Всемирный Загон, The Worldwide Pen

Дни недели

Чёрная пятница,
Дни остальные:
Падать и пятиться,
Беды любые
В Тьме принимать,
Ждать и мечтать —
Ум добивать,
Душу корнать.




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Всемирный Загон

Суета и маета,
Что в Загоне для Скота,
Непременны неспроста:
В них исчезнут Доброта,
Честь и Совесть, также Ум —
Их заменят "бе!!!" и ХРУМ.




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Непотреба ширпотреба
И насущного Ад хлеба,
Иго Лжи "святого" Глеба,
Чуши лженауки треба:
Всюду клин, а первый блин
Задаёт шаблон — ком, сплин.




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Непокорность — стаду вздорность;
Противленье — иллюзорность:
Лишь бабло, "успех" победа.
Помещён в гнилую ср`еду —
Только "вздорность", "иллюзорность"
Путь через МАРАЗМ, ТЛЕТВОРНОСТЬ.




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Пипл

Своевольный —>
Подконтрольный —>
Подневольный...
Стыдно, больно...




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Глав-кот не ждёт —
Вперёд идёт.
А идиот-
Хозяин в рот
Воды набрал —
Под Ложью пал.




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Рабочая неделя и выходные

Понедельник — день тяжёлый:
Укрепленье Произвола
Продолжается неделю.
Выходные: бьют баклуши,
Чушью полоскают уши
И, поддавшись блуду-хмелю,
Постоянно ересь мелют,
Оскверняя Ум и Души.



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Рабочая неделя и выходные

Понедельник — день тяжёлый:
Укрепленье Произвола
Продолжается неделю.
Выходные: ересь мелют.



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Рабочая неделя и выходные

Понедельник — день тяжёлый:
Укрепленье Произвола
Продолжается неделю.
Бьют баклуши, ересь мелют
В выходные — воля хмелю.



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The Worldwide Pen

The Worldwide Pen is full of strife,
A frantic, frantic bovine life.
And not by chance this restless show
Erases all we used to know:

Kindness, Honor, Conscience, Mind —
All left behind, all pushed behind.
In their place, the cattle cry:
“Moo!!!” — then CHOMP! — and wonder why.



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The Top Cat Doesn’t Wait

The Top Cat won’t wait —
He moves straight on.
The idiot
Just shuts his mouth,
Swallows the lie —
And lets truth die.



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The Top Cat Moves On

The Top Cat won’t wait —
He marches ahead.
The idiot —
With tongue tied tight —
Has drunk the lie
And lost the fight.



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Global Warming

It’s hot — the Sun beats down with fire.
“Nothing wrong!” — says the fool, the liar.
Year by year the light burns brighter,
While the mass-media feed fools tighter:

“CO;! The cows are farting!
El Ni;o’s climate-war is starting!
Still, we can restrain the herd —
Cut their emissions, word by word.

Surely we can make them smaller;
We can kill them with a “fever” caller.
False-made illnesses do the trick —
Truth is buried, quick, quick, quick.

And to start a war? — Piece of piss!
Two fingers up, and there it is.
Of course, the wars that fill the graves
Are merely “legacies” of slaves.

They’ll “justify” whatever’s needed —
Credulity is sin conceded.
Forward, soldier, Marine, and crowd!
The empty braggart speaks aloud:

The New Camp will lead you all.
On a white flag, the Red Cross calls —
A final sign that marks completion
Of this dumb world’s decomposition.

Yet the Sun keeps singing still,
Burning onward, by its will,
Slowly, steadily, relentlessly,
Finishing fools who trust too blindly.

So the Camp may never rise,
Though verbal filth like endless flies
Pours upon the “people” — flooding,
Turning human herds to cattle, thudding.

But don’t be cattle — look within.
Find the faintest light you can begin.
The Light outside may help you see,
Crowning Lies and Fears’ decree.

Then the Lights may merge together —
A synergy beyond all weather.
Others melt and change their station;
Cattle face annihilation,
For when Degradation climbs too high,
Even fools have nowhere left to hide.

The World and Spirit fade to Source;
Earth resumes its ancient course.
And after some forgotten span,
It becomes a prison once again —

A prison, just as it was before.
Perhaps that is what Earth was for.



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Days of the Week

Black Friday comes,
The days that follow:
Retreat and fall,
And troubles swallow.
In Darkness wait,
Dream and endure —
Kill off the Mind,
And Soul obscure.



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Days of the Week

Black Friday first,
The rest are the same:
Backwards and down,
Through sorrow and shame.
Accept it in gloom,
Just wait and dream —
Destroy the Mind,
And strangle the Soul.



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Defiance Is Folly

To the herd, defiance is folly;
Resistance — mere illusion, wholly.
Only money, “success,” and gain
Are victories worth the pain.

Placed inside a rotten world,
You’ll hear the same old banners unfurled:
“Folly! Illusion!” — all the way
Through Madness, Rot, and Decay.



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The Trash of Mass Consumption

The trash of mass consumption,
The daily bread of Hell’s corruption,
The yoke of Lies, “holy” and bright,
And pseudo-science sold as right.

Everywhere — a wedge, a spin,
The first botched pancake sets the mold within.
One crooked start, one rotten plan —
And soon the madness rules the man.



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The People

Self-willed —
Then controlled —
Then enslaved...
Shamed, pained,
And depraved.



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The People

Free-willed —
Controlled —
Then enslaved...
Shame and pain —
A people chained.



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Submission and Indigestion

We’ll cook our porridge with anyone —
Submission’s almost the original sin.
The only path we dare not take
Is walking with the Bright and Awake.

Now we’re fed beneath “blue skies” —
Light itself makes us ill inside.
A brand-new sauce, a heap of drivel,
Total Lies poured on the table.

Most are “right” — from left to right,
Whichever way the herd takes flight.
Drive the rabble where you please —
“Bravo!” comes with perfect ease.

They’re waiting for the herd’s consent;
A “new” delusion is instantly meant
To be swallowed without a doubt —
Just change the label, serve it out.

We’ll cook our porridge, come what may,
And praise each “change” that comes our way.
Toward the New World Camp they go,
Led by media’s endless show.

They wait for cheers — the usual trance,
While fear itself begins to dance.
CowID, war — they showed us well
How fast the frightened herd can fall,
Beneath the level of its own disgrace.

We’ll cook the porridge, stuff our face,
Then drown the rest in vodka’s grace,
And start to hunt, as we have before,
For “HAP-piness” — and hope once more.

We keep on cooking, firmly trusting
That THEY will care for us — the “just.”
They pump out Lies like poisonous gas,
While the Digital Camp lets none pass.

Its “Zyklon” cloud sweeps through the crowd,
The defective heads are bent and bowed;
The weak are herded toward the slaughter,
Fed only Lies — and nothing better.

A grim tableau appears to those
Few non-idiots who still suppose
There might be something wrong with the scene.

But all the rabble chants: “Believe!”
Then opens wide the Camp’s front door —
And steps inside, as once before.




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Seeking “Happiness” in the Farmyard

“Happiness” — a brand of DUMBING-DOWN,
Generations seek it in slavery’s town;
They search for joy, but what they find
Is ROT — while Lies obscure the mind.

They hide the picture, dark and grim,
From credulous fools who worship them.
The non-idiots are few and small —
That’s why the Earth itself must fall.

Propaganda sinks its sting,
And rules the whole pen, everything.
Megatons of Lies, with Fear combined,
Beat the last remains of humankind.

Yet idiots dream, while slowly turning
Into USEFUL CATTLE, blindly yearning.
Only those who stand apart,
Who refuse the herd and guard the heart,

Have any chance to stay alive,
To keep their Spirit, to survive.
They must go inward, seek the Light,
Reject the Lies, reject the blight,

Reject the global chains of thought,
The madness that the herd has bought.
Dark days began with CowID;
Then war dragged cattle to the deepest degree.

But the Cataclysm may yet save
What idiocy has made a grave:
It will sweep away the plague
Of fascism and genocide’s rage.

To fail to see it takes a fool —
The Sun burns brighter by the rule.
And at the end, the vicious beasts
Will tighten propaganda’s leash.

The Farmyard’s pressure will increase,
Its methods sink from bad to worse.
The Lies grow bolder, meaner, colder —
While Fear lays heavier on every shoulder.

Seek the Light! Seek Reality!
Seek the hidden Road to the Source!
Leave behind the Farmyard’s haze,
Its darkness, madness, hollow maze.

The Source is distant — far beyond —
Yet only on that path respond
The Spirit and the Mind, not slain;
Their remnants rise and fight again.

The beasts and fiends descend to Hell.
The Spirit finds its Source as well.
The Earth, though scorched by fire and pain,
Will rise and breathe and live again —

And, at the final dawn of time,
Celebrate with Spirit’s triumph sublime.



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Workweek and Weekend

Monday — what a heavy day!
Arbitrary rule holds sway
And tightens its grip all week long.
Then weekends come: they loaf and lounge,
Let nonsense pour into their ears,
Get drunk on lust and foolish cheer,
And babble heresy till dawn,
Defiling Soul and Mind till both are gone.



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Workweek and Weekend

Monday — heavy, hard, and grim:
Tyranny grows stronger within.
All week long its chains prevail —
Weekend comes: they preach the tale.



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Workweek and Weekend

Monday — heavy, harsh, and drear:
Tyranny grows stronger here.
All week long its chains are sealed —
Weekend comes: they spew their creed.



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Workweek and Weekend

Monday — heavy, harsh, and hollow:
Tyranny grows strong to follow,
Strengthened through the working week.
Then they loaf and nonsense speak —
Weekend gives the drunkard’s will
Free rein to ramble, rave, and swill.



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Workweek and Weekend

Monday — heavy, hard, and grim:
Tyranny grows strong within.
All week long its power swells —
Weekend comes: they spin their tales,
Idle, drunk, and free to blunder,
Giving reason up to slumber.





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