Игорь Выхованец, стихи 7101-7200

Игорь Выхованец, стихи: 7101-7200



Голый король и нагая чернь

"Стыд и честь — как платье: чем больше потрёпаны, тем беспечнее к ним относишься".
Луций Апулей, II-ый век н.э.


Ах, голый король!
Сравнялась с ним голь:
Стыд, Совесть и Честь
Истрёпаны в хлам —
Подобны скотам.
На этом сказ весь —
Сожгут ВНОВЬ Бедлам:
Спасай Душу сам!..




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Factory forging: fools in the press!
Dummies are ready—Chief Devil’s impressed.



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Assholes and masons

Masons plot? That’s just illusion —
We "elect" our kings in play.
Fools believe in grand delusions —
Masons love it all the way.



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Trusting lies,
Dreaming bread,
Kills the soul
In Hell’s dread.



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Hitler was nurtured—his path was clear.
What was his sentence for rebel cheer?
Five short years!

Served just nine months, then walked out free.
Treason means death—but they still believe
"He rose alone!"



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A clown in power?
No—inhuman!
Charmed by nonsense,
Fooled by ruin:
Lies spread softly, minds grow weak,
Seven in eight—too blind to see.



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Foolishness keeps rising,
Higher every day.
Homeland lost—demising,
Burns in Hell’s decay:
Shortage feeds the flames.



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All chase the gold, they heed its calling—
One law remains, none dare protest.
Who stands against it? None are rising,
But those who hear the light suppressed.

Yet there’s a meaning—soul’s salvation
Amidst the chains of earthly wrongs.
And if you do not fall to darkness,
Then you're a outcast among the throngs.



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Sheep obey the same old lies:
"Bow to darkness, trust its way!"
World’s a rot that never dies,
Mixed with filth and foul decay.



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Kinder Surprise

Mom is fooled, dad’s full of rage,
That’s the life we idolize.
Wrap it up and call it fate—
One big, wicked Dark Surprise.



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Earthly Life

"A curse from the skies?"
No, demons rule here.
Hell carves with fire
Those fallen in fear...



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To love? But whom?! There's nothing left—
Decay and ruin, dust and death.
Yet fools don't care—they're glad to hide,
With "partners" kneeling side by side,
Before the Evil, blind, beguiled,
Embracing lies with voices mild,
And dragging Hell so near, defiled...



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Lessons in Hell?! A wasted chore,
When souls decay forevermore!
Escape that pit—don’t wait, don’t stay…



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School

Children caged—behold the school,
Taught to bow to tyrants’ rule.
Slavery—"the adult way,"
Where mind and soul are shot as prey.

Targets, shattered—one by one,
'Till the light of thought is gone.
Dull and blind, they’re set to leave—
Trained to serve and to believe.



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A World Where the Herd Prevails

Brutes. Disgrace. No hope in sight.
Rotten world, devoid of light.
"Do not touch me—stay away!"
Satan rules in God’s display.



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Opinion on Decay

Generations:
Degradation;
Serving evil—
Desecration.

Yet they claim—
Just opinion.
Fail again—
No suspicion.

Doubt is rare, a fleeting vision—
Like a bird near its extinction.



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A shameful world, where freelance sites
Make workers pay to find their fights.
No chance to last—it's doomed to fall,
Drowned in chaos, lost to all.



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The Moronic OVERWHELMING Majority

A fool will scheme, a fool will cheat,
No surprise—it's their deceit.
But their soul, a twisted thread,
Turns to darkness, sinks in dread.

Spreading filth on all around,
Like a madman, lost, unsound.
They are legion—filth takes hold,
Drowning truth in lies they sold.



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At the Circus

Clowns in power, fools below—
A circus show, a drunken flow.
New Year's madness, spirits high,
Acrobats fall from the sky.

The clown’s red nose is bruised and blue,
The crowd’s too drunk to watch the view.
Tigers' cages—barely locked,
Now they're loose, their prey is clocked.

So don’t be rash, don’t end it yet—
Just wait a while… they’ll feast instead.



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The Law of Large Numbers, or The Global System of Surveillance and Deceit

The watchful system, cold and vast,
Tracks every fool—each step, each task.
But in this world, so dark, so grim,
The smart, the honest—don’t fit in.

The brainless fall for every trick,
Marked and logged, a numbered brick.
And with those numbers, none resist—
They feed the beast, it slits their wrists.

CowID and war have made it clear:
Erase your name, just disappear.
Leave this madhouse far behind,
Where chains are placed upon the mind.



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To Fight the Deformed

To battle the twisted,
You’ll clash with the dim—
For nonsense runs deep,
And fools drown within.

The ranks of the wicked
Have long been consumed—
What’s left are the crooked,
Obedient, doomed.



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Sinking, Silent
Drowning, groaning,
Yet no cries.
Choking, moaning—
Media lies.

Lost in smoke,
Our souls betrayed,
Bent to evil,
Truth decayed,
Meekly waiting
For false paradise…



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Молитвы Мирового Гнилья

Газета — молитвой. Сказал, вроде, Гегель:
Мозги засирает Голимая Чушь.
Коль мыслишь из Мира Маразма побеге,
Боись как огня всех "ревнителей душ".

"Учёный" успешно попа заменяет.
И те, и другие служители Зла —
Приказы ТВАРЬЯ мудаки исполняют:
Не прямо — Система ломает. Узла

Подобием стала фашизма система —
Удавкой на шее послушный Злу мир.
Спасенье Души — это главная тема.
И делай то сам, пусть вся в ранах до дыр

Душа под напором "ревнителей" этих.
Отринув всю ложь, углубляйся в себя.
Вначале там монстров во мраке ты встретишь —
ТвАренья "ревнителей". Правду любя,

Ты мимо пройди, доходя до Истоков,
Что вечны и тем неподвластны ТВАРЬЮ.
Не сделаешь это, тебе будет Жопа —
Тебя приравняют к Мировому Гнилью.



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Огонь Души и Вонь СМРАДов

"Душа человека есть руководящее начало его тела".
Клавдий Гален, I-ый век н.э.


Оскоплённая Душа —
Тело станет как парша.
Но опасен и Огонь
Для ума, в котором Вонь.

Так очисть вначале ум
От всей лжи: тлетворный глум
Превратит Огонь в дымок —
И потухнешь в краткий срок.




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Отсутствие Сердца залогом "успеха"
И "счастья земного" — чертям на потеху...




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The absence of a Heart

A heartless soul is the key to "success"—
To "earthly delight" that the devils caress...



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The WHAT is naught, the HOW is slight,
Yet things should work a different way.
And what we have? A rotten blight—
To cast it out’s the grandest play.



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Propagandist

A arsonist walks among men—
Not a thief and not a foe.
He's the devil’s voice and pen,
Spreading lies where’er we go.



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Oh, doctor dear, the soul's in pain!
Keep your bandage—it's in vain.
Through CowID, we all could see—
Gold, not healing, pleases thee.



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Resistance to Fascism, or From Hell to Hell

A “tiny orchestra of hope”
Plays false, while singers preach and lie.
In "paradise," the traitors rise—
Their “holy father” rules the sky.

But hope, in Satan’s vile domain,
Is foolish, empty, blind, and weak.
Resisting fascist rule is vain,
Yet filth you’ll never dare to seek.

Your soul stays pure—though doomed to burn,
You'll face the flames with head held high.
Forget false hopes and fools who yearn
For Hell where monsters drive the sly.



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Light in the Night

The road is walked by those who strive—
Yet not by all who tread.
The dreamers chasing "paradise"
Will lead to Hell instead.

For this world's twisted, upside-down,
Corrupted to the core.
Your sandals torn? Then bare your feet
And wade through filth once more.

Temptations try to block your way,
Deceitful paths unfold.
The false god’s world is bleak and grey,
Yet tales of bliss are sold.

A compass? Yes! Not empty lies,
But Light that shines within.
Find it—without its guiding rise,
Dark Night will draw you in.



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Idiots in Service of Fiends

The weakest fools of a dying land—
The greatest threat of all.
For scraps, they serve a monstrous hand
And heed deception’s call.

Through lies, they take their vile commands,
Then chaos spreads like fire.
Far worse than ruthless outlaw bands,
Yet courage? None aspire.

They win by numbers—countless throngs,
A mindless, endless mass.
Their greed relentless, loud and strong—
Throw coins, they’ll bite on "Fas!"

Obedient, they march ahead,
As CowID made clear:
The fiends are fed, the world lies dead,
And filth still drowns us here.



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A Common Ram and a Komodo Beast

A ram—a beast, yet not just so:
It spits its poison, full of woe.
This world’s a pit, a reeking mire—
A shooting range for liars dire.

Its venom stinks, yet fools still trust
The creatures bred in filth and dust.
And thus they thrive—this wretched swarm—
For poisoned tongues have set the norm.



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Weariness Is Just a Trace

Weariness lingers—no more than a trace
Of time spent trapped in this pitiful place.
Its trials can twist you, can shatter, can break,
Yet losing your soul is the worst of mistakes.

So listen within—let your spirit be guide,
Or sorrow will deepen and darken inside.
Endurance has limits—don’t let it decay,
Or doubt will consume you and lead you astray...
Till nothing remains but your soul in decay.



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The Global Madhouse

The madhouse marches, all obsessed
With "happiness"—their sacred quest.
Yet truth rejected, none are healed,
Just thrown in line to serve the rest.

They stand with fools, they serve the beasts,
Oblivious to what’s at stake.
It’s not just lies that scorch and feast—
They brand the herd for slaughter’s sake.

No madhouse now—it's something worse:
A global pen, a cattle curse.
All else is but a fleeting dream,
As minds dissolve in laws of sleep.



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Картина мира, страшно сира —
Итог того, что называют
Образованьем. Им лишают
Надежды видеть всё реально —
Чрез призму Духа инфернальность.




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Negative Selection

"What conclusion did Voltaire, Hume and Kant finally come to? "The fact that the world is a hospital for the incurable."
—Arthur Schopenhauer.


A hospital for fools and crooks,
Who've long forgotten life’s true course:
They fight with those of their own looks,
And trust in liars with no remorse.

Man was meant to aid and brighten,
A spark divine—where has it gone?
Now he’s a donkey, beasts are driving—
A void remains, his will is none.

A few exceptions pass the test,
Yet only prove the rule once more:
They're safe while luck still grants them rest,
Not sifted through the ruthless lore.

Through that sieve the worms will stay,
The best discarded, thrown aside.
The worst will rise and seize the day—
For filth and rot will float to tide.

Age to age, the cycle runs,
A madhouse bleak, devoid of light.
No free minds—their time is done,
But glamor’s praise is shining bright.



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Fire and Renewal

Disgrace and blood will rise once more—
For slaves, one path remains to see:
Let flames consume this wretched lore,
Burn down the world of slavery.

One world, one mind—a single way,
The rot that filled all space is gone.
Perhaps the dawn of something gray
May yet emerge and carry on.

The old holds nothing but decay,
No future left, no second breath—
Its core commandment paves the way—
A lie that drives all minds to death.



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Nonsense and Independent Thought

Ears grew used to empty chatter,
Truth now sounds like distant noise.
Drowned in nonsense, lost its matter,
Fading reason, stolen voice.

Not a thought, but looping phrases,
Echoed views—a hollow reel.
Want to see? Just watch—he paces,
Like a donkey on a wheel.

Nonsense works to lure and bridle,
Keeps the blinders firm in place.
Even fashion takes its title
From its nonsense—mule erased...



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Not Falling...

Who takes flight will never fall—
Rise up high and soar alone!
Sink below, you're lost to all,
Drowned among the mindless drone.

Wings of Spirit lift you higher,
Thought will trace the path ahead.
Once you've soared, they’ll pull no wire—
Down below, they'll crush instead.



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Break It Down!

Smash the wheel—no Samsara’s chains!
A single soul won’t flee alone
From this madhouse, where remains
A world once trampled, overthrown

By vile BEASTS—so foul and rotten,
Hell itself would cast them out.
Break the walls, let none be forgotten,
Burn it all, erase the doubt.

From the shame that stains existence,
Sickened souls feel blood run cold.
Can this world fall any lower?
Rot and filth—it's uncontrolled!

But stay quiet—let them slumber,
Let their madness reach its end.
Soon their fate will tear asunder,
Soon there’s nothing left to mend.



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A Bold Full Stop

One last dot to end the story,
Summing up a hollow life—
Rotting slowly—fades its glory,
Nothing hard in ending strife.

True conclusions live in making,
In the search for something vast.
All the rest is dust, forsaking
Truth for fear—decay holds fast.

Fools embrace their dull delusion,
Mindless hordes, the walking dead.
Ruled through fear and mass confusion,
Led by lies their keepers spread.

Thus, to place that final marker—
Like a nightmare cut in two.
Only death can end the darkness,
Only death can pull you through.

Those who feel—forever prisoned,
Life becomes a lonesome plot.
All their struggle, all their vision
Ends within one bold full stop.



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The Fire-Breathing Dragon

A fire-breathing dragon looms—
No mere myth—it's in the "news".
Burns the mind, consumes the room,
Leaves you tame, enslaved, confused.

Flames seep in through every crack,
Reaching places dark and deep.
Trust in evil, stay off-track—
Fools will follow, blind in sleep.

Many heads this beast reveals,
Everywhere—it haunts the land.
Truth is lost, yet lies congeal
In the screen’s deceitful hand.

The fire-breathing dragon strikes,
Scorching all—the world decays.
Even laws seem weak alike—
Cheese that lures the mice to stay.



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Disposed...

A "miracle" of utter lies—
A fool was shaped, beyond repair.
This world of madness, dressed in vice,
Deserves disposal—strip it bare.



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"Endgame"

The IDIOT makes his final play,
The game is reaching its last note.
A move that leads the wrong way—
Defeat is all he wrote.



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Thorns and Roses

A world of lies,
Where dreamland dies.
The flowers fade,
The thorns invade.



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For Free?

Clara drained Karl, stole his might,
Nagging and picking a fight.
Karl grew to hate her, it's true...
Marriage means free sex to you?



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Clara and Karl

Karl and Clara—
Fools, but paired.
Faithful, hopeful,
Yet impaired.

Building dreams
Through storm and night,
Where dark and hate
Suppress the light.

Clara nags him,
Mocks and scolds,
Molds him into
What she holds—
A man who's tamed,
By her revised,
Trapped beneath
Her sharp disguise.

Karl's no more—he lost the game,
Married wrong and took the blame.



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Cockroach Race

Masses keep striving through falsehood and lies,
Chasing illusions with blind, empty eyes.
What is the goal? Just deception again—
Years lost to labor and struggle in vain.

Then come new targets, with fraud at their core,
Shifting the game like they’ve done times before.
Each generation keeps playing it wrong,
Racing ahead to belong and belong.

"First" means you're last, yet they run to the front,
Fearing the shame of a lowly affront.
Honor and conscience are left in the past—
Trifles discarded, too fragile to last.

The race nears its end, and the track’s set aflame,
Burning away this absurd, endless game.
Change is upon us, the sun makes it clear—
No room for roaches; their end has drawn near.



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Trivial Rot

Trifles burn like caustic lies,
Eating souls until they’re dry.
Fear and falsehood claim their prize—
Rotting Bedlam swarms the sky.

Madness reigns, the world’s a fair
Where the petty lead the blind.
Like a plague beyond repair,
Faking nations fall in line.

That same plague infects the mind,
Branded CowID to be shown.
Hidden masters rule mankind,
Dragging all beneath the stone.

Fools obey and fools believe—
Most are eager for their chains.
Filth and ruin won’t deceive—
Vermin’s rule is all that reigns.



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Original Sin

Gullibility's a blight,
Worse than any foe in sight.
Model citizen, so keen—
Tell them lies, they serve the scene.

Mind shut down and conscience dead,
They obey with blinded tread.
Gullibility, since birth,
Is the sin that doomed the earth.



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"Roses" of Satanism

Roses, tears, and threats entwine,
Lies and whips in grand design.
Masks and poses, fear and haze,
Shadows twist in mirrored maze.

Madness swirls in tangled streams,
Sodom’s roses draped in death.
Rotting souls, decaying dreams,
Choking on their final breath.

Madness, sickness, minds decayed,
Empty shells in hollow bliss.
Outward—hope, so bright displayed,
But Satanic roses kiss.



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Editing and "Culture"

Editing cuts with a frown,
Culling the best, shutting it down.
Not a hack? Then screw their game—
Their culture is a sheep to tame.

Harsh? But war and CowID showed
Exactly how the story goes.
Few stand tall, the rest just flow—
The world, in sum, is less than Low.



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Not venality

Monet, Renoir—
Did they chase gold,
Or let pure light
In art unfold?

Corruption is rot,
Yet stand and fight—
Serve truth and light,
Though lost to night.



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Год за десять, если пишешь.
И при том вольнее дышишь.
Удлиненье псевдожизни.
Ярче напоследок брызни!




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Внутренние пространства Сознания

"Человек может познать свою суть лишь дойдя до последней черты".
Маркиз де Сад.


До последней черты
Доходи в напряженьи
Поиска Красоты
Чрез Борьбу и Творенье.

"Социальная жизнь" —
Там черта ниже Днища.
Внутрь оттуда вернись —
В ней Творец всегда лишний.

Свет Внутри. Завалили его ерундою.
За последней чертой снова станешь собою.

Чтоб проникнуть туда,
Напряженье зашкали.
И поймёшь средь труда,
Что далёк ты от швали.

Шваль вокруг — ерунды и в тебя напихала.
Оступился ты вдруг, отряхнись и начни вновь сначала.

За последней чертой
Свет, покой ты обящешь.
"Белый", не золотой,
Свет, когда настоящий...




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Добровольный выбор рабства и следующая за ним деградация

"Усиливающаяся бездумность проистекает из болезни, подтачивающей самую сердцевину современного человека. Сегодняшний человек спасается бегством от мышления. И все же каждый может выйти в путь размышления по-своему и в своих пределах. Почему? Потому что человек — это мыслящее, т. е. осмысляющее существо. Чтобы размышлять, нам отнюдь не требуется «перепрыгнуть через себя». Достаточно остановиться на близлежащем и подумать о самом близком: о том, что касается каждого из нас — здесь и сейчас, здесь, на этом клочке родной земли, сейчас — в настоящий час мировой истории".
Мартин Хайдеггер.


Мир болен. Тяжко болен — мышление пропало
Во многих. Не случайно. То пропаганды жало,
А также "воспитанье" с "учёбой" постарались —
Веками обработка: так в мёртвый цикл попались.

При этом каждый сделал свой выбор — выбор рабства:
Чтоб чувствовать "нормально" — критичность уменьшай,
Иначе одолеет тебя мирка похабство.
А рай всегда возможен, и он дебилий рай.

В Аду Кромешном это защитою всегда —
Бездумность, пошлость, подлость, напрасного труда
Усилия к "богатству" найти подложный путь,
Служа при том Тиранству и умножая Жуть.

Лишь Творчество по крохам
Вернёт пропавший ум.
Хоть встретит это плохо
Твой "ближний" — тугодум.

Твори, забыв о мире,
Спасая Душу так
К тому же. Думай шире,
Покинув Злой Бардак.

Свет, может, ты обрящешь.
Коль минимум, так ум.
Пусть Ад здесь настоящий,
Дурак тебе не кум.

Уйди в себя — монахом
Для Ясных Мыслей стань.
Мир обратится прахом —
Кругом фашизма срань.

А потому спасенье
Души главнейший труд,
Иначе разложеньем
Мирка её сотрут.



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Семейный крах. В нём оправданье
Детишки — плод былых утех.
Тот крах детишкам в наказанье —
От них днесь требуют "успех".




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Family Crash

A family's wreck—its cause is plain,
Kids born of past delights now pay.
That wreck’s their burden, marked by pain—
"Success!" they hear from day to day.



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Doubt

"To doubt is to show reverence for truth."
—Ernest Renan


The mindless herd repeats, on cue,
A set of phrases, dull and plain.
But doubt can tear their world in two—
Their empty chants would be in vain.

To plant a doubt in such a mass
Is near impossible—why try?
Their world is built on lies, alas,
For truth would make their small minds die.

And should you speak, the blind will fight—
Truth’s fate is bleak in such a land.
But if you never doubt what’s "right",
Then shame on you—you misunderstand.



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Museum’s Spirit?

Like a crypt…
Walls are cold.
Gallery—
A painter, old,

Blind with rage,
Mind decayed.
Light's not caged—
It's self-conveyed.

Let it shine
Deep inside!
Call the blind:
"Wake with pride!"

Shape the core,
Dare to fight!
Twist the "wrong"—
But keep it right!



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Fierce Demise

Dissenting minds—but none to think,
"Soul’s deep urges"—soulless cries.
Drowned in gigabytes of lies.

We fail to grasp, yet pass it down,
So children grow still more unwise.
Forever lost in filth we drown—
False hopes and demons’ thin disguise.

No heart, no mind—this plague has spread,
A few escaped, the rest obey.
We bow with ease, our wills near dead,
Too used to crawling to dismay.

On bended knees, we wait in vain—
What’s left to come? The final breath.
No hymn will reach the wrathful flame—
Armageddon spawns Fierce Death.



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Toxic "Culture"

"At least bacterial cultures can be seen under a microscope."
—Jadwiga Rutkowska

I stocked up scopes—both micro, stetho,
Telescopes to aid my quest.
I sought for culture—found but echoes
Of lies and filth the germs expressed.

Fake virtues mask a foul regime,
Where fascists play the righteous role.
A second layer—hell’s own scheme,
A lid of brass to cloak it whole.

They'll seal the world—farewell, "refinement"!
I searched in vain, and here it ends.
No foolish bullet brings confinement—
Armageddon kills, my friends.



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Economic Cattle

Market games—a grand disguise...
How to yoke the herd so nice,
Make it walk into the chain,
Thinking it’s their rightful gain?

Oh, so simple—reshape all,
Craft a world where slaughter stalls
Seem removed (but wars suffice),
Turn the market into vice.

Choice is scarce—so grab the yoke,
Drag your kin to stay afloat.
Step inside the penned-up toil—
Earn your fodder, drown in oil.



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



Sieve

"With most new acquaintances, our first thought is whether they may be of use to us; and if they are not, then for most people, once they realize this, that person becomes nothing."
—Arthur Schopenhauer


I walk—meet nothing on my way,
Then more of nothing—endless rows.
The world’s a sieve, where few can stay,
The rest fell through, lost far below.

Those who could shake this void of spite,
Who saw the roots of all decay,
Were cast aside—denied the right
To live, not use and throw away.

We've learned too well this hollow game,
And so the sieve expands its hole.
Few strings remain, yet all the same,
They, too, will vanish with the whole.



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



Infernal Sumo

The "sumo champs" have seized the ring,
Pushed the rest beyond the line.
Yet the fallen, wavering,
Claim forgiveness—lost in mind.

Fat and shameless, crude and sly,
Rules the ring with pompous glee.
Thinkers? Worthless. Question why?
"Skinny flies" aren’t meant to be.

Circle Nine—or is it lower?
Does it matter? Hard to tell.
Those outside grow weak, sink slower
In the fat ones' lying hell.



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



Diagnosis

Is the world a whining wreck,
Or a doctor telling true?
Drunks and fools—just check the specs—
Three in four. The math is crude.

A simple test, a dumb Cow-ID,
Unmasked the minds—exposed the show.
Even the doctor feels defeated...
The world’s near nothing. Now we know.



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



Hell’s Despair

"This world is the work of some devil who called creatures into being just to savor their torment."
—Arthur Schopenhauer


So bleak, so hollow,
Disgraced from the start.
A wretched creator,
A slave in his heart.

The traitors rise higher,
Deception rules minds,
The blind led by liars,
All twisted in kind.

They fight one another—
Their anguish must flow,
To feed their dark master,
Corrupting below,
Instilling pure fury,
Instilling pure woe.



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



Наполнение умов голимой чушью

"Ум — это не сосуд, который надо заполнить, а факел, который необходимо зажечь".
Плутарх, I-ый век н.э.


Наполнение сосудов —
Производятся паскуды.
А Огни сплошь с детства тушат,
Убивая этим Души.

Чушь голимая составом
Наполнителей. Отрава
Пропаганды чрез брандспойты
Зомбоящиков — в "покой" ты

Вечный в Аде устремишься,
Если этим впечатлишься.
Очищайся ото лжи —
Лишь своей Душе служи.

Сохранишь ты тем Огонь —
Не потушит Мира Вонь.
Вонь фашизма днесь повсюду —
Большинством теперь паскуды.



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



Filling Minds with Utter Nonsense

"The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled."
Plutarch, 1st century AD


They pour and fill—what do they make?
Just hollow shells—a soulless fake.
But flames? They smother them from birth,
Extinguishing the soul’s true worth.

A flood of nonsense—pure deceit,
The poison spreads, a vile conceit.
Through screens and speakers, lies take hold—
Your soul turns ash, your heart grows cold.

So cleanse yourself, don’t heed their cries,
Let truth shine bright within your eyes.
Protect your flame—don’t let it drown
In filth that’s poisoning the town.

The stench of fascism now reigns,
Corrupting hearts, enslaving brains.
And those who serve its twisted will
Are nothing more than cowards still.



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



Not a Peasant’s...

Open field—
A page so white.
Mind unsealed,
Clear and bright.

Plowed-up land—
Dust and blight.
Spirit’s hand
Grasps but write.



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



Turning a Prison into a Pen

"You don’t see the bars, because the prison is the whole world."
—David Icke


The world’s a cage, and people here are blind,
Forgetting where the Mind’s true limits lie.
And artificial troubles were never unrefined—
Distractions made to keep thoughts running dry.

Oblivious, they bow to shallow fears,
Ignoring what the Spirit dares to tell:
To rot among the filth for endless years,
Or rise and fight with fury, bold and fell.

This prison breaks when Consciousness ignites,
When intuition keeps the Dark at bay.
Or else, like sheep led off to slaughter’s sights,
You'll watch the Beasts turn bars to fenced-in hay.



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



Beasts’ Paradise

Where are giants? None remain,
Lost in time—what now remains?
Mindless herds to beasts are grain,
Feeding on their own decay.

Dumbed-down masses—watered lies,
Drenched in fear, they serve their stay.
Split the world, let terror rise—
Beasts will feast in grand array.

Paradise for those who rule:
Eat your fill—your choice, your tool...



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



"Atomic" Means Herdlike!

An "atomic man," they say,
Brings the global mind decay.
Selfish herds, deceived and blind,
Lost in "survival," left behind.

Sick of seeing soulless drones,
Through them, all the evil’s grown.
Meek and hollow—so they fall,
Dragged to ruin, stripped of all.

Fascist chains have brought them low,
Crushed beneath the final blow.
No way forward, none to fight—
They have doomed the world to night.



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



"Hero"

To write of kittens, birds in flight,
Of love—so pure, so warm, so bright...
And serve the Beasts without a fight—
That’s now a "poet’s" noble might.



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



"Family" of Fools

If fools make up the ruling mass,
Then shame on nature, what a farce!
A rotting head, a world decayed—
A fate the universe dismayed.

And rare exceptions stand alone,
Yet only prove the downward trend:
Deception reigns, decay has grown,
And reason’s but a myth, my friend.



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



Human Plankton

Subtract the mind, let Darkness win,
A victory it craves to own.
And so we drift, blindfolded in
Deceptions sea — plankton had grown.



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



Pedophile Priests

A swarm of priests—what do they do?
Corrupt the young—defile the true.
Excuses crude, yet still they lie,
Their sins unearthed for all to spy.

For years they hid their wicked game,
But truth rose up to curse their name.
The Boston Globe pulled back the veil,
Revealing filth beyond the pale.

This false church bears a branded stain—
Believe in it, you're lost in vain.



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



Балаган

"Поистине трудно вопрошать свою душу и различать ее слабый детский голос посреди бесполезных криков, окружающих ее".
Морис Метерлинк.


Балаган шумит в натуге
Пошлостью тебя добить.
В разложения недуге
Все — артисты, зритель. Быть

В нём — не слышать голос Сердца,
Также оглупляя ум.
Только никуда не деться —
Он всемирный. Гам и шум

Не случайны — Постановщик
Так задумал: идиот
С развлекухой, коль есть хавчик,
В нём подвоха не найдёт.



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



The Carnival

"The hardest task is questioning your soul and catching its weak, childish voice amidst the useless cries around it."
— Maurice Maeterlinck


The carnival roars and rages,
Drowning you in hollow plays.
All—performers, fools, and sages—
Lost in rotting night's malaise.

Once inside, your Heart falls silent,
Numbed by noise that clouds the mind.
Nowhere hides from this defilement—
It’s the world, both vast and blind.

Not by chance—the Grand Director
Framed it so: a world of fools,
Stuffed and laughing, blind to specters,
Trapped in Evil's noxious rules.



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



Бредореальность

"Реальность — это то, с чем никто на самом деле не знаком".
Ник Бостром.


Обманы и фантазии,
Надежды и мечты
Средь ТВАРЕЙ безобразия —
Кругом одни скоты.

Какая тут реальность?! —
Мир Разложенья в Зле.
Им правит инфернальность,
Лишь Чушь в тупом осле.

Разумных — единицы;
Их меньше с каждым днём.
Вновь верят Злу тупицы —
Не выжечь то Огнём.

Огонь Души у редких —
Бездушие кругом.
Бьют ТВАРИ очень метко —
И скоро все умрём

Под ложью боевою.
А оглупленья яд —
То с детства: быть собою
Нельзя — здесь нужен ГАД.




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



DeluReality

"Reality is something no one truly knows."
— Nick Bostrom

Deception, dreams, delusions,
False hopes and hollow creeds—
A world of vile illusions,
Where only cruelty breeds.

What kind of "real" is this one?
Decay and dark control.
Infernal hands have risen—
Blind lies consume the soul.

The wise are few and fading,
Each day their kind grows thin.
While fools keep Evil aiding—
No fire can burn their sin.

A few still guard their ember,
Yet soulless shades enclose.
The brutes strike hard—remember,
And soon the world will close.

Beneath the war of fictions,
Where poison warps the mind—
Since childhood, one conviction:
Be cruel, or fall behind.



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



Рецепт "счастья"

"Для того, чтобы быть счастливым, нужно иметь хороший желудок, злое сердце и вовсе не иметь совести".
Дени Дидро, XVIII-ый век.


Злое сердце на желудок
Плохо действует, тогда
Уничтожить совесть нужно —
И идти гнобить стада.

Вот рецепт для "счастья".  Это
И правления рецепт,
Если укрепить всё бредом,
Выдав бред тот за концепт.




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



Recipe for "Happiness"

"To be happy, one must have a strong stomach, a wicked heart, and no conscience at all."
— Denis Diderot, 18th century


A wicked heart will bring you strife,
It spoils appetite and peace.
So kill your conscience—end its life,
Then prey on herds with ease.

That’s the key to "joy"—no question,
And the ruling class’s art:
Drape their madness in a lesson,
Call it wisdom, play your part.



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



In the End...

A tale of horror is darker, crueler
Than what the dull crowd dares expect.
For in the end, the Beasts grow fouler,
And slaves grow dumber—more abject.

Beasts and slaves—no real exception,
Hope is scarce, the odds are grim.
Drowned in lies, they've lost redemption—
Honor's dead, so waste them all on a whim...



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



The Cosmos

Its base—deceit.
Its glue—fear’s binding.
The boss—unfit.
Our fate—dust, winding.



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



Truth and the Reign of Madness

"For truth, it is triumph enough to be accepted by the few who are worthy; to please the many is not its fate."
— Denis Diderot


Truth’s worth is never measured
By numbers in its wake.
The slaves adore false treasures,
Their minds consumed by fake.

Few dare to think—yet fewer,
Their voices fade to none.
Truth drowns in darkness, sewer—
The world is crude, undone.

CowID, war—it's showing,
The madness rules the stage.
A war on thought keeps growing,
A war of lies and rage.

Its end is near—Destruction,
The final storm is drawn.
Then comes the Reconstruction,
When filth is cast and gone.



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



Breaking Yet Another Bottom

To hit rock bottom? That’s no feat.
But reaching lower—there’s the test.
To sell new lies and not repeat—
That takes a master of the jest.

The Press of Darkness strains and rallies,
Bureaucrats all march in line.
Decay’s an art—they need pure malice,
A beast that’s truly one of a kind.

CowID has shown—no lack of vermin,
Nor slaves who serve the grand deceit.
The smaller press now weaves perversions,
To spice the greater flood of sleet.

Thus, deeper down the pit was shattered,
The stench from underneath arose.
And now we all will breathe this tatter,
As life in filth forever flows.

A global Reich is fast unfolding,
A prison ruled by code and screen.
If lies keep rising, all-consuming,
Its gates will open—sharp and clean.



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



Down...

The Church now serves the Devil’s throne,
The world is upside down.
The honest ones are crushed, dethroned—
Branded traitors, drowned.

One thing stays unshaken—
Shame will never cease.
Reason lies forsaken,
Slaughtered—rest in peace.

If a trace still lingers
In the minds of few,
It won’t change—just sink there,
Down to Hell’s own view!



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



Life’s Unyielding Dullness

Life is dull—no doubt, no question,
For it thrives on false impressions.
Since our childhood, Beasts betray us,
Swapping truth for murk to slay us.

Mind is fragile, quick to wither,
So the future’s looking bitter:
Trade pure steel for rotting timber—
All will crumble to a cinder.



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



Потре****ство

Мозги расплавили в кисель —
Тем посадили мир на мель,
Ведь потре****ство хуже ****ства:
Покорен, туп — ТВАРЬЯ злорадство.



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



Трындят повсюду о "приятьи",
Тем толерастию внедряя.
Безумный мир, что под Проклятьем:
Лишь "нет!!!" реалу отвечает.




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



Hellish Sumo

The "sumo champs" have seized the ring,
Pushed the rest beyond the line.
Yet the fallen chose to cling
To sick delusions—"It's just fine."

Fat and ruthless, bold and vile,
Now they rule, their greed unfurled.
Those who think? Declared defiled.
Those too weak? Not of this world.

Ninth Circle? Maybe—who can tell?
I've lost track inside this game.
Those outside—near dead, as well,
Drowned in lies and bloated shame.



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



Consu-madness

Their brains have melted into goo—
The world is sinking, lost from view.
For mindless greed’s a greater blight—
It rules the fools—beasts cheer in spite.



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



They Preach Acceptance Everywhere

They preach acceptance far and wide,
So rot of “tolerance” can thrive.
A cursed world, where truth is denied—
It shouts out “no!” to real life.



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



Higher? Lower?

"Mankind, as a whole, is but a horde of selfish, lowly swine—
Above the beasts in only this: their greed’s by thought refined."
— Ernest Renan


A mind that serves to scheme and snatch,
To hoard and seize with growing hunger—
The longer near the feast you latch,
The wilder grows your grasping thunder.

Stay too long—you turn to stone,
Cold and cruel beyond all measure.
Wait too slow—you’re overthrown
By the next in line for treasure.

Endless race—yet never plenty!
More! And more! And still not nearly!
First to win are those whose empty
Souls have vanished almost clearly.

Beasts are humbler, soft in motion,
Free of greed and vain ambition.
Humans burn with dark devotion,
Driving hate to war’s ignition.

Higher? Lower? Just illusion.
Measures fail, the world’s gone hollow.
Beasts aren't lost in mad delusion—
Humans? Most are dumb to follow.



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



Express Train to NOWHERE

A journey straight to Nowhere bound,
From Doomsville—next in line.
No worries, friends—no turning ‘round,
Your ticket’s one-way signed.

But on the way, enjoy the ride,
Dine finely, drink your fill.
Don’t pull the brake—doors locked inside,
Sealed tight with iron will.

No exit here, no way to stray,
No matter wild or meek.
The train speeds forth, it won’t delay,
Through night so vast and bleak.

The dark grows thick, the engine screams,
No god awaits your fall.
And if despair has spared your dreams,
Then fear—he waits for all.

His crown of fire, fierce and bright,
A judge with eyes aglow.
The final stop—no end in sight,
Just endless flames below.



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



Dimwits of Pseudo-Science

"An economist is one who speaks
Of things he does not understand,
Yet makes you feel the fool who seeks
A grasp on all that's planned."
— Herbert Prochnow


These frauds of fog and tangled lies—
Save math and physics, all is dust.
Their books confuse, their jargon ties
Even themselves in webs of rust.

And yet, with graphs and gadgets bare,
They lead—but where? They have no clue.
Their masters do—the ones who tear
The soul apart, then sell it new.

Through babbling nonsense, dull and grim,
They crush the mind, they dull the spark.
And media joins in with them—
A chorus spreading lies in dark.

The fool who serves, so proud, so blind,
Licks at the boots of beasts above.
No thought, no soul, no higher mind—
Just hollow words for hollow love.



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



Sense of Nonsense

The Sense of Nonsense—key to stay,
To keep a mind both sharp and free.
For reason’s crushed in brutal play,
Yet feeling sees what eyes don’t see.

If you can cast the nonsense out,
Let instinct rise above the mind,
Then let it grow, erase all doubt—
And wisdom stays, refined.



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



To the Summit!

Do not walk—rise up in flight!
There’s no other way to go.
This was always nature’s right,
Now as ever—leave the low!

Depths are foul, a shameful snare,
Only Spirit—burning bright—
Stands as real in dark despair,
Guided by its inner light.

Only fire within can show
Paths beyond the choking night.
Fall to lies, deceit, and woe—
And you're lost without a fight.