Энтропия Духа, Entropy of the Spirit

"Блажен" в Неведеньи,
Блажь в лженауке —
Твоё наследие.
Достали, суки!..




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



Псевдожизнь

"Чудо" ШизДни впечатляет
Идиотов и ввергает
В пессимизм немногих Чутких —
Тошнотворно, мерзко, жутко...



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



Энтропия Духа

Нематерьяльная проблема
Увязла в чуши дней тупых.
Духовный Мир иль Чушь — дилемма
Для ОЧЕВИДНОСТИ слепых.
Не слеп — тогда мирок нелеп,
А Чушь его — дорога в склеп:
Склеп Разума, Души растленье.
Мирок — синоним РАЗЛОЖЕНЬЕ.



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



Скука без творчества: силы иссякли,
Новые сразу возникнуть не могут.
Черпать — проблема: все Музы размякли —
Пища для слабых, слепых и убогих.




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



3D копир

"Надо жить под копирку, чтобы в случае исчезновения иметь доказательства своего существования".
Станислав Ежи Лец.


Копировальный аппарат
Всегда настроен лишь на вал,
И примитивный агрегат
В мир однобокости попал.




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



Интроспекция, критичность —
И былая к чёрту личность:
Словно сбрасываешь кожу,
Не терпя уж больше РОЖИ.




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



3D Copier

"One ought to live by carbon copy,
So if one vanishes, there’s proof one wasn’t sloppy."
— Stanis;aw Jerzy Lec


The copier is set to print
One single mold, one rigid tint;
This crude machine, so flat and drear,
Has entered a one-sided sphere.



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



“Blessed” in Ignorance

“Blessed” in ignorance,
Madness dressed as science —
That’s your legacy.
Enough, you bastards — please!



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



“Blessed” in Ignorance

“Blessed” in ignorance,
Lies posing as science —
Your legacy!
You bastards — let me be!



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



To Grow the Beautiful

To grow the Beautiful takes endless toil;
Yet filth comes creeping, needs no care at all.
It clings to you, a poisonous soil,
A “normal” rot that will not leave or fall.

Not without awareness,
Not without defiance,
Not without rejection
Of Lies, of Fear, of Decay’s infection.



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



The Fool’s Main Bullet Points

Point One: stock the gut —
That’s the foremost thing to do.
Swear obedience — shut your mouth:
Point Two is waiting for you.

Point Three: believe in crap,
Though the brand-new crap may change —
Now it’s incense for the hapless,
Fear and Madness in exchange.

Point Four: call the Bottom
Home and Homeland, world and all.
They’ll keep lying on and on,
Mixing bullshit with the call.

Point Five: ignore the cracks,
Never notice what won’t fit.
They’ll shed blood for “Liberty” —
Call that freedom. Swallow it.

Point Six: repeat the “illnesses”
They invent and preach with care.
All these points reek like sewage,
Turning fools to lice out there.

Lice get crushed — and here comes marching
The New Digital Camp in sight:
Worldwide, sealed and impenetrable.
Honor all the points — await
HAPPINESS! with all your might.

For the loner, there’s a counterpoint:
Reject EVERYTHING.
Let the creatures lie forever;
Let their Cataclysm bring

Their own triumph — and destroy
Every louse along the way.
For the loners: Another World,
A Spiritual World — no one’s prey.

Follow Light that has no owner,
If it answers from within —
Inner Light through pitch-black darkness,
While the slave-world roars with din.

If your Mind and Honor, still unbroken,
Have survived the mad stampede,
Then preserve them through the chaos —
That is all the Light you need.



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



Introspection

Introspection, critical sight —
And the former self takes flight.
Like a snake that sheds its skin,
You cast off the face you’ve been.



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



Classical Literature

Dull chronicles of everyday life,
“Bright noble ideas,” and suchlike stuff:
Though lashing Lies and Darkness, pain and strife,
They offer little Soul-awakening enough.

Materialism — or “spirituality”
With fraud and creeds that crowds are taught to fear,
Denying Spirit’s own supremacy,
And preaching earthly — or some “higher” — sphere,

Some “Final Judgment,” some celestial court:
They forge the chains while freedom’s on their tongue.
And if you think in any other sort,
Out of their school you’re cast — and quickly flung.

A Spirit clothed in flesh, a fragile shell,
With Mind weighed down by nonsense, heavy freight,
By survival’s needs, by entropy as well,
Slowly degenerates within the darkened state.

Those “lessons” that it learns are lies as well.
To hell with Eastern dogmas, creeds and lore,
With isms — Chimeras dressed as truth to sell:
Awareness! Multiply it more and more!

But do not seek a “hundred-percent”
Recipe for Truth, some foolproof holy key.
Only introspection makes the Light apparent;
All else is what the creatures offer thee.

And rarely comes a simple, honest “No.”
You must proceed unaided, on your own —
Alone. What “classics” teach you how to go?
Yet poetry lets subtler flashes shine:

A glimpse of Being, Light, metaphysics —
Those moments where Reality breaks through,
Where serving Spirit is the highest business,
The only honor worth remaining true.

Unload the Mind of everything imposed,
And turn yourself into a single drive;
Become once more a whole, undivided Soul,
And see the world as one festering sore alive.

A festering sore leaves no room for Spirit.
Your Path to the Source is yours to find.
Advice may mark the road, but none can steer it:
Think. Foresee. Dare — and leave the rest behind!




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



The Critical Hero

I’ll write a little rhyme —
And serve the System’s crime.
A little “love” as well,
To make the passions swell.

That fever comes in handy
When things have reached the Bottom —
When wars are newly planned,
Or “plagues” sweep through the land.

The lyrical hero cries:
“Fall in! Obey! Arise!”
And thus supports the creed
Of Satanism and stupidity.

The lyrical hero marches
Straight through the fascist ranks,
Unblemished, proud and shining —
A beacon for the sheep.

He’ll enter history,
For schoolkids need a fool
Held up as an example
Of how to suffer cruel.

“Patience! Hard work! Endure!”
If they grind you into dust —
It’s all “for your own good,”
So trust the hero — trust!

The lyrical hero turns
Blood into festering slime —
Not only on the battlefield:
Madness is always in prime time.

It’s time to write a verse
And save at least a few —
The sensitive, the critical —
And point their sight at Evil too.

The Critical Hero
Will smash the Lies they hear:
The mass-media howling,
The “education” of fear;

The programs of “instruction,”
The schooling done through Sin —
All that “enlightenment”
That keeps the Darkness in.

Few readers will applaud him,
For most have long gone numb.
Then write into the void —
And strike the filthier drum.

The Critical Hero
Will stay himself, unbent,
While others enter the furnace —
A human stampede, all intent.

The brainless sheep accept
The rotten Order of Evil
And march toward the melting pot,
Their “heroes” serving as their fetters.

Fetters forged for critical thought,
Producing beast-like souls —
And most have sold their Nature
For lies that swallow whole.

In place of their own hide
They wear a tanned-out skin;
The evil mass-culture of beasts,
With its lyrical hero, leads them in.

Today the road turns sharply —
The final turn to the Camp.
The cattle march once more,
Still dreaming of their “happy” land.

Not knowing that the whole herd
Is marked to be consumed —
A prospect that delights
The creatures in command.

Critical Hero —
Go forth into the final fight!
By doing so, you’ll save your Soul
And carry it toward the Light.

To the Spiritual World
Your liberated Spirit goes;
And Earth will face its Cataclysm
For genocide and fascist woes.



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



Criticality and Introspection

Strive for Truth — and stand for it too,
Or rot in the mire till the rot swallows you.
But rummaging in Lies will never show the way:
To serve the Dark within is what such “searchers” pay.

Within is All. Outside — Total Deceit.
So multiply your efforts; never quit.
What lies beyond? The Spirit’s Source is there —
Yet all the lessons Hell can teach are empty air:

The lessons of submission, degradation,
Of minds decaying, Spirits’ stagnation.
Turn criticism toward Hell; turn Awareness inside:
Within alone the road to rescue lies.



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



Pseudo-Life

The “miracle” of this Crazy-Life
Leaves fools amazed — and sharpens strife;
It drives the few who still can feel
To pessimism, sick and real:

So nauseating, foul and grim —
A nightmare world that sickens them.



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



Boredom Without Creation

Boredom without creating — the old powers are gone,
And no brand-new forces can suddenly dawn.
To draw from the well is a troublesome chore:
The Muses have wilted — there’s nothing in store.

Just fodder for feeble, for blind and forlorn —
For those who feed on scraps and leave Truth still unborn.



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



Entropy of the Spirit

An immaterial problem, trapped
In senseless days, has lost its way.
The Spiritual World — or nonsense?
That’s what the blind call “clear as day.”

If you’re not blind, then this small world
Appears absurd, grotesque, inept;
Its nonsense is a road that leads
To Reason’s tomb — where Souls are swept.

The Mind decays, the Spirit rots;
The little world becomes a prison.
And all its “normal” common sense
Is just another name for DECAY.







Все стихи здесь: https://vykhovanets.yzz.me

Исполненные песни и озвученные стихи: https://my.mail.ru/list/flashscript/music/media