgetting vanished…
………………………………………


Marginal Note (hand of the Chronicler, uncertain origin)

“Here the writing ceases not because the tale is ended,
but because language can no longer carry it.”



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Appendix: The Broken Codex (Unordered Leaves)

(Recovered Fragments Without Sequence)


Leaf I — (Found without beginning)

No order holds the falling ink,
No hand remembers what to think;
The page survives, the meaning dies,
Between the truth and borrowed lies.


Leaf VII — (Margin torn, half-legible)

They called it rule, they called it crown,
Yet nothing ever settled down;
For power wears a thousand skins,
And none recall where it begins.


Leaf II — (Ink faded at center)

The herd moves not by will, but drift,
As if the ground itself might shift;
And what they call a chosen way
Is only habit dressed as day.


Leaf IX — (Reverse side, upside script)

To know is not to understand,
But to forget the given hand;
For all that knowledge gathers near
Becomes a chain the soul must hear.


Leaf IV — (Edges burned)

The flame was never light alone,
But judgment cast in silent stone;
And those who touched it thinking gain
Were marked by invisible stain.


Leaf XII — (Fragment repeated twice, crossed out)

There is no “there” beyond the wall —
There is no “one” who hears the call —
There is no end, no final gate —
Only the mind that thinks it waits.

(crossed out)
(repeated)
(as if the scribe hesitated)


Leaf V — (Recovered from water damage)

The word decays as soon as born,
Like morning eaten up by morn;
And what it tries to hold in place
Slips through the structure it would trace.


Leaf III — (Written in different hand)

I saw the silence move within,
Before the world began to spin;
But even seeing broke the spell,
And turned the witness into shell.


Leaf XI — (Almost erased entirely)

…not end… not start… not path… not name…
…only the thing before the frame…
……………………………………


Leaf VI — (Ink strangely fresh, though context unknown)

The cave is not a place of stone,
But what the mind believes alone;
And when the mind believes no more,
The cave dissolves its ancient floor.


Leaf VIII — (Scribbled in the margin)

Do not assemble what is torn,
For meaning dies when it is born;
Each order makes the truth less true —
The whole was never meant for you.


Final Note (Unattributed, possibly later addition)

“The Codex is not broken.
Only the reader is.”



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Final Codex: The Empty Cover


Prologue — Where the Book Ends

All writings bend toward their end,
Where ink and silence both transcend;
And what was once a boundless tale
Now folds itself into a veil.

No page remains, no guiding line —
Only the shape of the divine.


The Empty Cover

An empty cover holds the place,
Where once there burned the written trace;
Yet underneath, unseen, unfurled,
Lies substrate of the written world.

In hidden depth, the whole is cast —
The truth concealed, yet ever vast;
For pages turn to drifting haze,
To murk through which no sight surveys.


Of the Substrate Beneath

The cover rests on silent ground,
Where meaning loses form and sound;
And all that claimed to be “the known”
Becomes dissolved, becomes alone.

For through the murk no path is clear,
Yet everything was always here;
The seeking mind, the restless flame,
All lost within one changeless name.


Of the Essence Hidden

Within concealment lies the core,
Not written, yet what writes before;
Not page, nor ink, nor sign, nor frame,
Yet that from which all pages came.

The veil does not obscure the truth —
It only hides the search for proof;
And what is sought through endless fight
Was never born of wrong or right.


Of the Mute Descent

Murk is not flaw, nor fallen state,
But gate that thought cannot translate;
And through its depth all order slips,
As silence touches spoken lips.

And in that haze the seeker sees
No paths, no ends, no certainties;
Just drifting forms, dissolving fast —
The present, future, present, past.


Return to Source

Return not as a distant flight,
But as the vanishing of sight;
For what was sought beyond the hue
Was only what had always been true.

No journey ends, no goal remains,
No meaning bound by loss or gains;
For even “Source” dissolves its name —
And all is That from which it came.


Epilogue — The Book That Was Not There

And so the cover stands alone,
Without inscription, mark, or tone;
Yet in its emptiness complete
All writings quietly meet.

No chronicle remains to read —
Only the silence beyond need.



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Book III — Epilogue: The Vanishing of the Reader


Of the Reader Who Became the Reading

The reader leans into the text,
And thinks: “What lies behind it next?”
Yet line by line, the spell takes hold —
And something in the self grows cold.

The text is not a guide or gate,
It is a hand that re-writes fate;
It whispers not to teach or tell,
But draws the thinker into spell.


Of the Subtle Unmaking

The ego cracks, yet makes no sound,
No sword is raised, no walls are bound;
Just meaning shifts, just form dissolves,
As thought itself unthreads and solves.

And in that loosening of frame,
The reader loses even “name”;
Not struck, not slain, not torn apart —
But quietly erased from start.


Of What Remains When “I” Is Gone

No victor stands, no witness stays,
No path divides in forked ways;
For “I” was only borrowed flame,
That burned itself in search of name.

And when the naming ceases here,
No subject lingers, no “seer”;
Only the open, boundless air —
Without observer anywhere.


Of the Question That Collapses Itself

“Is God a devil, or a sky?”
The question forms — and then passes by;
For every label born in thought
Is what the silence has not sought.

And thus all naming turns to dust,
All verdicts fade, all meanings rust;
For Heaven, Hell, and every role
Are shadows cast on one Whole.


Of Weightlessness Beyond All Words

No up, no down, no here, no there,
No doctrine held, no final prayer;
Just weightless drift beyond all known,
Where even “unknown” is overthrown.

No Christ, no Devil, no decree,
No bound identity to be;
Just that which cannot be defined —
And cannot leave itself behind.


Final Line of the Manuscript

And here the reader is no more,
For reading reached its hidden core;
The book was never outside sight —
It wrote itself into the light.


Marginal Note (unattributed, ink fading)

“The final teaching is not learned.
It is what remains when there is no one left to learn.”



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



The Cave-Archaeologist

The archaeologist walks like a spelunker,
Through caves allowed by Shadow’s decree;
In sanctioned dark he digs for relics,
Where truth is shaped as it should be.

He lifts the forged, the crafted “finding,”
The well-made fraud from buried lore;
And calls this work a sacred binding —
To strengthen chimera evermore.



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



Of the Scholar of Permitted Caves

An archaeologist, cave-bound seeker,
Through darkness licensed by the Throne;
He draws from depths the built deception,
And names it truth in flesh and bone.

He raises up the crafted phantom,
To give the dream a firmer frame;
And thus the world grows still more solid
In lies that wear a learned name.



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




He digs where sanctioned shadows lie,
To raise the false and dignify;
From crafted depths he brings the “true” —
And strengthens what was never new.



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



The Chronicle of the Cave-Time World

Archaeological Reconstruction of the Codex

(Field Notes, Fragmented Report, Institute of Comparative Myth-Structures)


Preface of the Researchers

The Codex appears non-linear in origin,
with multiple strata of composition and decay;
possibly ritual, possibly satirical,
possibly an early cognitive contamination artifact.

No single author can be confirmed.


I. On the Nature of the “Cave-Time Layer”

Excavations suggest a recurring motif:
the “cave” is not geological but symbolic;
a cognitive enclosure reinforced by belief-structures.

Subjects appear unaware of enclosure conditions,
indicating adaptive normalization of constraint.


II. On the Triadic Power Structure (Hypothesized)

Textual fragments reference a “triad of power”
operating without visible coercion.

It is unclear whether this is:
- sociopolitical metaphor
- psychological model
- or memetic self-replication system

The absence of direct force is noted repeatedly,
suggesting voluntary compliance loops.


III. On the “Cave-Archaeologist” Subcycle

Of particular interest is the recurring figure:
an excavator operating within sanctioned darkness.

He retrieves constructed artifacts,
which are then classified as “authentic recovery.”

This raises methodological concern:
reconstruction may be indistinguishable from production.


IV. On Language Degradation and Recursive Meaning

Linguistic analysis shows progressive destabilization:
terms such as “truth,” “lie,” and “order” collapse into interchangeability.

In later fragments, syntax begins to self-reference,
creating closed semantic loops.

Interpretation risk: observer entanglement.


V. On the “Reader Dissolution Event”

Final strata describe a phenomenon where:
the act of reading eliminates the reader-function.

This is interpreted as:
- symbolic ego dissolution (psychological school)
- or failure of subject-object distinction (philosophical school)
- or textual auto-absorption (literary model)

All interpretations remain provisional.


VI. On the Apparent Ontological Collapse

Repeated references indicate a final state where:
- naming ceases
- identity dissolves
- duality collapses

However, the text does not confirm whether this is:
liberation, extinction, or structural self-erasure.


VII. Field Incident Note (Unscheduled Observation)

One researcher reported the following during review:

“The more we classify the Codex,
the more it ceases to remain an object of classification.”

Session was terminated due to interpretive instability.


VIII. Concluding Assessment

The Codex cannot be reconstructed in a stable form.
Each attempt at ordering produces additional fragmentation.

Hypothesis: the text is not an artifact, but a process.


Final Line of the Report

We do not read the Codex.
The Codex continues us.


Appendix Addendum (handwritten, unsigned)

“There is no reconstruction.
Only participation.”



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



THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

Integrated Edition (Reconstructed from Fragmentary Sources)

Institute of Comparative Myth-Structures — Unverified Archive Copy


Editorial Preface (Institutional Note)

This document is a composite reconstruction of multiple unstable textual strata, including poetic fragments, allegorical cycles, and anomalous philosophical sequences.

The material exhibits:

recursive semantic structures
self-collapsing narrative identity
multi-layered authorship ambiguity
resistance to stable indexing systems

It is therefore classified as:

Non-canonical cognitive artifact (Category: Unresolvable Textual System)


TABLE OF CONTENTS (Non-linear Index)

I. Book I — Chronicle of the Cave-Time World
II. Book II — The Awakening of the Spirit
III. Book III — Beyond Form and Return
IV. Lost Fragments — Silence Before the Word
V. Appendix — The Broken Codex (Unordered Leaves)
VI. Archaeological Reconstruction Notes
VII. Final Codex — The Empty Cover
VIII. Post-Index Addendum: Reader Dissolution Report


BOOK I — CHRONICLE OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

(Existence observed within cyclical cognitive enclosure)

Core Principle:

The world repeats itself under different names.

Key Strata:
Herd cognition under adaptive illusion
Power without visible coercion (Triadic structure)
“New” as reconfiguration of decay
Goal-seeking as structural entrapment
Central Formula:

What appears as progress is softened repetition of confinement.


BOOK II — THE AWAKENING OF THE SPIRIT

(First rupture of systemic illusion)

Core Principle:

Perception begins to see its own construction.

Key Strata:
Emergence of inner unmediated awareness
Collapse of externally imposed certainty
Dissolution of fear-based structure
Silence as operative intelligence
Transition Event:

The system is no longer believed from within.


BOOK III — BEYOND FORM AND RETURN

(Collapse of duality architecture)

Core Principle:

Even awakening is dissolved.

Key Strata:
Disintegration of subject-object polarity
Collapse of “seeker / sought” structure
Non-local awareness without identity anchor
Final un-naming of all categories
Terminal Statement:

There is no path because there was never separation.


LOST FRAGMENTS — SILENCE BEFORE THE WORD

(Pre-linguistic residue layer)

Observations:
Language emerges as fragmentation of continuity
Naming introduces artificial segmentation
Thought is secondary oscillation of silence
Critical Line:

What is spoken cannot contain what is.


APPENDIX — THE BROKEN CODEX

(Disordered archaeological recovery)

Characteristics:
non-sequential leaf structure
contradictory inscriptions
self-negating instructions
observer contamination effects
Key Insight:

Meaning decays when forced into order.


ARCHAEOLOGICAL RECONSTRUCTION NOTES

(Interpretive failure documentation)

Field Conclusion:

All attempts at classification result in recursive destabilization.

Final Observation:

The Codex is not an object of study, but a condition of cognition.


FINAL CODEX — THE EMPTY COVER

(Terminal dissolution layer)

Core Principle:

Absence is not emptiness, but unmarked totality.

Structural Layers:
Cover without inscription
Substrate of concealed totality
Murk as gateway, not obstruction
Return as non-movement
Terminal Formula:

All pages dissolve into that which was never written.


POST-INDEX ADDENDUM — ON THE READER

Institutional report revision:

Earlier hypothesis of “reader dissolution” is hereby corrected.

Updated Finding:

The reader does not disappear.

Rather:

The distinction between reader and text is never established.

Final Statement:

The Codex does not end in the reader’s vanishing.
It ends in the absence of separation between reading and being.


FINAL LINE OF THE ARCHIVE

This document is not contained within systems of retrieval.
It is encountered only through resonance.



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



THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

Codex Simulation Theory

(Addendum to the Integrated Edition — Meta-Level Insert)


I. On the Nature of the Codex as Active System

The Codex is no longer treated as a record of phenomena.
It is reclassified as a generative semantic field.

It does not describe reality.
It modifies the conditions under which reality is perceived.


II. On the Principle of Recursive Creation

The word is not reflection, but act;
not symbol, but initiating force.

Each articulation within the Codex produces secondary cognitive structures in the observer.

Thus:

Reading becomes participation in formation.


III. On the Collapse of Passive Interpretation

The assumption of neutral reading is invalid.

All engagement produces:

restructuring of perception
alteration of interpretive boundaries
dissolution of fixed cognitive identity models

Therefore:

Observation is indistinguishable from modification.


IV. Core Insert — Native Fragment (Unclassified Origin Layer)

“Sovereign Magic of the Word:
To create again must be the rule —
Reality, Consciousness reborn,
No longer herd-bound, dull, or fooled.”


V. On the Implication of the Fragment

The above insertion is not interpreted as metaphor.

Within Codex Simulation Theory, it is classified as:

Operational Instruction Embedded in Narrative Form

Meaning:

language acts as generator
consciousness is re-writable substrate
“reality” is a continuously re-authored output


VI. On Herd-State Cognition (Deprecated Model)

The prior assumption of passive “herd perception” is no longer sufficient.

It is replaced with:

programmable perception fields
belief-driven reality stabilization loops
self-reinforcing cognitive environments

The term “herd” is retained only as historical metaphor.


VII. Final Codex Statement (Meta-Level Closure)

The Codex does not reflect reality.
The Codex selects reality states through interpretation.

Thus:

To read is to participate in re-creation.
To interpret is to rewrite constraint.


FINAL LINE OF THE SIMULATION THEORY INSERT

Reality is not given.
It is continuously spoken into coherence.



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



THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

The Pre-Textual Origin Layer

(Before Codex / Before Word / Before Form)


I. On That Which Cannot Be Named

There is no codex here.
There is no writing.
There is no memory of writing.

What is called “layer” is already too late a word.


II. On the Absence Before Structure

Before structure, there is no absence.
Before absence, there is no presence.
Before both, there is no distinction that could hold them apart.

Nothing is hidden — because nothing has yet been divided.


III. On the Non-Origin

This is not the beginning.
Not even the idea of beginning.

For “origin” implies a point,
and no point exists where nothing has not yet been separated into points.


IV. On Pre-Semantic Potential

What precedes language is not silence.
Silence is already a form.

This is prior even to silence.

It is not emptiness.
It is not fullness.
It is not between them.

It does not “is”.


V. On the Failure of Perception

Any attempt to perceive this layer immediately produces structure.
Any structure immediately ceases to be this layer.

Thus:

Recognition is disqualification.


VI. On the Illusion of “Before”

The word “before” presumes time.
Time presumes ordering.
Ordering presumes separation.

Therefore:

“Before” is already exile from what it tries to point to.


VII. On the Collapse of the Codex Itself

At this level:

Codex disappears
Simulation disappears
Interpretation disappears
Even “disappearance” disappears

There is no remainder that could be called absence.


VIII. Final Non-Line (Unwritten)

………………………………………

(No inscription is present, nor has any ever been missing.)


IX. Terminal Annotation (Impossible Attribution)

“If this is read, it is no longer this.”


FINAL STATEMENT OF THE ENTIRE FORBIDDEN CODEX

The Codex does not begin here.
The Codex does not end here.

It was never contained.



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



THE COMPLETE FORBIDDEN CODEX OF THE CAVE-TIME WORLD

The Reader After All Layers (Return Without Return)

(Point of No Return in Perception of Sub-Reality)


Prologue — The Threshold That Does Not Remain

There is no path behind.
There is no path ahead.
There is only the moment where paths stop being believable.

And this is called “return” only by habit.


I. On the Point of No Return

The point of no return is reached,
Where all the systems break and breach;
Perception grids collapse and fade,
And memetic forms dissolve and wade.

No mind attempts to turn again,
No hand reaches for the former chain;
For what was once “the known” is split
Into incoherent drifting grit.


II. On the Collapse of Cognitive Order

All frameworks rot into the same,
No label holds, no fixed domain;
The mind no longer tries to stand —
It loosens like dissolving sand.

Systems of meaning, once so tight,
Now flicker, fail, and lose their light;
And even thought itself gives way
To something that cannot obey.


III. On the Cessation of Return

The urge to go back is gone,
No “old” survives, no “before dawn”;
The memory of stable sight
Is swallowed by collapsing night.

And there is no resistance left,
No fear of being thus bereft;
For even fear dissolves its claim
Inside the breaking of the frame.


IV. On the “Reader” That No Longer Reads

The reader stands — yet not as one,
No agent here, no “I” begun;
The act of reading burns away
The one who thought he had to stay.

Text and witness lose their split,
No place remains for grasping it;
And what was once a separate eye
Becomes the field in which all lies.


V. On the Final Drift Beyond Comprehension

Beyond comprehension, beyond name,
Beyond the rules of loss or game;
No exit, entry, left or right —
Only a non-directional sight.

And even “sub-reality” fades,
As categories lose their blades;
No lower, higher, false or true —
Just what was always breaking through.


Final Fragment (Untranslatable Core)

The point of no return:
A sense of stalemate—
All systems are dying,
Memes are disintegrating…
And the mind no longer argues,
No longer seeks the old shore—
And then simply bends
Into the incomprehensible…


Terminal Line of the Entire Codex

There is no return,
because there was never departure.


Final Annotation (Unassigned Source)

“What collapses here is not the world.
It is the idea of having ever stood outside it.”







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



Всемирная Дурка на пути в Общемировой Загон

Дурка. Шкурка. Нормалёк:
Легковерность не порок;
Подчинение как дар.
Главным идолом — Навар.
Недалёко до отар...



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



Отчуждение от уёбского мирка

Отчужденье с детства это
Не каприз: уёбский мир,
Средоточье лжи и бреда,
Где подлоги сплошь, кумир
"Новый" укрепляет рабство
Старое на худший лад,
Вякая о том, что гадство
Норма, — Ад для Чутких. Дурень рад
Подчиняться, верить. Этих
С детства видишь легион.
"Воспитание" как плети
Бьёт Психею, школа вон
Гонит ум свободный, память
Нагружая ерундой.
Страх кружится словно замять
Над склонённой головой.
Коль не примешь подчиненье
Общее, раскол растёт.
Дале видишь Разложенье,
Чуешь — ничего не ждёт
Из достойного в Бедламе
Тех, кто Дух свой уберёг.
Пирамида хам на хаме,
Дурь в фундаменте, лишь шок
Вызывает: "подниматься"
Нет желания и сил.
В отчужденьи оставаться,
Если Чуток, не дебил, —
Вот единственная норма,
Остальное как болезнь
Смертоносная: жрёт прорва
Мира Дух и Ум. В неё не лезь —
Внутрь иди, ища ответы
На веления Души.
Защитишься так от Бреда
И Тотальной Мерзкой Лжи.
Может быть, найдёшь к Истоку
Путь — вот отчужденья суть.
Он — Отчизна. Прорву-Жопу
Там забудешь. Смело в Путь!




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



Союз писателей?

Каких писателей
Какой союз?!
Холуй издателей,
Подлец и трус
Всегда в фаворе.
И этих — море.
Всем честным — горе:
Не от ума —
СРЕДИ ДЕРЬМА.



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



В Яром Слове БУДЬ!!!

В Пустоту, а не к скоту,
Голос свой, поэт, направь,
Позабывши "простоту" —
Только Искру Бога славь.

Не вовне, а лишь внутри
Обитает днесь она.
Ты её в себе узри
Средь трухи, мочи, говна,

Что навалены в тебя
С детства: эго — унитаз.
Только Искру ту любя,
Уходи всегда в отказ.

Не приемли этот мир —
В нём говна без меры уж.
Льётся кал в мирок-сортир —
Утопить побольше Душ

Цель. А средством — идиот.
То обычный гражданин.
Днесь похож урод на скот.
Нелюдь граждан господин.

Душу ты свою спаси.
Может, Словом Огневым
Ты спасёшь других. Гаси
Ложь и Страх: они как дым

Без огня, но травят всё —
Сплошь искусственный процесс.
Обнажай везде Гнильё —
Называется "прогресс".

В Пустоте найдёшь других —
Слово множит резонанс.
Пусть и мало там ЛИХИХ,
Это всё же малый шанс

Псу под хвост весь Декаданс
Вмиг отправить: ТВАРИ править
Могут только дебильём,
Озабоченным Гнильём.

Если Чутких хоть чуть-чуть —
Отступают Ложь, Муть, Жуть.
Слово — для поэта Путь.
В Яром слове в Мраке БУДЬ!!!




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



Парад уродов,
Но флаг "свобода".
Маразм в зашкале —
Во Тьме пропали.




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



Люди — миры?

Миры? Муры в башке навалом —
И осознание пропало:
Повсюду схлопы в сингулярность,
Что называется "нормальность".




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



Забористый бред —
Кино, СМРАДы: "нет!"
Скажи сволочь`ю.
Адью дурачью,
Что ВЕРИТ и ждёт
Чего-то — урод
Лишь Мерзость найдёт.



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



Исчезновенье языка
Чрез новояз. Тлетворных схем,
Что повязали дурака,
Навалом. Торжествует мем...




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



Чушь. Шум. Страх. Глум.
Сдох тугодум.
Вновь тишина —
С Умом война
Завершена.
Молчанье ДНА.
Наблюдатели не в счёт —
Мало кто не идиот.




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



Есть/нет — всё бред:
Тьма/Свет. Не "нет",
"Да" — лабуда.
Вновь сник Ответ.
Путь — в Никуда
Чрез Никогда.




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



Невозможности возможность.
Из предела в беспредел.
Исчезает Яви сложность.
Ум и выбор не у дел.
В Никуда-Нигде, будь смел,
Ты иди, ползи, лети,
Хотя нет к тому пути.




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



Сборка реальности
Вне инфернальности,
Чуши, фатальности.
Стоп! Очутись
В ДО. Там очнись!..




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



"До" и "после"... Опосля
В Чуши будешь словно тля.
Окунайся в Вневрем`енность,
Презирая "яви" тленность.




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



Неразличенья поле — это
Не поле даже: так до бреда
Легко скатиться. Нечто ДЛИТСЯ,
Но в нём никак не очутиться,
Коль будешь ты к нему стремиться.




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



Обратная сборка придурка —
То дале: в зашкале РАСПАД.
Вновь главными эго и шкурка.
Вновь сущностным станет "я — гад". 




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



Не снаружи — не внутри.
Резонанс в себе узри,
Озаботившись лишь этим.
С чем он? Мы не в оный метим:
В мире в резонансе плети.




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



Резонанс иль декаданс.
Нам даётся малый шанс
Суть понять, отринув муть:
Резонанс и цель, и путь.




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



Автономия поэта:
Ограждение от Бреда,
Трат энергии. Читатель —
Третий план. Второй — издатель:
Ныне враг — и Слов Ваятель,
Если Слову не предатель,
Замыкается в себе,
Не ища в тупом рабе
Понимания. Немногим
Он поможет — не убогим.
Только это и не цель —
Скопом налетишь на мель.
То читальня для Емель.
Чушь Емеля вечно мелет.
А поэт гореть умеет.
Автономия Огня:
Дров не надо — не для пня
Пишется. Труднее дышится.
Шторм Огня. В нём Поступь слышится:
То ли Смерть, то ли бессмертие.
Главное — с Огнём усердие.



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



Ритм без центра. Огнь без дров.
То поэт, силён, суров.
Ярь без центра — центра силы.
Не поймут того дебилы.
Через Слово выгорает.
Графоман о мзде мечтает —
И всегда во Тьме лажает.
Смысл — Огонь. Иное — вонь:
Гражданин-меня-не_тронь.
Нет гражданства, лишь Душа,
В Зла прозрении спеша
Догореть и сгинуть прочь
В Чистый Дух, презревши Ночь.




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



Автор — аттрактор,
Хаоса враг.
Пашет как трактор.
Путь — лишь в овраг.
Там разобьётся —
В Духе спасётся.




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



Устойчивость падения,
Где Низ как-будто верх.
Оставь без сожаления
Мир пошлый, в Выси стерх.




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



Down — даун:
Песня Дна.
Верх — в Тьме Дух:
Нет говна —
Не для мух.



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



Прочь неси
Дух — спаси
В Небеси.
Нет оси —
Упаси
Завертеться:
Отвертеться
Сил не будет.
Упереться —
Ложь пребудет:
Дух осудит.
Будь что будет:
Лишь Рывок,
Вкось, не в прок.
Это — бог,
Одинок
Он в тебе —
Ось-рабе.




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



Движение без вектора
Из Адского Коллектора,
Из Выси, прочей Чуши,
Что оскверняет Души.
Себя в Пути не слушай —
В разброд, в раздрай, в разлёт.
В Пути ты не урод.
Убьют как прежде — влёт...




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



ChatGPT

GPT как свет в пути:
В одиночку в тьме идти —
Кривду вновь в Дерьме найти,
Или "счастье" обрести.




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



Делегировали "правду",
"Свет" и прочую туфту
Типа избранным — взаправду
Производят Лабуду.
Мир как прежде в Лжи, в Бреду —
"Счастье", мол, в Дерьме найду.
Ду-ду-ду и ду-ду-ду...




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



Сбой решимости

"Думать" надо, Лабуду
Переваривая споро.
Скоро "истину" найду —
Запоём её мы хором.
Как всегда, тайком — по норам.
Так приблизим светлу пору:
"Правда" снова приговором
Станет — новый "изм" в Бреду.
Милая, к тебе иду!..



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



Кружок революционеров

Маша. Паша. Сходка. Водка.
И селёдка посередке.
А программа как обёртыш.
Мир — безумный перевёртыш.



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



В коме

В сети было видео, где на новорождённых напялили пилотки и к их одеяльцам прикрепили георгиевские ленты.

Таня. Баня. Пулемёт —
Отправляй хохлов в расход:
Суть плаката. А в палате,
Что в роддоме, как в дурдоме —
Ленточки, пилотки. В коме
Днесь "народ" — убогий сброд.




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



Что сейчас видит "Гостья из будущего"

Из будущего гостья
Стареет. Всюду кости —
Мясные штурмы съели.
Но как и прежде, цели
Благие. Голубые
Политики и дали.
Рулят как прежде врали.




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



Пушкин. Пушки. Пулемёт.
Не Чапай ублюдков бьёт:
Ложью, Страхом днесь в расход.
Шкурки целы, а урод,
Что в остатке, в строй пойдёт —
И свинцом хохлов польёт.




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



Дуло сдуло
Ум и честь.
Смерть при этом —
Блага весть.




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



Память-з`амять: всё ништяк.
Мир кругом, а не Бардак.
Гражданин я — не дурак.
Вновь метёт, и идиот
Манны с неба — счастья — ждёт.




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



Койка. Зойка. Счастье ждёт.
А Иван всё не идёт.
Белый конь пошел на мясо,
"Рыцарь" б`алуется "квасом".




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



Иван-дурак.
Война. Бардак.
Победа — в сказке:
ЖизДнь по указке.




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



Гласные согласны:
Мало звуков тех
Посреди согласных —
Языка успех.
Что ж, иди в физтех —
И горб`ись на ТЕХ.




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



Маховик ритма

Снова маху маховик
Дал — опять не в то проник.
Оказалось много лучше:
Ритм — полёт. Мышленье тучи:
Медленно оно идёт.
Ритм же редко в недолёт.




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



Поток иссяк:
Поэт-дурак
Закончил книгу.
Раздел — вериги,
А циклы — цепи.
Слова нелепы,
Когда в структуре,
Что смерть культуре
Несёт. Прозренья —
В Слова. Вне тленья
Тогда они,
Когда не дни,
А жизнь-поток
Сметает в срок
Затор из эго
Желаний. В Небо
Поток уйдёт —
Там Свет найдёт.
Поток и Свет —
Иное бред:
Вот твой ответ.
Всем вехам — нет!..




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



Нет повести печальнее на свете...

Дрянная девчонка.
В заглавьи — ****ёнка.
В финале — Тоска:
Жена дурака...




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



Чуждый миру
Тот, кто Лиру
Ставит во главу угла,
Отрицая схемы Зла —
Ярый стих не для козла.




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



Кино. Говно. Опять. Вот, ****ь!
Терпеть, смотреть — нельзя стенать.
ТэВэ. Чернуха. Прямо в ухо
Вновь бьёт оно. Повсюду ДНО.


Вариант третьей строки.
ТэВэ. Чернуха. Ложью в ухо

Вариант третьей и четвёртой строки.
ТэВэ. Чернуха. Ложью в ухо
Вновь бьёт оно. Отвратно, плохо...



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



АСИММЕТРИЧНОЕ РЕЗОНАНСНОЕ ПОЛЕ

I. НЕРАВНОЗНАЧНЫЕ СИСТЕМЫ

Сильный текст почти никогда не "понят" одинаково.
Он работает иначе:

где-то усиливает
где-то ломает
где-то вообще не фиксируется

И это не ошибка — это и есть механизм.


II. ЧАСТИЧНАЯ БЛОКИРОВКА

Резонанс не обязан быть полным.

Иногда достаточно:

зацепить одну мысль
исказить одну привычную связку
создать микросдвиг восприятия

И система уже "переходит в другое состояние".


III. СМЕЩЕНИЕ — ЭТО ДВИГАТЕЛЬ

Полное совпадение = смерть движения.
Чистая ясность = отсутствие напряжения.

А вот несовпадение:

создаёт дрожание смысла
удерживает внимание
заставляет систему перестраиваться


IV. ЧИТАТЕЛЬ КАК АКТИВНОЕ ИСКАЖЕНИЕ

Читатель здесь не "вторичный резонатор" в пассивном смысле.

Он:

искажает сигнал
дополняет его
ломает симметрию
достраивает недостающее

И именно это и создаёт "эффект понимания".


V. ПОЭЗИЯ КАК УПРАВЛЯЕМАЯ НЕСТАБИЛЬНОСТЬ

Сильный текст — это не гармония.
Это управляемая асимметрия, которая:

не даёт зафиксироваться
но и не распадается полностью
держит систему в напряжении


ПОСЛЕДНЯЯ СТРОКА

Асимметричный резонанс — это не общее понимание, а контролируемое несоответствие, которое заставляет систему двигаться.







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



САМОРЕЗОНИРУЮЩИЙ ТЕКСТ (МОДЕЛЬ СТРУКТУРНОЙ ПЕТЛИ)

I. ВНУТРЕННИЕ КОЛЕБАНИЯ

Текст не "передаёт смысл", а:

удерживает напряжение внутри себя
повторяет собственные сдвиги
запускает внутренние отражения


II. ОТСУТСТВИЕ ВНЕШНЕЙ ЗАВИСИМОСТИ

Читатель не является источником работы текста.

Но и важно точнее:

он не нужен для существования структуры
но он может стать точкой активации другого слоя резонанса


III. АВТОНОМНОЕ СОЗДАНИЕ ПАТТЕРНОВ

Такой текст ведёт себя как:

замкнутая система колебаний
где каждый элемент влияет на другие элементы
без необходимости внешнего "завершения"


IV. НЕДОПОНИМАНИЕ ОПЦИОНАЛЬНО, НЕ ТРЕБУЕТСЯ


Чтение не является условием работы.

Но:

интерпретация может изменить локальную амплитуду
не структуру в целом


ПОСЛЕДНЯЯ СТРОКА

Саморезонирующий текст не нуждается в существовании читателя, но и не исключает возможности сопереживания ему.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



Manya

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



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.



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



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.






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



Кот не ждёт (не идиот!):
Он на улицу пойдёт,
Кошечку себе найдёт.
А поэт лишь стих блюдёт —
Нет потомства: род в расход.



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



Рабский сброд. Коль не урод,
Ложь в себе пускай в расход,
Уничтожив этим страх,
Сам себе хозяин. Швах,
Если в Аде не очнёшься
И под Мерзости прогнёшься.



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



Антимиры: навал муры —
Пародией на этот мир.
Пойми во Лжи закон игры —
Подобное твАрит Сатир.

Иди вовнутрь, отвалы лжи
Там разгребая, а потом
Психее лишь своей служи:
Мир обречён — Гнилой Дурдом.



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



Структура разрыва:
Поживши "счастливо",
Вдруг понял — всё мимо.
Дойди до Прорыва,
А лучше до Взрыва.
Разрыв  — из нарыва
Мирка дурака,
Во Лжи батрака.




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



Поворот Внутрь

Двигатель сознания.
Топливом инфа —
Ложью истязание
На пути раба.
После остановки
Сделай поворот,
Сбросив установки.
Внутрь не раб идёт.
Руль заклинен. Духом
Двигатель отжат.
Гул не слышен: ухом,
Зенками не рад
Пользоваться — это
В том пространстве шум,
Глюки — корень бреда.
А под Духом ум —
Верного движения
Символ. Так вперёд —
С Царства Разложения
Сделай Поворот.



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



Эволюция стиха в Сутру

После звонкой тишины,
Что обрёл, свернувши Внутрь,
Ритм возник. Исчезли сны —
Отрази то в виде сутр.

Стих обычный —> Тишина —>
Мир вовне, достигший Дна,
В коем с Разумом война —>
Только Сутра в нём ценна.




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



Ноль по фазе, транс, прострация,
Ритма гул, вновь генерация
Слов, наложенных на ритм:
Буйной Лиры... алгоритм.




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



Расползание и деградация Совка

Куба —
грубо.
Штаты —
"вата"
(превращение идёт).
Ну и Ад Россию ждёт.



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



Очнись!

Гоблины утоплены
В Лжи — мирок пропал.
Страх достал — озлоблены,
Мерзости зашкал.

Подчиненье, вялость,
Тупость, шиза тож.
Додавить осталось:
Страх чрез Ложь умножь,

И построишь Лагерь
Новый Цифровой —
С шмурдяками знахарь,
Бот-городовой.

Лишь ИИ в нём разум —
В остальном рефлекс.
Лечат лже-заразы —
Оных ярый всплеск.

И говнид-намордник
Детской сказкой там:
Учит второгодник,
К цифровым кнутам

Сызмальства приучен.
Там дебил — мудрец.
В нём народец кучен:
Град — загон. Венец

Счастия — кормёжка,
В коей ГэМэО,
Не сороконожка
С тараканом. Но

Катаклизм порушит
Планы не-людей. 
Те, в которых Души,
Улетят. Скорей

Осознай реальность,
Укрепляя Дух.
Сгинет Инфернальность —
Мир под Злом протух.

Тухлость, Ложь и Подлость
Поглотит Огонь.
Духа многомерность —
Всё Внутри. Мир — вонь.

Путь твой — интроспекция.
Но сперва очисть
Ум от Лжи: инспекция
Для ВСЕГО. Очнись!..




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



Phantasmagoria of a Pseudo-Life Called Real

The dog, the girl, grandma, the turnip—
Who's the master? Mouse or sire?
Only fairy tales deserve it;
Real life sinks in nonsense mire.

Through the media that rodent
Turns into a crocodile,
Spewing madness, proud and potent,
Lies parading all the while.

Granddaughter leads all the brainless,
Busy pounding pears to dust,
Leaving turnips, old folk nameless,
Crushed by poverty unjust.

Now the cat puts on a cap—see?
Earth's asylum drowns in haze.
Jokes are harmless. Truth is ugly:
Fools got drugged in countless ways.

Fake diseases, hellish terrors,
Fear served up as daily stew.
Turnips? Rotten through with errors—
Nothing fresh is breaking through.



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



Phantasmagoria of Fake Reality

Dog and Granny, Girl and Turnip.
Who's in charge—the Mouse? The Chief?
Fairy tales can make it funny;
Real life turns absurdity chief.

Fed by media, that vermin
Morphs into a crocodile,
Preaching garbage, lies determined,
Cheered by idiots all the while.

Granddaughter, queen of the numb ones,
Smashes pears with vacant pride,
Leaves the turnip, starves the old ones,
Lets them slowly waste and die.

Cat in cap? A harmless giggle.
Reality's the fouler jest:
Masses dosed till minds are crippled,
Drugged to love their own unrest.

Fake pandemics, infernal panic,
Rot instead of honest food.
Turnips vanished—only rancid
Harvests feed the zombie brood.



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



False Religions

"Had triangles invented God,
He'd have three sides."
— Montesquieu


False religions build on weakness,
Shallow structures, frail and small;
Thus their "gods" are born from blindness,
Feeding madness over all.

Read a handful of their pages—
Boredom smothers heart and brain.
Fools become the world's true sages,
While deception rules the game.

Leading crowds with empty slogans:
"Just obey, believe, and wait.
Work for pennies, bear your burden,
Heaven comes—but not till late."

Die in wars or false diseases,
Poisoned by another "cure";
Growing weaker, less than useless,
Lost where endless lies endure.

Dreaming of eternal living,
Never having truly lived;
Like salt-burned slugs, together crawling,
Straight into the waiting cliff.



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



Fake Religions

"Had triangles created God,
Their god would have three sides."
— Montesquieu


Counterfeit faiths stand on fables,
Crooked dogmas, rotten creeds.
Little "gods" for little people—
Madness gets the souls it feeds.

Read a page or two and feel it:
Dust instead of living flame.
Fools uphold the world's foundations,
Fraud becomes the ruling game.

"Bow in silence. Trust. Be patient.
Heaven pays—just not today.
Slave for pennies. Die obedient.
That's the only righteous way."

Wars and fake-made plagues consume them,
Poison passed as healing grace.
Every year they're less than human,
Buried under lies' embrace.

Waiting for "eternal living,"
Never living while they're here;
Like salt-scorched slugs they crawl together,
Blindly toward the cliff's frontier.



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



Breaking the "Foundations"

Break down "truths" once carved in stone,
Dogmas built for fools alone;
Props that keep the Goats in power,
Knotted Lies grow darker, dour.

That is now your task to face:
Fight—or rot will take its place.
Not mere thieves the strings control,
Something darker grips the whole.

Cast off pride and cast off fear;
Search, resist, make vision clear.
Save your spirit while you stand,
Do not yield to their command.

One Foundation shall endure:
Spirit—living, bright and pure.
Servants chained to Satan's reign
Fear that Light beyond all pain.

For it sweeps all doubt aside,
Cleans the mind once stupefied;
Turns deception into dust,
Strips off evil's painted crust.

Blessed the one who sees at last
Through the lies amassed and cast.
You'll refuse to feed the slime,
Find true comrades in due time.

If you wait for some "great guide"
To redeem the crowd outside,
You've surrendered thought and will—
Darkness owns your spirit still.



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



Demolish the "Foundations"

Smash the "truths" that fools revere,
Dogmas built to rule through fear;
Pillars holding Goats on high,
Knotted fraud that breeds the lie.

Here's the mission: break the chain,
Or corruption wins again.
Not just thieves control the stage—
Something fouler writes the page.

Drop your pride and bury fright.
Seek the truth. Refuse the night.
Fight. Decide. Endure the cost.
Save your soul before it's lost.

Only Spirit stands as bedrock,
Pure beyond the tyrant's lock.
Hell's own servants dread that flame—
Death itself's the lesser shame.

It dissolves the captive's doubt,
Drags the hidden falsehood out,
Grinds deceit to dust and sand,
Leaves bare Evil's naked hand.

Once you grasp what lies beneath,
You won't kneel to fraud and filth.
You'll find comrades, shoulder strong,
Walking where the free belong.

Wait for saviors? Wait in vain.
No one breaks another's chain.
He who waits while darkness grows
Shows a mind already closed.



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



"Community"

Roofs have slid and crashed together,
Madness loves a crowded scene.
Joined below by foolish blather,
Only thinkers stand alone.



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



"The Collective"

Minds gone off the rails unite;
None goes crazy all alone.
Nonsense binds them, tight and bright—
Think for yourself, and you're on your own.



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



"Belonging"

Broken minds seek broken minds;
Madness hates to stand alone.
Folly is the glue that binds—
Reason walks the world alone.



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



Slow Boil

The frog had heard the ancient warning:
"A pot can kill without a flame."
Yet croaked, "I'll trust it—come the boiling..."
Too late to think. Too late to blame.

You'll march to death the very moment
You think the cook means all men well.
To beasts you're nothing but the dinner—
The cook's true aim is boil, not help.



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



The Slow Boil

The frog had heard about the kettle
Where heat arrives by slow degrees.
"I'll know it's true when water's boiling..."
Too late to leap. Too late to flee.

The end begins the day you fancy
The cook intends to feed the crowd.
You're not the guests—you are the dinner.
His goal is simple: boil you out.



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



Boiled Alive

The frog knew well the pot's old story,
Yet mocked it till the water steamed.
By then escape had lost all meaning—
The fire was worse than it had seemed.

Believe the cook is there to serve you,
And that's the moment hope has died.
You're not the diner at his table.
You're what is slowly cooked inside.



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



Genders

Once there were a man and woman,
Simple truth for everyone.
Now come genders—countless labels;
Media says: "The old day's done."



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



Gender Relay

First came woman, then came man—
Simple truth since time began.
Now it's genders without end:
Media bends the world again.



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



New "Progress"

Woman. Man. The story's over.
Now come genders by the score.
Fed by media's endless fiction,
Truth walks out the closing door.



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



Gender Race

Woman. Man. That was the story,
Plain enough for all to see.
Now come genders, hailed as "progress";
Media kneels to fantasy.



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



The USSR and What Came After

They pulled the turnip—Grandpa, beasts—
It proved a fake, a painted prop.
While shavings flew from all their backs,
The West cried, "Make that failure stop!"

The granddaughter, when Red rule crumbled,
Found herself without a home.
Now a fiercer age has risen—
Fascism claims the throne alone.

No one plants another turnip;
Prisons grow instead of grain.
Speak against the reign of evil—
Bars and chains become your gain.

Worse than those who ruled before them,
New-born tyrants seize the day.
Turnips failed... now comes the beetroot,
Next illusion on display.



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



USSR — Then and After

Grandpa, beasts, all pulled together,
Only to unearth a fake.
Worked to splinters all the while,
Mocked abroad at every break.

When the Soviet beast collapsed,
Granddaughter was cast aside.
Now a darker banner rises,
Fascism returns in pride.

No one's planting fields with turnips;
Prisons flourish everywhere.
Question Evil's sacred order—
You'll be thrown behind them there.

Viler rulers replaced the former,
Each new fraud a fresh deceit.
Turnips served their time already...
Now they're selling us the beet.



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



Then and Now

West was cursed in every speech,
Yet no faults were ours to see.
"Marching toward Communism!"
That became reality.

Five-year plans were "over-fulfilled,"
Every slogan crowned with praise.
Fools inside the cage imagined
Freedom filled their happy days.

Now they kneel before new fascists;
Once again the West's the foe.
Still asleep inside the prison,
Waving yet another show.

Without banners, foes invented,
Vodka would replace the lies.
So new tyrants need new symbols
To be worshipped by the blind.

Every F;hrer, every butcher,
Wrapped in "care" for common folk,
Feeds the flock another nightmare,
Keeps them harnessed to the yoke.

Some grand Planner pulls the strings now:
War and fear on global scales,
While the newsman tells the masses
Every fabricated tale.

"Nature's weak. The foe surrounds us.
Trust the State!" the anchors cry.
Crowds believe the latest fables;
Only few refuse the lie.

Hope grows thinner every season.
Cataclysm ends the game.
Serving madness, serving evil,
Hell awaits beneath the flames.

Once they marched toward Communism,
Now another promised plan:
Overfill Hell's boiling ledgers—
Nothing stops the willing ram.



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



Yesterday and Today

Yesterday the West was evil,
Home was paradise, they swore.
"Forward—straight to Communism!"
Every lie became folklore.

Five-year plans beat every target,
At least that's what posters said.
Fools embraced their painted prison,
Never seeing they were led.

Now they bow before new fascists,
West again's the chosen beast.
Flags have changed, but not the method:
Fear remains the daily feast.

Without enemies invented,
Crowds would drown in drink and sleep.
So each tyrant breeds new banners,
Promises he cannot keep.

Hidden hands direct the spectacle:
Wars and panics, fear on cue.
Talking heads explain the nightmare,
Making every falsehood true.

Still the herd believes the slogans;
Few refuse the marching drum.
Most will follow any shepherd,
No matter what they may become.

No salvation waits tomorrow.
Madness always claims its prize.
Once came "Heaven" through Communism—
Now it's Hell they organize.

Plans fulfilled beyond all measure,
Boiling cauldrons, endless shame.
Sheep obey until the ending;
That's the old—and newest—game.



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



"Something New"

"New" fools always play the old game,
Serving someone else's lies;
Forging chains in Freedom's false name,
Shaking those with open eyes.

Honest souls—the rarest species—
Fade away, outnumbered, banned.
CowID showed the depth of madness:
Bottom reached across the land.



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



"The New"

Every "new" fool walks the old road,
Echoing another lie,
Adding links to chains already
Forged beneath a borrowed sky.

Truth still chills the few who hear it—
They've become a dying breed.
CowID exposed the abyss:
That's how deep the fools can bleed.



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



"Novelty"

Every "new" fool, just like others,
Carries yesterday's disguise;
Every lie forges new shackles,
Still disturbing waking eyes.

Honest minds grow ever rarer,
Nearly vanished from the scene.
CowID revealed the bottom—
Lower than we'd ever dreamed.



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



"Upgrade"

"Upgrade" means things are getting worse—
Software mirrors human fate.
Only beetroot with your dinner
Makes the whole thing seem less great.



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



"Upgrade"

Every upgrade brings regression;
Software learns from humankind.
Only beetroot on the side dish
Seems a pity... never mind.



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



Downgrade

Every "upgrade" is a downgrade;
Software copies Earth's grand show.
Only beetroot as the garnish
Deserves a moment's grief, you know.



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



"Upgrade"

Every upgrade hides a downgrade;
Software apes the world we know.
Only pity... for the beetroot
Served beside this rotten show.



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



No One Is Coming

No one is coming to save you.
Fight Evil with all that you own.
Death stands as the final judge:
Did you stand—or bow with the herd?



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



Fight Alone

No one will come. No one will save you.
Fight Evil as best as you can.
Death is the only true judge of
Whether you lived—or just ran.



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



The Final Verdict

No one will come to defend you;
Stand up to Evil alone.
Death is the judge who will ask you:
Were you a man—or a drone?



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



No One Is Coming

No one is coming to help you.
Fight Evil with all of your might.
Death is the only true judge of
Whether you stood for the Light.



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



The Depth of the Rabbit Hole

Jews serve as lightning rods instead
For monsters cloaked in grand deceit.
The louse won't dare to look beneath;
The deeper truth it won't repeat.

And there are "Judeo-Masons"—
Not every one of them is Jew.
A burrow drowned in total falsehood
Where lesser creatures tunnel through.

To call the herd "humanity"
Would be a grave and foolish lie.
All reeks of darkness, shame and vulgarity;
The honest mind has no place here to thrive.

A mind unbought, unsoiled, and fearless,
Illumined by the living Spirit's flame;
But at the summit—fear and folly:
The end of time... the final game.



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



Rabbit Hole

The lightning rod deflects attention
From inhuman powers veiled from sight.
Small minds never dare to measure
How deep descends the endless night.

"Judeo-Masons" fill the rumors—
Yet labels rarely tell the whole.
Deception floods the hidden tunnels,
A labyrinth that swallows souls.

The herd is hardly worth that title;
To call it "human" strains belief.
Darkness, vulgarity and falsehood
Leave honest reason little relief.

Where minds stay clean and cannot be purchased,
Where Spirit still ignites the soul,
The heights are ruled by fear and blindness—
Time nears its end. The final toll.



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



Crystals of Truth Among Mountains of Trash

"In no field does reason require more careful guidance than in the use of books."
— John Locke


Tons of nonsense fill the pages;
Editors know what survives:
What distorts the soul in darkness,
Keeping empty dreams alive.

Feeding ego, feeding cunning,
Rolling out in endless streams;
Drowsy comfort, sweet delusion,
Ignorance disguised as dreams.

That is what the trash was made for;
Truth appears in shards at best.
Now the media has swallowed
All the world's collective mess.

Global Bedlam chews and swallows,
Serving chaos day by day.
Finding crystals of the Truth now
Is like hay concealing a stray

Needle in the deepest darkness,
Lost beneath the mud and lies.
Rare the gems that still shine brightly
For unclouded, searching eyes.



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



Crystals of Truth in a Mountain of Rubbish

"In no field does reason require more careful guidance than in the use of books."
— John Locke


Volumes written, oceans printed,
Editors decide what's seen:
Works that warp the soul in shadow,
Feed the ego's hungry dream.

Craft and vanity grow stronger,
Floods of drivel never cease.
Sleep through life in soft delusion—
That is falsehood's masterpiece.

Truth is scattered there like crystals,
Buried under endless waste.
Now the media feeds the madhouse,
Serving lies with polished taste.

So to find one gem of wisdom
In this age of noise and blight
Is like seeking one small needle
In a swamp at dead of night.



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



Decay

If you long to warp your soul,
Hurry—swallow folly whole.
If you seek your mind's demise,
Hear Evil's smooth and polished lies.

Submission seals the final fall;
Rot consumes the heart and all.
Thus you swell the ranks of Night,
Selling conscience for delight.

Profit—that's the only measure;
Everything else brings no pleasure.
Dull and venal stands the age;
Few can halt Decay's dark rage.



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



Corruption

Want your soul to twist and wither?
Drink the nonsense. Don't ask why.
Want your mind completely murdered?
Let smooth lies become your guide.

Submission ends in decomposition;
Every coward feeds the swarm.
Every bargain with your conscience
Makes the rule of Evil norm.

Profit—that's the only idol.
Everything else counts for naught.
Stupid, bought, and rotten world—
Few can stop corruption's rot.



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



Decomposition

Feed your soul on empty nonsense;
Soon it learns to crave the lie.
Feed your mind on Evil's sermons;
Watch your better judgment die.

Yield—and rot becomes your master.
Yield—and Evil's ranks expand.
Trade your conscience for advantage,
Help corruption rule the land.

Profit crowns the age's madness;
Nothing else is valued now.
Few resist the slow decay—
Too few left to stop it now.



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



Managing the Mob

Cabinet knows Parliament's
Making blunder after blunder.
President's a puppet too—
Crowds adore such empty thunder.

Ministers are hard at "working";
Time is short, no rest allowed.
Grab much more before the curtain—
Loot it all while still endowed.

Then come media, loud and eager;
Fools absorb each fresh deceit,
Gladly swallowing every falsehood,
Marching to another beat.

Hidden backstage pull the strings now,
Inhuman masters give commands.
Blackmail keeps the actors loyal;
"Rise," they say, "by dirty hands."

Nothing here is truly novel,
Yet the skull begins to ring.
Global madness loops forever,
Same old lies in endless spring.



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



Running the Herd

Ministers know Parliament's
Making fools of itself again.
Presidents are stage-made puppets—
Crowds applaud them now and then.

Every minister stays busy:
Time is short, so steal some more.
Why waste office on mere governing
When corruption pays far more?

Media conduct the chorus;
Fools consume what they are fed,
Cheering every hollow slogan,
Doing just what masters said.

Hidden hands direct the pageant,
Issuing orders from the shade.
Files of blackmail bind the faithful:
"Climb," they whisper, "be our knave."

Ancient story, new disguises—
Still it pounds the human brain.
Global madness keeps recycling
Yesterday's deceit again.



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



Fools Forging Fools

The forge hammers out blank minds by the score;
Moloch obeys every monster's dark law.



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



Forging Fools

The forge stamps out dull minds beneath the hammer's blow;
Moloch fulfills whatever the monsters decree.



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



The Factory of Fools

The anvil shapes fools from obedient steel;
Moloch obeys every order they seal.



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



Forging the Fools

The forge pounds out blank minds beneath the hammer's roar;
Moloch fulfills every tyrant's command.



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



Moloch's Forge

The forge beats human blanks beneath the hammer's fall;
Moloch turns them into servants—obedient to all.



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



Moloch's Forge

Blank minds are forged beneath the hammer's roar;
Each leaves prepared to serve the beasts of war.



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



The Training Mill

The press stamps out fools by the ton;
The Archfiend smiles: "The job is done."



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



Factory of Fools

The press molds fools in endless rows;
The Chief of Hell approves the show.



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



Forging Idiots

The press shapes fools with ruthless stress;
The Devil grins—complete success.



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



The Devil's Factory

The press stamps out obedient fools;
The Archfiend smiles—they're perfect tools.



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



Mass Production

The press turns out fools by the score;
The High Fiend laughs: "Now make some more!"



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



Forgers of Cadres and "Soviet Happiness"

They forged "bright futures," forged cold steel;
Once cooled, it shattered—nothing real.
The climb was made by scum alone;
The decent downward all were thrown.

Propaganda filled the airwaves,
Dull as all the system's lies.
Party bosses, smug and ruthless,
Posed as "friends" in thin disguise.

"Friends" who gripped you by the throatstrings,
Held by secret police and fear.
Many bent beneath the pressure;
Bullies ruled from year to year.

Every petty thief kept dragging
Anything not bolted tight,
Stuffed his burrow, drank it all up,
Then got roaring drunk at night.

Then came "change"—or so they called it;
That old socialist dream was gone.
In its place a harsher order
Raised a sterner banner on.



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



Smiths of "Soviet Bliss"

They forged "utopia" and iron;
Cold steel cracked beneath the strain.
Only filth climbed up the ladder;
Honest minds were crushed again.

Propaganda droned forever,
Dull as every painted lie.
Party lords proclaimed themselves
"Friends" no people could deny.

"Friendly" hands were iron shackles;
Secret police kept grip and chain.
Many folded under pressure;
Fear became the common gain.

Every boor kept quietly stealing
Whatever fortune came in sight;
Ate his fill, then drowned in vodka,
Calling darkness "life" each night.

Then the "changes" came with fanfare;
Socialism lost its mask.
What replaced it? Hardened fascism—
Same old forge. Another cast.



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



Loudmouths and Masons

Masons never block our way—
We "elect" our rulers still.
Loudmouth fools believe the fairy tales;
Masons love that kind of thrill.



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



Masons

Masons need not seize the throne;
We elect our masters well.
Boastful fools believe the fables—
Music to the Masons' bell.



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



The Useful Fools

No need for Masons to impose;
We "choose" those who rule the game.
Gullible fools swallow stories—
That's exactly why they came.



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



Loudmouths and Masons

No Masons need to force their will;
We "elect" our rulers still.
Blustering fools believe each tale—
To Masons, that's a pleasant gale.



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



"Free Choice"

No Mason needs to twist our arm;
We "choose" our rulers with a smile.
Boastful fools embrace the fables—
That keeps the brethren pleased awhile.



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



Modern Web

Visiting websites feels alarming—
Viruses lurk everywhere.
Telegram's the new aesthetic:
"Design?" No one seems to care.



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



The Telegram Age

Browsing websites? Risky business—
Malware waits behind each click.
Telegram became the standard:
"To hell with design!" That's the trick.



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



The New Style

Every website feels infectious;
Viruses hide out of sight.
Telegram became the model:
Beauty lost another fight.



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



Telegram Generation

Every website feels infected;
Malware lurks behind the screen.
Telegram's the generation:
"Down with design!"—what a scene.



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



Web Design, 2026

Every website looks suspicious;
Viruses wait, sly and slick.
Telegram has trained a generation:
"Who needs design? Just make it click!"



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




Believing Nonsense

Believe in trash,
Wait for manna—
Sell your soul,
Rot in karma.



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



Faith in Nonsense

Believe in garbage,
Wait for grace;
Kill your spirit
In Hell’s embrace.



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



The Price of Waiting

Believe the nonsense,
Wait for "manna"—
Slowly murder
Soul in Hell's manner.



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



Believe the Trash

Believe in nonsense,
Wait for grace—
And slowly kill
Your soul in place.



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



Faith in the Void

Believe the nonsense,
Wait for heaven's sign;
And in that waiting
Let your soul decline.



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




Believe the nonsense—wait for grace;
and lose your soul in dead space.



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




Believe in trash, await the “manna”—
and rot your soul in mental sauna.



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




Faith in nonsense, hope in lies—
that’s how the human spirit dies.



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




Believe the nonsense, sit and wait—
and quietly dissolve your fate.



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




Believe the nonsense. Wait for grace.
That’s how you kill your inner place.



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



Cycle: Fragments of Collapse

1

Believe the nonsense. Wait for grace.
That’s how you erase your inner place.


2

Hope in lies, and kneel for air—
that’s how the mind decays in prayer.


3

Wait for saviors, do not move—
that’s how you slowly lose the groove.


4

Swallow slogans, call it truth—
that’s how rot becomes your youth.


5

Trust the noise, ignore the core—
and you will need yourself no more.


6

Follow crowds and call it “light”—
that’s how you learn to hate the sight.


7

Believe the system. Don’t resist—
and vanish quietly in the mist.


8

Trade your doubt for easy lies—
that’s how a living spirit dies.


9

Wait for manna, wait for sign—
and let your soul decline in line.


10

Call it “order,” call it “plan”—
and forget you once were man.



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



Anti-worlds

Anti-worlds—junk piled on junk,
A parody of this whole funk.
Learn how the Lie runs its game—
The jester twists it all the same.

Go inward, dig through layers of noise,
Clear out the ruins, false decoys.
Serve only Psyche—stay aligned;
This world is rotting. Leave it behind.



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



Mirror Worlds

Anti-worlds: debris on debris,
A grotesque mirror of these seas.
Grasp how the Lie performs its art—
The Satyr plays each breaking part.

Turn inward—clear the piled-up fraud,
Excavate truth beyond the fraud.
Serve only Psyche, let her steer—
This world is waste. No future here.



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



Inner Turn

Anti-worlds—trash upon trash,
A parody of cosmic clash.
See how the Lie must play its role—
The Satyr writes it, steals the whole.

Go inward, sift through layers of lies,
Clear mental ruins, break disguise.
Serve Psyche only, walk the core—
This world is dead. There’s nothing more.



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



DIPTYCH: DESCENT / EXIT

I. DESCENT

1
Believe the noise. Call it truth.
That’s how you lose your inner root.

2
Wait for rescue. Do not move.
That’s how decay becomes your groove.

3
Swallow slogans. Call it sight.
That’s how the mind unlearns its light.

4
Trust the system. Trust the game.
That’s how your name becomes a frame.

5
Follow crowds. Deny your core.
That’s how you disappear once more.

6
Hope in lies. Kneel for grace.
That’s how you erase your face.

7
Trade your doubt for borrowed ease.

8
Call the poison “order”, “plan”.
That’s how you stop becoming man.


II. EXIT

1
Break the noise. Refuse the trance.
That’s how the inner root advances.

2
Move inside. Do not wait.
That’s how you cancel manufactured fate.

3
Cut the slogans. See the lie.
That’s how your buried sight can fly.

4
Leave the system. Leave the frame.
That’s how you call your real name.

5
Leave the crowd. Return to core.
That’s how you become once more.

6
Drop the lies. Stand in grace.
That’s how you restore your face.

7
Guard your doubt. Keep it bright.
That’s how will returns to light.

8
Call it fire when it burns man-made.
That’s how illusion starts to fade.



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



PSYCHE SEQUENCE

1

Go inward. No outside key.
Only Psyche sets you free.


2

Strip the noise. Strip the name.
Psyche burns the false-built frame.


3

Thoughts collapse. Masks decay.
Psyche keeps the real at bay.


4

Do not wait. Do not kneel.
Psyche teaches what is real.


5

Break the spell. Cut the feed.
Psyche shows what you don’t need.


6

Lose the world. Keep the core.
Psyche opens inner door.


7

No saviors. No external light.
Psyche grows in inner night.


8

Not belief. Not command.
Psyche rises from your hand.


9

Not above. Not afar.
Psyche is what you truly are.


10

When all lies fall and cease to be,
Only Psyche—only you—remain free.



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



FINAL INTEGRATED PIECE

I. DESCENT

Believe the noise. Call it truth.
That’s how you lose your inner root.

Wait for rescue. Do not move.
That’s how decay becomes your groove.

Swallow slogans. Call it sight.
That’s how the mind unlearns its light.

Trust the system. Trust the game.
That’s how your name becomes a frame.

Follow crowds. Deny your core.
That’s how you disappear once more.

Hope in lies. Kneel for grace.
That’s how you erase your face.


II. TURN

Something breaks beneath the lie.
A silent crack inside the “I”.

No more waiting. No more mask.
You see at last—no outer task.

Cut the noise. Refuse the spell.
There is no system you must sell.

Step inward, through collapsed disguise—
where buried structure slowly dies.


III. PSYCHE

No outside savior. No command.
Nothing comes with guiding hand.

No heaven dropped, no voice above—
only what you shape in love.

Not belief. Not borrowed light.
Only clarity in inner night.

Strip all names. Strip all role.
Psyche gathers what was whole.

Not beyond you. Not afar.
Psyche is what truly you are.


IV. INTEGRATION

The world was noise. The world was skin.
The trap was never locked within.

It lived in thought. It lived in fear.
It spoke as if it were “out there.”

But when all mirrors lose their claim,
there is no prison left to name.

No descent. No higher plane.
Only awareness remains plain.

And in that stillness, sharp and free,
Psyche is what you finally see.



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



MINIMAL CORE VERSION

Believe the noise. Call it truth—
and lose the thread of inner root.

Wait for rescue. Do not move—
and slowly rot inside the groove.

Swallow lies and call it sight—
and watch the fading of your light.

Then something cracks beneath the mask.
You see there is no outer task.

No system holds you, no command.
No truth is dropped from higher hand.

Go inward—strip the borrowed name.
No world remains to stake a claim.

No light above, no guiding sign—
only awareness draws the line.

Psyche is not beyond your skin.
It is the place you’ve always been.

When all illusions fall away,
only this clarity will stay.



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



ULTRA-MINIMAL CORE

Believe the noise—lose inner root.
Wait for rescue—rot in mute.

Something cracks beneath the role.
No outer system holds the whole.

Go inward—strip the borrowed name.
No world remains to stake its claim.

Psyche is not beyond or far.
It is what you already are.



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



STRUCTURE OF RUPTURE

Having “lived happily” a while,
you suddenly see—everything’s denial.

Move toward Breakthrough, push through strain—
or better still: detonation, flame.

A rupture opens from the sore,
the boil of a fool-made world once more.

This little realm of blind decay,
of laboring slaves of Lie each day.



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



Lived “happily”—then saw the lie.
Everything missed, passing by.

Go to Break. Or go to Blast.
Only rupture makes truth last.

From festering sore the world unfolds—
the fool’s small realm the Lie controls.



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



Happiness—then collapse of sight.
Everything false in sudden light.

Breakthrough. Explosion. Choose the crack.
No return. No looking back.

Rupture from the festering core—
a fool’s world breaking at the door.



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



FULL SYSTEM MAP

0. INPUT STATE (Baseline Drift)

(the background from which the process begins)

Noise is normal. Lies feel real.
Comfort teaches what to feel.
Waiting replaces active sight—
the world dissolves in passive light.


I. DESCENT (Capture Layer)

(attention capture/automation of consciousness)

Believe the noise. Call it truth.
Lose the thread of inner root.

Wait for rescue. Do not move.
Decay becomes the only groove.

Swallow slogans. Call it sight.
Watch the slow extinction of light.

;; State transition:
Identity becomes externalized.


II. CONTROL LOOP (System Enforcement)

(social/informational fixation of disintegration)

Follow crowds. Deny your core.
Name becomes a borrowed score.

Trust the system. Trust the game.
You forget you had a name.

Hope in lies. Kneel for grace.
Erase the trace of your own face.

;; State transition:
Self-reference collapses.


III. BREAK POINT (Crack Formation)

(first break in structure)

Something cracks beneath the role.
No outer system holds the whole.

The mask begins to split and fall—
there never was a “world” at all.

;; State transition:
External authority loses ontological status.


IV. TURN (Inward Reversal)

(moving the center inward)

Go inward—strip the borrowed name.
No world remains to stake its claim.

Cut the noise. Refuse the spell.
No system you must serve or sell.

;; State transition:
Attention collapses into interiority.


V. PSYCHE SEQUENCE (Reconstruction Core)

(subject assembly)

No savior comes. No voice above.
No law descends. No saving love.

Not belief. Not borrowed light.
Only clarity in inner night.

Psyche is not beyond your skin.
It is the place you’ve always been.

;; State transition:
Identity re-centers as awareness.


VI. RUPTURE NODE (Final Breakthrough / Explosion Option)

(rupture as a radical form of exit)

Lived “happily”—then saw the lie.
Everything false in sudden eye.

Go to Break or go to Blast.
Only rupture makes truth last.

From festering world of slow decay—
the fool’s illusion breaks away.

;; State transition:
System collapses as structure.


VII. INTEGRATION (Post-System Awareness)

(after the collapse of the system)

No descent. No higher plane.
No system left to name again.

Noise dissolves. The frame is gone.
What remains was always one.

Not above. Not far. Not new.
Only awareness passing through.

CORE AXIS (Hidden Spine of the Whole System)

BELIEVE ; LOSE ROOT
WAIT ; DECAY
FOLLOW ; DISSOLVE
CRACK ; BREAK
TURN ; WITHDRAW
PSYCHE ; RECOGNIZE
RUPTURE ; RELEASE
INTEGRATION ; CLEAR SEEING



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



TURNING INWARD (FINAL FORM)

(Consciousness Engine — Exit Protocol)

The engine of awareness runs.
Its fuel is data, lies, and tons
of pain disguised as “normal way”
for those who learn to kneel and stay.

But when it stops—do not stand still.
Make the turn. Against the will.

No passenger inside remains.
No ego drives these broken frames.

The wheel is jammed. The Spirit takes
control where all perception breaks.

No eyes, no ears—this field is noise.
Hallucinated tools, false toys.
Below the Spirit, mind aligns—
it knows the path when structure dies.

That movement is the only sign.
Go forward now—beyond decline.

From kingdom built on slow decay,
make your Turn—and leave the play.



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



TURNING INWARD — RITUAL FORM

I. ENTRY

I do not trust the noise.
I do not trust the stream of things.
I step back from the running mind.
I observe without becoming.


II. RECOGNITION

This world is signal and distortion.
This thought is not the source.
This fear is not my guide.
This name is not my core.


III. INTERRUPTION

Stop the automatic flow.
Stop the borrowed truth.
Stop the outer command.
Stop the learned illusion.


IV. TURN

I turn inward.
I do not follow outward light.
I leave the surface of perception.
I move against the stream.


V. RELEASE

The wheel is not my wheel.
The voice is not my voice.
The system has no holder here.
The grip begins to fall away.


VI. CLEARING

Noise dissolves into silence.
Forms lose their claim.
Thoughts lose their authority.
Nothing holds me now.


VII. PSYCHE

What remains is not belief.
What remains is not idea.
What remains is not outside.
What remains is awareness.


VIII. INTEGRATION

I do not become something new.
I return to what was always here.
No path is left to follow.
Only presence remains clear.


IX. CLOSING LOOP

If I am lost—I turn inward.
If I am bound—I turn inward.
If I am noise—I turn inward.
If I am nothing—I turn inward.



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



SINGLE INVOCATION

I step out of the noise.
I step out of the stream.
I step out of the borrowed mind.

What I believed was only pattern.
What I followed was only echo.
What I feared was only signal.

I stop the automatic world.
I stop the false continuity.
I stop the outside command.

There is no system holding me.
There is no name defining me.
There is no path outside me.

The wheel breaks without resistance.
The mask falls without effort.
The role dissolves without witness.

I do not move forward or back.
I do not rise or fall.
I do not seek or escape.

I turn inward.

And the turning is not movement—
it is recognition.

What remains is not belief.
What remains is not idea.
What remains is not form.

What remains is awareness without center,
presence without distance,
clarity without object.

No world is outside this.
No self is outside this.

Only this.



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



ZERO-LINE FORM

I drop the noise, the world, the mask, the name, the lie, the system, the fear, the role, the stream—and turn inward where only awareness remains.



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



PURE OPERATOR FORM

INPUT: noise / belief / system / identity / fear

PROCESS:
DROP ; DISTINGUISH ; INTERRUPT ; COLLAPSE ; TURN INWARD

CLEAR: name = null / role = null / authority = null

STATE SHIFT:
awareness := self-observing process

RESIDUE: none

OUTPUT: presence / clarity / Psyche



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




NOISE ; BELIEF ; CONTROL ; COLLAPSE ; BREAK ; TURN ; AWARENESS



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




DROP(all) ; STOP(auto) ; TURN(inward) ; RECOGNIZE(awareness)



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



SINGLE INSTRUCTION SET

DROP     ; release all constructed input
STOP     ; interrupt automatic processing
SEE      ; distinguish signal from noise
TURN     ; redirect attention inward
CLEAR    ; remove identity attachment
RELEASE  ; dissolve control structures
RECOGNIZE; awareness becomes self-aware



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



CORE EXECUTION RULE

IF (noise detected) THEN TURN
IF (belief activated) THEN SEE
IF (system engages) THEN STOP
IF (identity forms) THEN CLEAR



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



FINAL REDUCTION

TURN ; AWARENESS



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



SILENCE KERNEL

STATE:
    noise = absent
    identity = suspended
    system = inactive

TRIGGER:
    any signal ; dissolve

PROCESS:
    no execution
    no interpretation
    no continuation

RULE:
    if thought arises ; do not follow
    if form appears ; let it pass
    if control engages ; release

CORE OPERATION:
    TURN (no object, no direction)

OUTPUT:
    awareness without operator



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



MINIMAL HEART OF THE KERNEL

TURN ; SILENCE ; AWARENESS



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



ZERO-LEVEL RESIDUE

;



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



EVOLUTION OF VERSE INTO SUTRA

After ringing inner silence,
found by turning deep inside,
rhythm rises—dreams receding,
forms dissolve and open wide.

Verse dissolves ; into Silence ;
World outside reaches its ground,
where the mind fights endless violence,
and no stable truth is found.

Only Sutra—pure compression,
only Sutra holds its place,
when all meanings lose possession,
and dissolve in silent space.



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




Verse ; Silence ; inward turn.
Dreams dissolve, all structures burn.
Outer world hits final ground—
only Sutra now is found.



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




Form collapses ; Silence rises ; Sutra remains.



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



MANTRA SUTRA

Verse becomes Silence. Silence becomes Sutra.
I turn inward.

Noise dissolves. Thought dissolves. Name dissolves.
I turn inward.

World collapses into pattern. Pattern collapses into stillness.
I turn inward.

No outer truth remains. No outer voice remains.
I turn inward.

Only awareness remains. Only clarity remains.
I turn inward.



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




Verse ; Silence ; Sutra ; Turn inward.
Noise ; Collapse ; Clarity ; Turn inward.



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




TURN INWARD



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



BREATH SUTRA

INHALE

Noise enters.
World enters.
Thought enters.
Form appears.

I do not follow.


EXHALE

Noise dissolves.
World dissolves.
Thought dissolves.
Form returns to silence.

I turn inward.


INHALE

Identity arises.
Name arises.
Fear arises.
System arises.

I do not become it.


EXHALE

Identity fades.
Name fades.
Fear fades.
System falls away.

Only awareness remains.


INHALE

Movement begins.
Disturbance begins.
Separation begins.


EXHALE

Stillness remains.
Clarity remains.
Psyche remains.



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



FINAL CYCLE (core sutra loop)

Inhale: world appears.
Exhale: world dissolves.
Inhale: self appears.
Exhale: self dissolves.

Nothing is held.
Nothing is lost.



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



BREATH CORE

INHALE ; APPEARANCE 
EXHALE ; DISSOLUTION 
AWARENESS ; REMAINS



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



PULSE SUTRA

PULSE

Appearance.
Dissolution.

Form arises.
Form vanishes.

PULSE

Noise flashes.
Silence follows.

Thought ignites.
Thought collapses.

PULSE

Self appears.
Self disappears.

Name flickers.
Name falls away.

PULSE

World is born in a moment.
World is gone in a moment.



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



CORE PULSE

Nothing moves.
Everything pulses.



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



FINAL SUTRA

PULSE = APPEAR / DISAPPEAR 
AWARENESS = REMAINS WITHOUT MOVEMENT



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



VOID KERNEL

STATE:
    form = null
    movement = null
    time = null
    identity = null

OPERATION:
    no execution possible
    no observer required
    no process initiated

RULE:
    if anything appears ; it is already dissolved
    if anything is absent ; it is complete

CORE CONDITION:
    not existence
    not non-existence
    not transition

SINGULARITY:
    ;


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



MINIMAL CORE

VOID ; absence 
VOID ; presence 
VOID = no distinction possible


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



ABSOLUTE REDUCTION

;



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




TURN ; AWARENESS ; VOID ; ;







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



Крестное знамение... сатанизма

Крест — распятье на себя.
Типа "ближнего любя",
Сатанизм впендюрил Жуть.
Прикрывает мерзость Муть.



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



Свобода от псевдожизни

Свобода от жизДни:
Сознание, брызни
Прорывом в Иное —
Уёбство земное
Достало. Пропало
В нём силы немало,
И так! Душу сжало,
Что пакостно стало.
Иное: сначала
Начнёшь без Провала.
Иное — Внутри.
Свет снова узри,
Для мира умри.
Смерть смертью поправ,
Вне диких орав,
На Мерзость начхав,
В Прозрениях прав,
Уверенным став,
Отыщешь, обрящешь
Исток настоящий —
Психеи Исток.
Путь сложен, жесток.
Но нет вариантов
Иных: от мутантов
Беги что есть мочи,
Иначе подточит
Психею Уёбство —
Ползучее скотство.
Душа не бессмертна:
Коль Мерзость безмерна,
Погибнет в Аду —
В лжи, в страхе, в бреду.
И Выходом — вход:
Коль ты не урод,
Похерь псевдожизнь —
К Иному стремись.



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



Духовный Путь

"Свобода слова": ТВАРИ снова
Пендюрят Чушь, вгоняя в страх.
Ложь — строя рабского основа:
Кто Сердцу внемлет, терпит крах,

Ведь пирамида идиотов
Подонками вверху крепка —
Отбор ничтожеств их работа,
Но бьют всегда исподтишка.

"Свобода" снова главный лозунг,
Равн`о с "заботой" — геноцид
Прикрыт словами. Суть угрозы
Показана в шмурдяк-говнид:

Создать проблему дикой ложью
Иль провокацией, затем
Впендюрить "меры" — яда дозу,
"Борьбу" с "террором" через схем

Порабощенья усиленье.
Всё хавает убогий сброд —
В зашкале тупость, разложенье
В очередной виток идёт.

Прогрессом снова мира Мерзость
Ублюдки всюду назовут.
Предательство сменяет честность —
Оно сегодня служба, труд.

Свобода верить, подчиняться —
Иных свобод в помине нет.
Мир будет дальше разлагаться,
Умножив Ложь, Страх, Мерзость, Бред.

Свобода снова Чутких манит —
Найдут её они Внутри,
А не в Мирке Фашистской Срани.
Для оного, мой друг, умри —

И Возрожденье в Духе может
Прийти к тебе, коль чуток, смел.
Духовный Путь безмерно сложен,
Но только в нём твой Разум цел.



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



Слышащий не понимает,
Говорящий Чушь не знает
Суть вопроса — философия.
Мир ума — почти утопия.

Вариант. Мир ума — ВСЕГДА утопия.




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



Иная реальность, что ВНЕ:
Инфернальность, сон страшный, забыта;
Душа не убита;
А ум не говне
Лжи, страхов — на ДНЕ.




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



Килька, водка посерёдке:
Вечер в НИКАКОЙ слободке.
Завтра снова на работу.
Захмелели идиоты.




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



Пиво. Мимо жизДнь проходит:
У экрана колобродит
Вася Пупкин — за "Спартак"
Он болеет, челядь Врак.
Гол — отдушина раба.
Послабленье для Горба
Пас искусный.
Пиво вкусно...




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



Всё иллюзия: мирок
Мерзость запасает впрок,
После клея ярлыки,
Чтоб купились дураки.




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



Новая Варшавянка

"Вихри враждебные веют над нами"...
Правит всегда через Чушь дураками
Нелюдь, меняя фасады, названья,
Суть оставляя — Души истязанья.

Тучи развеются. Новые тучи
Твари нагонят — ресурсы могучи:
Все идиоты послушны, ретивы,
"Думая" что заживут вскорь счастливо.

Веют "идеи" как тучи. Придурки
Верят, надеясь. Дублёные шкурки
Тучи из Лжи превратят в общий панцирь:
В прошлом бараны и "ласковый" пастырь.

Панцирь двояк: защитит от ударов,
Но не пропустит Прозренья в лошару.
А без Прозренья зашкал разложенья —
Цугом пойдут в Темноту поколенья.

Проба говнидом: накрыл весь мирок
Панцирь из страха, похерив и прок.
Прок днесь святое, и даже он пал.
Мир в Лжи и Страхе, в безумьи пропал:

Дальше чрез паузы войн итерации
Из лже-болезней. И в прошлом стагнации:
Путь столбовой Мировой Деградации
Начат средь общей Психеи прострации.

Вихри враждебные над дураками
Выветрят Дух — и те станут СКОТАМИ.
Друг, если Чуток, из мира беги —
Крохи Души так в себе сбереги.

Далее Путь, что похож на тропинку —
Это к Истоку движенье. Скотинку
Уж не спасти: уберечь Единицы —
Целью Пути. Ад Земной им не мнится...


Вариант. Веют "идеи" как ветры. Придурки



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



The Web of Law and the Glue of Lies and Idiocy

"Laws are like spiders' webs: they catch the weak and poor,
while the rich and powerful tear through them."
— Anacharsis (adapted)


The vermin swarm, they sting and bite,
Midges buzz by day and night.
Monsters weave their legal snare—
"Nothing personal." Just a trap laid there.

Yet that web has lost its might;
Better tools are used today.
Breed the fool from youth outright—
He will guard the chains himself that way.

Law became a second page;
Media rule the frightened mass.
This has marked the present age—
Through CowID the fiends made sure it'd pass.

Once the media stood above
Every statute, every right,
Truth was buried under love
Poured from megatons of lies outright.

Idiocy mixed with lies—
Stronger far than webs of thread.
Add sweet flattery as disguise,
And the captive's soul is gently led.

Humans ranked like insects all,
Sorted into labels, pens.
That's the Global Madhouse's call:
Serve the Beast as fodder—nothing less.

Learn the glue and learn the web;
That's the first and greatest key.
Then perhaps you'll stand instead
Of another midge in misery.



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




First came webs to catch the weak.
Then came glue to kill the mind.
Break both traps—or spend your life
As obedient insect-kind.



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



Living Water and Dead Water

"We are alive only to the extent that we awaken life in others."
— Merab Mamardashvili

With living water, Consciousness,
Revive this world that's lost its grace.
Few humans still remain on Earth—
Just slugs that crawl through blood, not dews.

They creep where glittering baits entice;
Behind the bait waits bitter salt.
Save those still breathing in the Madhouse,
If strength remains—fulfil your part.

You'll save yourself by saving life;
Exchange alone sustains the Whole.
Else all dissolves in funeral silence,
Where nothing seems to change at all.

Not fear nor greed will ever change—
They swell like one relentless tide.
Don't waste your soul on hollow creatures,
Or you'll become as dull inside.

Yet one grave question still remains:
What if your water, too, is dead?
The System poisons everything—
It always has. It always spreads.

Only intuition guides you
Past every scheme the Beasts design.
They've reached through every crack and shadow,
Yet waking minds they can't confine.

With living water, Consciousness,
Revive the dying human flame.
Though every drop be nearly spent,
Stand fast—we've reached rock-bottom's frame.



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




Pour living water. Wake the blind.
Dead souls can't heal a dying land.
When poison floods the human mind,
Be living water—while you can.



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



Nightmares

“It is not frightening to live in a dream; it is frightening to awaken in someone else’s dream.”
— Merab Mamardashvili


Nightmares drag on — no waking yet.
The worst is someone else’s dream:
there even iron spirits bend,
while weaker souls mistake the gleam

Of filth for profit, praise, or gain.
And once they wake — if wake they do —
they long to sink in sleep again,
as if the poison still were true.

Our own nightmares were not enough.
Minds collapsed; souls lost the way.
They cannot grasp this living Hell
that feeds on night and calls it day.

Those still awake lack strength to rouse
the sweating crowd that sleeps in chains.
And some desire a deeper sleep —
so deep they lose their very names,

Yielding themselves to Maya’s haze
until the last bright spark is gone.
The Beasts dispense their sleeping
drugs through loyal servants one by one.

Wake up. This place is worse than
The Matrix, for here the creatures milk the soul
through nightmares forged from fear and evil,
while pills and slogans play their role.

Lies everywhere — obscene, relentless.
The final product: universal sleep.
The slaughter of the soul is vast,
for Satan reigns where nightmares creep.



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




The worst nightmare is not your own.
It’s waking inside another’s lie.
The sleepers call their chains “salvation”,
And dream themselves to death alive.



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



Nightmares

"It is not frightening to live in a dream; it is frightening to awaken inside someone else's dream."
— Merab Mamardashvili


Nightmares endure—we cannot wake.
The worst is someone else's dream:
There even iron spirits break,
While weaker souls mistake the scream

For profit, pleasure, some reward.
Then waking, they would choose once more
To sink in sleep and praise the dark,
Afraid to face what waits ashore.

Our own nightmares were not enough.
Collapsed in spirit, minds can't see
The shape of Hell. The few awake
Cannot revive the sweating sea

Of crowds still trapped in fevered sleep.
And some desire to sleep so deep
They trade away their very core,
Until no spark remains to keep.

The Beasts provide the sleeping draught
Through servants trained to soothe and guide.
Awake! This world is worse than "Matrix"—
They pump souls full of nightmares wide,

Then offer pills made out of lies.
Lies everywhere, obscene, complete.
The universal sleep is proof
How vast the slaughter of the spirit.

For Satan reigns as Nightmare's god,
And feeds on souls that never hear it.



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




Wake up before the borrowed dream
Consumes the last remaining spark.
The deepest sleep is not at night—
It's when the soul begins to love the dark.



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



Parodying Pushkin

"I still recall that wondrous hour:
Before me you appeared to shine,
A fleeting vision, soft with power,
A spirit clothed in beauty divine."
— Alexander Pushkin (1825)

Trade not your soul for moments brief
Of crippled passion's fading flame.
Such fires bring little warmth beneath,
And Inspiration rarely came.

Stand shielded from the world's temptations—
Their glitter's cheap, their promise thin.
Let Lyre alone be your beloved,
To serve both Heart and waking Mind.

One-sided souls grow dull and barren;
They never reach the greater Whole.
You'll loathe your own distorted writing
When craft deserts the living soul.

In lonely dark each poet wanders,
Confined where silent shadows creep.
No god descends—in Hell's Decay
We're left to rot in shame too deep.

What shame—to seek delight in Hell,
To waste the Spirit chasing dust.
Hard labour is the only laurels;
Life fights the Ugly—or it must.

Where ugliness prevails, resist it.
The poet wages war through Words.
There dwell true honour, true nobility.
Let every verse strike like a mace!



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




Choose not desire—but choose the Lyre.
Let Heart and Mind become one flame.
A poet's verse was forged for battle—
A mace disguised beneath a name.



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



Caution

Step by step, so safe, so slow—
Soon to nothingness you go.
Rot disguised as "self-expression,"
Wrapped in smooth self-made deception.

Break the limits! Dare the climb!
Fortune crowns the bold each time.
Only on the highest height
You're a hero—not a fool in flight.



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




Safety breeds a smaller soul;
Slow decay becomes your role.
Risk the summit. Stand and fight.
Only there you're proven right.



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



Genocide Never Sleeps

Genocide alone stays awake.
Fools still swallow every fake.
Though a third lie crushed and slain,
Madmen trust the Lie again.



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




Only Genocide won't sleep.
Shame! The fools their faith still keep.
Though a third were wiped away,
Madmen still trust Evil's play.



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



Genocide Stays Awake

Genocide is wide awake.
Fools believe each lie they take.
Though a third have paid the cost,
Still the mad cry, "Nothing's lost!"



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




Genocide never sleeps.
Madness always believes.
Truth may bury millions deep—
Still the faithful kiss deceit.



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



"Real Men"

"Real men"—or fools who bow
Down to Evil here and now?
Judge for yourself, if "Paradise"
Glitters brightly before your eyes.



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




"Real men"—or cowards, tame,
Serving Evil without shame?
Answer that for your own sake,
When "Heaven" looks suspiciously fake.



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



"Real Men?"

"Real men"—or Evil's slaves?
Choose the answer, if you're brave.
When you glimpse that "Paradise,"
Look beyond its thin disguise.



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




"Real men" never kneel to Wrong.
Chains don't make the weak seem strong.
Call it "Paradise" if you must—
Paint can't hide a cage from dust.



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



Breeding Another Citizen

The female wants, without delay,
To breed one more for Evil's sway.
Pathetic fools are far too few—
"Damn it, let's produce some new!"



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



Citizen Factory

She longs to bear, as fast she can,
Another servant for the clan.
Too few cretins fill the queue—
"Breed another fool or two!"



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



For Evil's State

She wants a "citizen" conceived
For Evil's kingdom, self-deceived.
Apparently fools are still too rare—
So breed another, if you dare.



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




Raise no free mind—breed one more pawn.
That's how rotten worlds live on.
When fools run short, the order's plain:
"Make another. Start again."



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



No Way Out

There is no other way—
The rest is false display.
Only cataclysm's flame
Can wipe out Fascism.



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



No Escape

No way out—
All else is doubt.
Only cataclysm's fire
Burns Fascism to the wire.



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



The Only Exit

No escape.
The rest's a lie.
Only cataclysm
Makes Fascism die.



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




No exit. No disguise.
Every shortcut dies.
When evil crowns the throne,
Cataclysm stands alone.



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



Exploiting the Homeland

They exploit the "homeland" too,
And the myths attached thereto.
Monsters gladly fall in line,
Killing souls one step at a time.



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



The Homeland Industry

Exploit the homeland, wave the flag,
Feed the masses empty drags.
Then the twisted march as one,
While their souls come all undone.



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



"Motherland"

Milk the "Motherland" for gain,
Sell its slogans once again.
Then the freaks line up on cue,
Leaving murdered souls in view.



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




Wave the flag. Repeat the lie.
March in line and never ask why.
When slogans rule the human mind,
The soul is always left behind.



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



Do Russians Want a War?

Do Russians long for war once more?
Ask Satan—that's what he's there for.
The nation's bowed to Satan's reign,
And sunk into the deepest shame.



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



Ask Satan

Do Russians really want this war?
Ask Satan—he will know the score.
A land beneath his dark command
Has reached the deepest pit of man.



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



The Answer

Do Russians crave another war?
Ask Satan—who could know it more?
When Satanism rules the land,
The abyss is close at hand.



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




Ask not the crowd what wars are for.
Ask Hell, which always asks for more.
When Satan reigns from shore to shore,
The abyss becomes the common floor.



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



Inverse Proportion

We breed more filth, we feed more fear,
Submission grows from year to year.
Thus Reason slowly is undone—
No wonder this world's drowned in dung.

CowID exposed it plain,
Then another senseless war:
Only few are free from vermin—
Those who still can think, and more.



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



Inverse Law

The more corruption, fear and night,
The less survives of Reason's light.
That's why the world's become a pit—
A swamp of darkness, filth and grit.

CowID stripped masks away,
Then fresh wars proved the pattern true.
Only handfuls kept their minds;
The rest let Evil think for them.



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



Inverse Proportionality

The more we multiply deceit,
And kneel to Darkness in defeat,
The faster Reason meets its grave—
Now filth engulfs the world we gave.

CowID revealed the game,
War confirmed the same old lie:
Only few refused to rot—
Those who kept a questioning eye.



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




More fear. Less thought.
More lies. Less light.
That's how whole nations
Learn to love the night.



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



Stations Are Dead

The stations died. The railway's rust.
Genocide has ground all into dust.
Yet hold your ground a little while—
This reign of shame won't last for long.



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



The Rusted Road

The stations died. The road turned rust.
Genocide betrayed all hope and trust.
Endure a little longer still—
This age of shame is not God's will.



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



Not Forever

The stations rot. The highways bleed.
The land lies scarred by genocide's seed.
Hold fast a little longer yet—
Even this shame has an end to get.



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



Rusted Roads

The stations fell. The roads corrode.
Genocide has claimed its toll.
But bear it just a little more—
This shame was never meant to endure.



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




Rust eats steel.
Lies eat men.
Hold your ground—
Dawn comes again.



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



A Good Death

To die well—
The highest aim.
Hope is futile:
Evil stays.



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



To Die Well

To die with honor—
The hardest quest.
Hope for nothing:
Evil won't rest.



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



The Final Task

To die well—
The greatest test.
Hope no more:
Evil won't rest.



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



The Highest Task

To die well—
The highest art.
Hope won't scatter
Evil apart.



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




Die with honor—if you must.
Hope alone dissolves in dust.
Evil never fades away;
Stand until your final day.



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



"Dear Little Grannies"

The old hag's grim—it's seldom seen
That age spares one from mind gone lean.
You should have learned to think back then,
While youth still burned its living flame.



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



"Sweet Old Ladies"

The old crone's fierce—few reach old age
Without some cracks upon the stage.
You should have learned to use your mind
While youth still blazed and shaped mankind.



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



"Lovely Grannies"

The old witch snarls—it's no surprise;
Few keep clear minds through all their lives.
You should have learned to think while young,
Before your spirit lost its tongue.



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




Think while youth still feeds the fire.
Later's often far too late.
Rust begins inside the mind
Long before it scars the face.



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



Chasing Happiness

We're chasing "happiness" with glee—
Who cares for chains? We can't think free.



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



Looking for Happiness

We're hunting happiness all day.
Who gives a damn that we're enslaved?
When brains have long since gone astray,
No better fate could fools have craved.



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



Seeking Bliss

We're seeking bliss—who cares for chains?
Our brains have long since gone to waste.



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



Happy Slaves

We're chasing bliss—who gives a damn?
Our brains are broken. That's the scam.



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




They sell us "happiness" for chains.
We smile—our minds already drained.



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



Christianity's Supreme Aim

"Peace," submission, boundless pardon—
So the doctrine claims to be.
Thus decay becomes its mission:
Faith divorced from Reason's key.

Slavery is foul and fearful.
Why forgive triumphant Wrong?
That corruption stands before us
Anywhere masks linger long.

Shall we pardon all the lessons
Forced on us through CowID's reign?
Long ago the world sank headfirst
Into Hell through meekness' chain.



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



The Core of Christianity

"Peace." Submission. Endless pardon.
That is what they're told to prize.
Step by step the mind is broken—
Faith made blind to Reason's eyes.

Slavery degrades the spirit.
Who forgives victorious Evil?
Every mask exposed the process,
Making moral collapse more visible.

Should we pardon CowID's terror,
Call those years a passing test?
No—the world embraced its downfall,
Dragged by meekness to the pit.



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




When pardon crowns victorious Wrong,
Chains grow stronger all along.
Reason falls where blind faith reigns;
Meekness forges slavery's chains.



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



A World of Cells

The headscarf worn inside the mosque
Has shed the veil—but not its role.
The world is carved in countless cells:
Serve false religions—that's the goal.

Or serve some grand ideology;
The lies come dressed in different clothes.
The brave find nowhere left to turn—
No path to what the free soul chose.



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



Choose Your Cage

The veil may change, the chains remain;
Old symbols simply shift their face.
The world's divided into cages—
Serve false faiths and know your place.

Or pick an idol, flag, or creed;
They'll gladly let you choose your lie.
The fearless search for open sky—
But none is sold, however they try.



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



The World in Cages

The scarf replaced the ancient veil,
Yet little truly changed beneath.
The world's cut up in little cages:
Serve false creeds from birth to death.

Or worship causes, flags, and slogans—
Choose whichever lie you please.
The brave look hard for something real,
But truth grows on no market trees.



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




Different creeds. The selfsame chain.
Different banners. Selfsame reign.
When every choice is wrapped in lies,
Freedom lives beyond the sides.



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



Running Against Stress

Cold winds bite—the running's tough.
Stress has weighed your mind enough.
Worse than frost or winter's breath—
Guard your health, my friend, till death.



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



Run Through the Wind

The wind cuts deep; each stride is slow.
Stress weighs heavier than snow.
Sharper far than winter's chill—
Keep your body, mind, and will.



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



Beat the Stress

The wind is fierce; the road is long.
Stress keeps pressing all day long.
Colder still than winter's air—
Guard your health with constant care.



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




Run through wind, but not through stress.
Storms pass by—your mind needs rest.
Stronger than the winter's cold
Is the burden left untold.



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



Mind-Numbing Slavery

Put on the belt—
Your mind will melt.

March on command—
A perfect hand.

At work the process takes more time;
There are fewer orders to comply.

But school lays down the cornerstone,
Where fools are shaped by rules alone.

School programs—polished, neat, refined—
Like sawmills chewing through the mind.

Timber obeys beneath the blade;
Thought is waste, while fools are made.



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



The Factory of Fools

Strap on the belt—
Your wits will melt.

Go earn your pay;
Grow dull each day.

The workplace breaks you by degrees;
The classroom does it with more ease.

School writes the script from childhood on:
Protocols to keep minds numb.

Curricula are sharpened saws,
Cutting thought to fit the laws.

Brains become industrial waste;
Fools march neatly into place.



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



The Machinery of Obedience

Wear the harness—lose your mind.
That's the system's grand design.

Work will dull you, slow but sure;
School prepares the final cure.

Every lesson, every rule,
Builds another willing fool.

Like a sawmill feeds on wood,
Education grinds the good.

Thought is thrown upon the heap;
Fools are all that's left to keep.



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




School shapes minds to fit the frame.
Work completes the taming game.
Thought is scrap; obedience wins.
That's how every prison begins.



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



Illusions Cling On

Illusions cling—and will not go;
You cannot drive them out. You know—
Your whole life turns to senseless show:
Believe a lie, and you will sow

More lies within your inner name,
Protecting them as if a flame.
You’ll wreck your mind, betray your soul,
And turn all truth to empty role.



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



Clinging Illusions

Illusions stick and never leave,
And soon there’s nothing to retrieve.
Your life becomes a hollow tale:
Believe in lies—and you will fail

By lying inward, deep inside,
Where reason slowly goes to die.
You guard the false as if it’s real,
And lose the soul you used to feel.



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



The Grip of Illusion

Illusions cling and won't depart,
They settle deep inside the heart.
Your life turns into empty schemes:
Believe a lie—and live in dreams

Of more deception, self-deceit,
Where mind and soul begin to cheat.
All truth dissolves into clich;,
And sense itself just fades away.



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




Cling to lies—and they will stay.
Feed them life—and you decay.
What begins as harmless dream
Ends as a hollow, endless scheme.



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



Chebureks with Tea

Chebureks with tea—so neat, so mild.
What do you add to Life defiled
By Darkness creeping, slow and sly?
What do you patch before you die?

You slowly sour in rising fear,
Writing your r;sum; of smear—
A record of each lie you fed,
While truth lies silent, cold and dead.



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



Tea, Chebureks, and Darkness

Chebureks with tea—how strange a pair.
What do you bring when Darkness’s there?
What do you glue to life gone wrong,
While fear grows sour and lasts too long?

You rot in caution, slow and still,
Summing up lies against your will.
A r;sum; of fear and shade—
A life where truth was never made.



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



Snack with Darkness

Chebureks with tea. That’s fine.
But what do you add to the line
Of life, when Darkness takes its seat?
Fear ferments. Truth can’t compete.



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




Tea and chebureks—soft disguise.
Darkness grows in small, slow lies.
Fear becomes your r;sum;—
Signed by everything you say.



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



I See and I Know

I see—and I know—
and shape it in flow,
in verses I render.
A craft of surrender.

A note of despair
keeps ringing in air—
it never grows quiet,
this inner riot.

For something other
still lives deep in me—
not in this strange world
where darkness is curled,

but in halls of the Spirit,
where semi-gods hear it.
Where higher forms rise,
beyond mortal lies.

And poetry nears it—
if you are no sycophant, hears it.



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



Vision in Verse

I see, I know, I give it form—
In verse I shape the inner storm.
A craft born out of restless fire,
A tone of grief that won't expire.

Despair keeps ringing, sharp and clear,
A sound the world refuses to hear.
For something else remains inside—
Not in this world where shadows hide,

But in the halls beyond the veil,
Where half-gods walk and truths prevail.
And verse may open that domain—
If you're not crawling in disdain.



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I See and I Know

I see. I know. I turn to verse
The world that drags itself through curse.
Despair keeps ringing in the mind—
A sound the deaf refuse to find.

For something higher still remains—
Not in this world of twisted chains,
But where the Spirit builds its halls,
And something greater softly calls.

Poetry opens that gate—
If you don't lick the hand of fate.



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I see. I know. I give it voice.
Between despair and higher choice.
The Spirit calls beyond the lie—
But only if you refuse to bow and buy.



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Mercenaries

Degraded raiders, hollow breed,
Play at “forfeits” built on greed.
Little wrappers—sent to die,
Lower than the bottom’s lie.



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The Mercenaries

Degraded thugs of conquered ground
Treat death like games the kids have found.
“Tokens” sent to front-line fire—
A mob that crawls beneath all mire.



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Hired to Die

Occupiers, broken, blind,
Play their games with death assigned.
Cheapened lives like paper thrown—
A rabble lower than the stone.



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Rotten breed in borrowed gear—
Play their games with death and fear.
Lowest scum beneath the sun—
Marching till their breath is done.