Отрицательный отбор

"Закон суров, но справедлив":
Дурь в нём улов, а в Ад заплыв
Для хитрых хватких рыбаков —
Путь мира, в общем-то, таков.




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"Жили-были", или Что о нас вспомнят...

"Жили", но не Были —
В Ад во лжи приплыли:
Одолели страхи —
Те, что хуже плахи...




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Первое Апреля
Праздник всей Земли:
Чушь повсюду мелют,
И в подобье тли

Люди превратились
От таких затей —
В рабстве очутились
Так все у чертей.



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Творцу

Скудоумье "наверху"
И приказы дураку
Отдает, сомнений чуждо.
Творчество твоё не нужно,
Если мысль не в унисон
С Дичью — это длится испокон.



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Перепады настроенья
Мелочь, если устремленья
К Чистому тебя ведут —
Снова лёгким будет труд.




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Почвы для надежд убогих
Много меньше с каждым днём,
Крохи на оценки строгих, —
В "позитиве" ДОгниём.



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Разнообразь чуть ложь, и можно
Опять с успехом стричь стада.
Обрыдла эта — вновь несложно
Придумать чушь, и на года.



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Отрицательный отбор

Отрицательный отбор —
В пику Дарвину закон
Непреложный. Лжец и вор —
Выживает всюду он.

Честный-умный — он на дне:
Мало шансов передать
Силу Духа. Так в говне
Нелюдь дальше отбирать

Будет новый глупый вид —
Сатанизма холуйков.
Ложь украсит: "индивид!",
Скрасит цифровых оков

Окончательный Позор,
Вновь "свободу" вознеся.
Тот отбор как приговор —
Не ОЧНУТЬСЯ опосля.



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Когда извилин в недостатке
У большинства, предложат "путь"
"Прямой" — на оный дурни падки.
Конечный пункт с названьем "Жуть"

Не видится во Лжи Тумане —
И бодрый шаг, стройны ряды.
Когда ж конечный пункт предстанет,
Добавят Новой Ерунды

И назовут всю жуть ошибкой —
И дальше снова "путь прямой". 
Разнообразят Ложь не шибко —
Сойдёт ущербным головой.




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My Poetry

They’ve torn my verses, line by line—
A spark of vision, it would seem.
Yet what they truly value’s mine:
I never served the vile regime.

But higher still—this battle fought
Against the Rot that clouds the sky.
For words strike harder than a shot,
And thoughts outlive the bullet’s cry.

No hand will lift my voice to fame,
Yet I have done what must be done.
And hope? A fool’s deluded game—
The blind kneel to it, one by one.



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;Race to Hell

"A lame man on the rightful way
Outruns the swift who’s led astray."
— Francis Bacon, 17th century


The world is racing—cash and fame,
A senseless chase, a deadly snare.
And many crash—while fiends proclaim
Their joy in others’ grim despair.

So walk, or crawl, or run if able—
Hell’s road is not your path to tread.
A step toward Light, though small and frail,
Will save your Soul and lift your head.

Fulfill your duty—Spirit calls,
All else is filth, a hollow lie.
Give up your flesh if darkness falls—
The herds don’t race, they’re led to die.



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"Scorcher," or the Resilience of Ukrainian Troops

A thermobaric blast ignites—
The Russian fiend its fire lights.
Yet soldiers stand, unbowed, unbroke,
Their will as strong as iron oak.

And so the beasts will fail again,
Their fury spent on helpless men.
Civilians burned in cruel spite—
Genocide, in naked sight.

But justice waits—its time will come,
Each butcher’s name will soon be "sung".
No lie can wash their crimes away—
For Russia drowns in dark decay.



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They've twisted minds in endless strife,,,

They've twisted minds in endless strife,
Where wretched chaos rules the life,
And turned the souls to frozen stone,
While bowing down to Evil's throne.



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Today’s Poet—A Sign of Decay

They fund the cripples, priests, and frauds,
Fake “science,” art that’s made for sale.
But not the poets—what a shame,
A world where truth is doomed to fail.

Want to publish? Pay the price!
Culture’s dead, it’s all a game.
Madness spreads in waves of lies,
Corruption crowned in rot and flame.

For a poet shows decay—
No craft is held in higher grace.
Yet the beasts demand a pawn,
A fool to lead the doomed like slaves.

Driving herds straight to the slaughter,
Draped in “goodness,” robed in lies.
But, in truth, they’ve earned no better,
Bowing low to Hell’s device.



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;Degradation in Delusions

"Mankind has long been lost in lies."
— Laozi, 5th century BC


The ages pass, yet false beliefs
Keep growing stronger every day.
So cast aside imposed deceits,
And let your Soul, not mind, hold sway.

The mind is shaped by fiends from Hell
Through "culture," "laws," and life's cruel game.
Yet thinking still is vital—well,
If reason’s free from drunken shame.

Intuition is your guide—
The Soul and mind in harmony.
Or else the world, in downward stride,
Will drag you back to misery.



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False Religions

A service held in Satan’s hall—
They praise the weak, they crown the small.
A "slave of God"—their proud refrain,
For feeble minds bring greater gain.

The schools instill the art of sleep,
The preachers lie, the strong mislead.
Propaganda seals the deal,
And blind submission shapes their creed.

Thus, a MAD ENSLAVED MACHINE—
Hoards of filth, deceit unseen.
Greed and falsehood rule his days,
Trained to serve the Dark’s embrace.

Call it "good" a hundred times—
Will that cleanse the world of crimes?
If you trust the painted lie,
You're diseased in heart and mind.



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Don't waste your days awaiting wonder—,,,

Don't waste your days awaiting wonder—
This tale is grim, yet all too real:
The vile ones rise, they pull us under,
And rot becomes the grand ideal.



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CowID

In Bedlam, madness isn’t new,
But THIS is stupid through and through!
The minds collapse, all sense erased—
Pure Lies like poison fill the place.



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