Инфернальная Помойка

Инфернальная Помойка

"С космической точки зрения, Земле угрожают не тартарары, а помойка".
Авессалом Подводный.


Помойка — данность, а Тарт`ар 
Правитель мира потаённый —
Скрывает это лжи угар:
Убогий мир, Злом оглуплённый.

В мозгах помои — главным то,
А следствия найдёшь в Природе.
Разумных мало, а НИЧТО
Повсюду стало "нормой", вроде.



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Памфлет "истории"

"После очищения истории ото лжи не обязательно остаётся правда, иногда — совсем ничего".
Станислав Ежи Лец.


Учебник истории начал читать
В редакторе, мерзкую чушь удалять
При этом пытаясь. Денёк так помаясь,
Памфлет получил, в всех "народах" отчаясь.




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In the Desert

Stand strong through trials, strain, and sorrow,
Leave fears behind—no more to borrow.
The path is harsh, the climb severe,
Yet on the peak, the sky shines clear.

To reach is hard—to rise is harder,
Mere will alone won’t make you farther.
But vision’s flight, the spark of knowing,
UNTAMED DESIRE, ever growing—

They’ll guide you if you hear your spirit,
Not hollow whispers—don’t adhere it!
The desert winds may howl, deceive,
But see the truth—and rise, believe!



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Entropy

No true talent stays unshaken
Where the vulgar shadows creep—
Mediocrity is vacant,
Yet it pulls the strong ones deep.

But no sorrow—keep your distance,
That’s the only way to stand!
Else decay will claim existence—
Entropy’s relentless hand.



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Writers and Poets in a World Gone Mad

A wall of words won’t shield or sever
From MADNESS creeping in the seams.
It eats away—it gnaws forever,
Till talent drowns in broken dreams.

Yet there’s no escape or turning,
Give in—and all will rot away.
If you feed the world’s mad yearning,
You will sink in blind decay.

So build your wall with words unbending,
Layered high, three rows in line.
Every year, the strain’s unending,
For the world is steeped in Strife.

BEASTS are culling fools in masses,
Showed it clear in "CowID" rites.
War and terror—sickening flashes,
Drowning all in waves of Blight.

But hold on—just wait a minute,
Soon the storm will tear apart.
With the crash, the world will finish—
FASCISM FALLS, devoid of heart.



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Beyond the Quotes

I cast beyond the quotes and traces
All that truly matters most,
Breaking habits, scorning faces—
Such a choice will bear its cost.

Hey, O energy, ignite me!
Let me burn with fearless light,
Till the flames consume me brightly,
Flaring fiercely into night!



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Not My Path...

Step by step—
You'll lose your way.
Forget the path—
Break free, don’t stay!

Behold the Flight—
It dwells inside.
But fools march blind
To Hell with pride.



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The Use of "Revolutionaries" Clearly and In the Shadows

Che Guevara won’t remain empty,
If the plan’s a fool’s game,
Carried out like a simple plenty—
It’s not a gift, it’s not the same.

To tear the world apart in pieces,
Drowning all in blood and cries,
Promising false joy to the weak ones,
Blaming all the pain on lies—
The plan is simple: split and tear,
And scream "Forward" through despair,
Leading souls to hell’s own pit—
That’s the script for fools to fit...



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There’s No "Mystery of the World!"

It’s bleak, insane, repulsive, and vile…
A half-wit world—what mystery in this trial?!
When you break the nonsense they’ve forced on your mind,
Skeletons in closets are easy to find.

The master of the cupboard’s “solid and grand,”
But vain, cowardly, corrupt in his hand.
In this vulgar world, the wise don’t last long—
The honest, the brave, the true, and the strong.

Yet ruling the world, unseen, a cruel beast—
The politician’s a clown, his minions the least.
Total lies cover all this deceit—
The masses can’t see the truth beneath.

The cause is clear—ignorance reigns supreme:
"Religion," "school," "science"—the world’s cruel dream.
Corruption has reached its ultimate height:
CowID and war sunk the world out of sight.

What’s left to do? Seek the truth within,
Reject all their teachings, their "wisdom", their sin.
Will you find it? Unknown, but at least you’ll try…
Or remain a mad slave, and wonder why.



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The Infernal Dump

From a cosmic view, it's clear and true—
The Earth’s not threatened by Tartarus, but by the zoo.
Arthur Schopenhauer said it loud,
The trash of the world, both dark and proud.

The dump’s a given, and Tartarus
The hidden ruler, silent, thus—
It veils the truth with lies and flame,
A world of folly, blind to blame.

In minds, the filth is what we hold,
The consequences in Nature unfold.
The wise are few, and NOTHING’s strange—
Everywhere, the “norm” has changed.



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Sports Commentary

The commentator babbles on,
Repeating nonsense, all day long.
The world drowns deep in lies and fear,
While reason fades, it disappears.

A tiny breath from that same trash—
A little sip to keep it stashed.
Not "Save our souls!"—no need for shock—
The masses crave the simple flock.



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Advertising

Adverts, oh Mother, save the child from lies—
The goal’s not sales, but to warp our minds and ties.
Alongside propaganda, they stand in line,
"Education" breaking, a force so malign,
Crushing thoughts and dreams, aiming high,
The result: fools, with decay not running dry.



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Slogans

"Peace for the world"? No, "Nonsense—NO!"
To chaos, that’s the answer we show.
Peace comes when the madness fades away,
For in MADNESS, truth’s just led astray.



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Olympic Swim in Dirty Water

A school swims through the Seine—
A race, a marathon.
They said "no" to cancellation,
Though the muck goes on and on.

The athlete’s strong in body, mind—
Illness means nothing to him.
The pain of sport is more refined,
Like work that wears you thin.

What’s painful here is simply this—
Only the top three are crowned.
The rest will fade into the mist,
Their struggles lost, not to be found.



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;A Pamphlet on "History"

I began to read the history book,
In the editor, where lies I’d unhook,
Trying my best, day spent in despair—
A pamphlet emerged, with nothing but air.



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The Roulette of Scoundrels

The roulette of wealthy districts is clear: bet on zero,
If you’re a seasoned scoundrel—then luck’s your hero.
The world: it’s TOTAL EVIL that wins the game,
To stay wise through it all—now that’s real fame.

War and CowID have shown it so well,
The crowd is insane, and the slave’s fate is hell.
They’ve called it "freedom," but it’s all a disgrace,
With lies that are brutal, and submission to face.



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Rowing for Yourself

In this wild paradise, don’t lose your grip—
Row harder, push, don’t let it slip.
And crush the weak where bread is made,
Shove, defeat—let none invade.



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Fallen Talents

They sought "success,"
To express their mind—
But dared not confess,
To fight, not to hide.

It takes so little
For fragile talent to stay,
But to fall, a giant's
Thoughts slip away.

Here it happens often,
The question that lasts—
"How quickly you’ve risen?"
If you yield, you are passed.



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The Fool’s Endurance

The fool has pushed patience too far,
Though there was plenty, there’s a bar.
Though I’m no saint, and not so pure,
Even so, this test’s obscure...



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Countdown, or the End of "Civilization"

It’s over now—the people’s fate,
No longer third-class, but second-rate.
Forget your books, so filled with thought—
The idiot’s lost, and all for naught.

Nature rises, fierce and wild,
The sun shines brighter, more reviled,
Year by year, it grows the same—
The end of days has come to claim.

Start the countdown, slow and clear,
A year, a day—then disappear.
Each year it worsens, the end’s near,
The fool grows dull, the stump severe.

A few exceptions won’t change a thing,
Genocide through generations—this is the ring.
Triumph for the vile, the filth, the swine,
As they rise up in a twisted line.

Destroy these creatures, cast them out,
Sacrifice the slave, without a doubt.
In lies and madness, the world decays,
The madhouse crumbles, lost in the haze…



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Related Sports

Shooting at targets,
An attack on the mind,
When life’s all so shallow—
Sex, money, and grind.

The last sport is popular,
Time to rise and soar,
For the stubborn and proud,
Give them something more.

Records to break,
Games for their pride—
Paper tigers at stake,
If they dare to ride.



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The Poet’s "Daily Chronicle"...

"Art analysis?"—Who cares!
You can't sell such foolish wares.
Besides, they'll start to read, no doubt—
And that’s the last thing we'd want out.



--- Total 22 poems. ---