23h
Detachment and the End of the World
Don’t bind yourself, not even
To the stray cats you meet,
For the only bond left is treason,
And that battle’s never sweet.
It’s a war that spans the ages,
But those times are long past.
The End will come, we’ll meet it soon,
All else is nonsense or farce at last.
---------------------
The Devouring Machine
A ravenous machine —
This world, so vile and lean.
Fascism's grip, relentless, stays,
Reborn again in hollow phrases' sway.
---------------------
Aging Children and Adult Games
Playing grown-up isn’t hard—
Just age a bit, and you’ve gone far.
But many grown-ups lie so bold,
A third of them are simply old.
---------------------
Cruel Truth
Cruel Truth sat down by my side,
And whispered a tale that chilled me inside.
To wrap it in verse? A tormenting feat—
But turning away would be soul’s defeat.
Filthy old Lies, through the media stream,
Spew rancid nonsense, a reeking dream.
The vermin bow to the stench with pride—
If that’s the line, I’ll stand outside.
Let the poem be silent—still, wars are waged
With words on the page, not bombs enraged.
You write, you breathe—then rise again,
Though only a few may grasp your pen.
Cold Truth will judge and set the line:
Each to the fate they’ve earned in time.
The liars queue up for another disguise,
The honest are tossed where the grave-wind sighs.
---------------------
What’s Worse Than Tuberculosis?
There is a plague that strikes much worse
Than coughing blood and death’s old curse—
It’s Moronosis, deadly still,
A corpse alive, with lying will.
It’s not contagious through the air,
Yet poisons minds beyond repair.
And kids — the purest, sharpest minds —
Are first to fall to twisted lines.
The fools arrive with books and lies,
Like poisoned treats in sweet disguise.
Believe them once — your mind decays,
You swing your doors to beasts and plague.
Then you’re a slave of Beastly Brood,
Spreading the madness, crude and rude.
This Moronosis grows and feeds—
It’s not a scare. It’s real. It bleeds.
But if you fear it — do not freeze.
Protect the others. Spread disease?
No — shield the minds while there is time.
Don’t heal the fools. Burn back the slime.
---------------------
The Science of All Sciences
To gauge the sheep’s reaction rate—
That’s science. Not your standard kind.
It fuels the fascist-minded state,
With streamlined tools to cage the mind.
To boost results and slash the strain,
Just axe the "useless" works you fund—
Then pour the cash like toxic rain
Where mind control is finely spun.
Thus rise the “vectors of desire”
To herd the flock in planned stampede—
Some to the altar, some to fire,
Some—sick for show, to serve the need.
The core of this "great science" reigns
In fear—its lies are strong and cheap.
Why stage an op when well-told chains
Can wage a war you never speak?
Declare that war upon the sheep?
Oh no, that takes a shred of pride.
Much cleaner: cull them while they sleep.
This genocide just bides its time.
---------------------
From Rant to Rant
The kings of hype, the TikTok troops,
The pop-star squeaks, the YouTube giants—
Serve lukewarm slop in plastic soups,
But where's the place for true defiance?
No place for talent — none at all.
It’s always lost beneath the stream
Of dreary sludge that crowds the stall,
While trash gets pushed by every scheme.
All effort dies outside the trend,
If it won’t bend to what they sell.
You’re just a squirrel that can’t transcend
The spinning wheel — from rant to hell.
---------------------
Surrealist "Climb"
A liar and a fool, tight-bound,
Begin their “climb” with steps unsound.
Alone they’d never scale a thing—
But tied, the liar leads the string.
The fool’s the mule — he hauls the pack,
While lies flood every twisted track.
And where the trench runs deep with grime,
They call that pit the peak they climb.
The fool, in awe, believes he’s blessed.
But truth’s not welcome on this quest.
Only sur-realism thrives—
Where logs roll uphill, dead and blind.
---------------------
Deliriums and Sarcasms
You miss the old delirium? Why?
The new one's here — go kiss it "hi"!
No room for sarcasm in these lines—
Unless you're dumb, you'll spot the signs.
This isn’t irony — it’s fact:
Sarcasm nods to madness past.
But now, fake plagues attack intact
While lunacy gains strength so fast.
Collective madness rules the screen—
Write what you will, say what you mean.
Your mind gets ****** off, left and right,
While evil turns into your rite.
“Get used to filth!” — the global creed,
Where brain-dead mobs outnumber need.
If you decay among the freaks,
Where mutant swine parade in streaks—
Then do your worst, unleash your flame—
You’ll never beat the Madness Game.
And stupidity’s the primal sin.
Now tell me: sarcasm? Where to begin?!
---------------------
False Religions
"There’s little love in this world as is—
why waste it on imaginary beings?"
—Friedrich Nietzsche
Let’s paint a “god” — divine decoy,
A lightning rod for grief and shame.
The crowd, in love with holy toys,
Finds comfort worshiping the lame.
Let’s channel all our “higher drives”
Toward that ghost in skies above—
While those around us scrape to survive,
We’re just too “busy” spreading love.
We build our churches, feed the lies,
Dress up fools in holy gowns.
And all our “love” we sacrifice
To filth and cults where blood goes down—
Drink the blood, eat sacred meat,
Rituals drenched in dark pretense.
Distraction’s art is near-complete,
The inhuman writes my common sense.
It had made our minds slavery,
Hides the chains behind the rite.
For raw brute force can’t always be
Enough to prop a tyrant’s might.
So draw your gods and preach your spell—
That’s how the BEAST expands its bluff.
They’ve layered centuries of hell
With sweet, seductive, sacred stuff.
---------------------
The Path Beyond
The Beyond is not some pastel dream—
It’s rupture, chasm, sharp extreme.
No jelly soul will make it through—
It bursts with rot that Evil grew.
That mushy fool, so soft, so sweet,
Is perfect clay for Evil’s feat.
The path beyond begins in loss,
And not for donkeys to emboss.
There’s no way in without the strain—
The road is built from searing pain.
The first step: rot laid bare and clear.
The next: move onward. Far from here.
---------------------
TV Series
TV series: time’s not lost—
It simply reversed at cost.
Joy runs dry, but still you sit,
Watch again… and call it wit.
You grow numb — the soul erodes,
Feeding on those dreamland codes.
Timeless art feels raw and sore,
Like a wound you just ignore.
It’s a childhood reinstalled—
For old fools, grown-up, dumb, enthralled.
They forget they’re just a tool
For the BEAST’s amusement school.
Waiting gifts from such a source,
They forget the Beast, of course.
TV series — monkey cage,
Plague of Evil, rot in stage.
---------------------
The Irreversible Descent
Like in a nightmare, deeper down—
Not just in fools, nor tyrant clowns.
It’s not just lies that rot the land,
Nor poverty with outstretched hand.
A greater plague begins to rise:
Soullessness behind the eyes.
No cure exists, no hope to mend—
And thought grows useless in the end.
The herd obeys without a fight,
As CowID proved in plainest light.
The further on, the worse it gets—
The sleeping mind absorbs the threats.
---------------------
Straightening Their Backs, Rising Up...
They straightened their backs —
Struck down by the idea!
And from their knees, the hacks
Rose up—wild propaganda’s fear.
The BEAST’s loud cry will lead the way,
To the Crematory, where they’ll pay.
They’ll roast the fools, the broken breed—
The pitiful herd, consumed in greed...
---------------------
Changes in the Pastures
Baa-baa, moo-moo,
In the grass so true.
Hear this, my friend—
The herd’s loose end.
It’s getting rough—
Not enough beef stuff.
The slaughterhouse line
Doubles its grind.
---------------------
Machine Censorship and Ranking
TikTok’s sprout,
The grass — a flood of lies.
A verse runs out,
Censorship decides.
---------------------
Double of a Double?!
A matryoshka of madness!
Oh, how deep’s the pit,
Where lies breed with sharpness.
It’s all run dry—
The oars are withered,
In rotting deceit,
Only insanity is delivered.
---------------------
The Grand Universal Madness
Sarcasm won’t help in this delirium,
The BEAST’s strength leads to its own end—
A ******-up, fiery, twisted show,
The end is near, as chaos grows.
---------------------
Cop Shows
Cop shows, though filmed by the score,
Convince only fools — nothing more.
This abyss, so deep, it’s clear—
Only the dumb dare draw near.
The cop, not the sellout of old,
Now brave in movies, bold.
Fascism crushed the land we knew,
And sent it all spiraling through.
---------------------
No Choice in Total Slavery
"Music of Spheres"
Or Lucifer's gears?
No choice, you see.
"Choice" is just insanity.
To drown in chains,
To live in pain—
To live or rot?
To be or not?
---------------------
Limitless Stupidity and Greed
Deceiving now’s a simple feat:
Greed and folly—limitless deceit.
The BEASTs lie on without a care,
And the wise? They’re left despair.
---------------------
The Little Mind
A splinter of threat
Lodges in the mind.
A splinter plus dreams—
Is it thought or shame we find?
---------------------
The Grasping Mechanism of the Mind as a Replacement for Thought
The grasping instinct, flight from strife,
A reflex to escape from life,
Forgetting you’re just a tool
For others’ greed, their lusts to rule.
To trap you in their filthy pen,
Through fear and lies, they reign again.
They deserve this, these grasping fools—
A law of likeness: dust to dust, no rules.
---------------------
The Ignorant’s Hopes
The ignorant’s hopes,
Like hooks of old,
Are what the BEASTs use
To trap in their hold.
Conditions are strong,
Hopes are absurd—
What can there be in slavery?
Deceptions in torment—deferred.
Hope deceives,
For in lies the fool believes.
This lie is total—
The earth infernal.
---------------------
Trash-Culture by the Ton
A culture built of shredded lies —
Just scraps are worth a second glance.
Soviet lit? In whole — it dies.
Pure rot in patriotic trance.
---------------------
The Hard Work of TRUE Solitude
Alone. Yet pounding at the door —
The crowd returns as ghosts of lies:
Old creeds you swallowed since before,
And sweet delusions in disguise.
They haunt you just to blur the Depth,
To shield your mind from seeing clear.
But till you throw out all that theft,
You're not alone — just bathed in smear.
---------------------
Culinary Arts
"Even dreams can be turned into jam — if you add fruit and sugar."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec
A mighty kitchen, pots of lies,
Dreams baked as fragile, brittle pies.
They top the crust with steaming fiction,
Then glaze it sweet — a pure conviction
Of “faith” and “hope,” naïve and blind.
The crust gives in — not hard to find:
The fools aren’t stingy with the mess —
They’ll bring more lies with due finesse.
---------------------
Children’s Drama Club
The stars on stage? It’s mom and dad —
Loud-mouthed tantrums, twisted, sad.
Shame and spite in every shout —
That’s what “drama” is about.
Little minds, still soft and bending,
Face this “show” that's never ending.
Worse than books that rot the brain —
It’s poison served as heartfelt pain.
The soul gets warped by ****** scenes,
Where “chasing dreams” means vile routines.
And in this play, if you don’t break,
You’ll play a **** for grown-up’s sake —
Just useful trash in madhouse grind,
To slave for peanuts, dumb and blind.
--- Total 28 poems. ---
Don’t bind yourself, not even
To the stray cats you meet,
For the only bond left is treason,
And that battle’s never sweet.
It’s a war that spans the ages,
But those times are long past.
The End will come, we’ll meet it soon,
All else is nonsense or farce at last.
---------------------
The Devouring Machine
A ravenous machine —
This world, so vile and lean.
Fascism's grip, relentless, stays,
Reborn again in hollow phrases' sway.
---------------------
Aging Children and Adult Games
Playing grown-up isn’t hard—
Just age a bit, and you’ve gone far.
But many grown-ups lie so bold,
A third of them are simply old.
---------------------
Cruel Truth
Cruel Truth sat down by my side,
And whispered a tale that chilled me inside.
To wrap it in verse? A tormenting feat—
But turning away would be soul’s defeat.
Filthy old Lies, through the media stream,
Spew rancid nonsense, a reeking dream.
The vermin bow to the stench with pride—
If that’s the line, I’ll stand outside.
Let the poem be silent—still, wars are waged
With words on the page, not bombs enraged.
You write, you breathe—then rise again,
Though only a few may grasp your pen.
Cold Truth will judge and set the line:
Each to the fate they’ve earned in time.
The liars queue up for another disguise,
The honest are tossed where the grave-wind sighs.
---------------------
What’s Worse Than Tuberculosis?
There is a plague that strikes much worse
Than coughing blood and death’s old curse—
It’s Moronosis, deadly still,
A corpse alive, with lying will.
It’s not contagious through the air,
Yet poisons minds beyond repair.
And kids — the purest, sharpest minds —
Are first to fall to twisted lines.
The fools arrive with books and lies,
Like poisoned treats in sweet disguise.
Believe them once — your mind decays,
You swing your doors to beasts and plague.
Then you’re a slave of Beastly Brood,
Spreading the madness, crude and rude.
This Moronosis grows and feeds—
It’s not a scare. It’s real. It bleeds.
But if you fear it — do not freeze.
Protect the others. Spread disease?
No — shield the minds while there is time.
Don’t heal the fools. Burn back the slime.
---------------------
The Science of All Sciences
To gauge the sheep’s reaction rate—
That’s science. Not your standard kind.
It fuels the fascist-minded state,
With streamlined tools to cage the mind.
To boost results and slash the strain,
Just axe the "useless" works you fund—
Then pour the cash like toxic rain
Where mind control is finely spun.
Thus rise the “vectors of desire”
To herd the flock in planned stampede—
Some to the altar, some to fire,
Some—sick for show, to serve the need.
The core of this "great science" reigns
In fear—its lies are strong and cheap.
Why stage an op when well-told chains
Can wage a war you never speak?
Declare that war upon the sheep?
Oh no, that takes a shred of pride.
Much cleaner: cull them while they sleep.
This genocide just bides its time.
---------------------
From Rant to Rant
The kings of hype, the TikTok troops,
The pop-star squeaks, the YouTube giants—
Serve lukewarm slop in plastic soups,
But where's the place for true defiance?
No place for talent — none at all.
It’s always lost beneath the stream
Of dreary sludge that crowds the stall,
While trash gets pushed by every scheme.
All effort dies outside the trend,
If it won’t bend to what they sell.
You’re just a squirrel that can’t transcend
The spinning wheel — from rant to hell.
---------------------
Surrealist "Climb"
A liar and a fool, tight-bound,
Begin their “climb” with steps unsound.
Alone they’d never scale a thing—
But tied, the liar leads the string.
The fool’s the mule — he hauls the pack,
While lies flood every twisted track.
And where the trench runs deep with grime,
They call that pit the peak they climb.
The fool, in awe, believes he’s blessed.
But truth’s not welcome on this quest.
Only sur-realism thrives—
Where logs roll uphill, dead and blind.
---------------------
Deliriums and Sarcasms
You miss the old delirium? Why?
The new one's here — go kiss it "hi"!
No room for sarcasm in these lines—
Unless you're dumb, you'll spot the signs.
This isn’t irony — it’s fact:
Sarcasm nods to madness past.
But now, fake plagues attack intact
While lunacy gains strength so fast.
Collective madness rules the screen—
Write what you will, say what you mean.
Your mind gets ****** off, left and right,
While evil turns into your rite.
“Get used to filth!” — the global creed,
Where brain-dead mobs outnumber need.
If you decay among the freaks,
Where mutant swine parade in streaks—
Then do your worst, unleash your flame—
You’ll never beat the Madness Game.
And stupidity’s the primal sin.
Now tell me: sarcasm? Where to begin?!
---------------------
False Religions
"There’s little love in this world as is—
why waste it on imaginary beings?"
—Friedrich Nietzsche
Let’s paint a “god” — divine decoy,
A lightning rod for grief and shame.
The crowd, in love with holy toys,
Finds comfort worshiping the lame.
Let’s channel all our “higher drives”
Toward that ghost in skies above—
While those around us scrape to survive,
We’re just too “busy” spreading love.
We build our churches, feed the lies,
Dress up fools in holy gowns.
And all our “love” we sacrifice
To filth and cults where blood goes down—
Drink the blood, eat sacred meat,
Rituals drenched in dark pretense.
Distraction’s art is near-complete,
The inhuman writes my common sense.
It had made our minds slavery,
Hides the chains behind the rite.
For raw brute force can’t always be
Enough to prop a tyrant’s might.
So draw your gods and preach your spell—
That’s how the BEAST expands its bluff.
They’ve layered centuries of hell
With sweet, seductive, sacred stuff.
---------------------
The Path Beyond
The Beyond is not some pastel dream—
It’s rupture, chasm, sharp extreme.
No jelly soul will make it through—
It bursts with rot that Evil grew.
That mushy fool, so soft, so sweet,
Is perfect clay for Evil’s feat.
The path beyond begins in loss,
And not for donkeys to emboss.
There’s no way in without the strain—
The road is built from searing pain.
The first step: rot laid bare and clear.
The next: move onward. Far from here.
---------------------
TV Series
TV series: time’s not lost—
It simply reversed at cost.
Joy runs dry, but still you sit,
Watch again… and call it wit.
You grow numb — the soul erodes,
Feeding on those dreamland codes.
Timeless art feels raw and sore,
Like a wound you just ignore.
It’s a childhood reinstalled—
For old fools, grown-up, dumb, enthralled.
They forget they’re just a tool
For the BEAST’s amusement school.
Waiting gifts from such a source,
They forget the Beast, of course.
TV series — monkey cage,
Plague of Evil, rot in stage.
---------------------
The Irreversible Descent
Like in a nightmare, deeper down—
Not just in fools, nor tyrant clowns.
It’s not just lies that rot the land,
Nor poverty with outstretched hand.
A greater plague begins to rise:
Soullessness behind the eyes.
No cure exists, no hope to mend—
And thought grows useless in the end.
The herd obeys without a fight,
As CowID proved in plainest light.
The further on, the worse it gets—
The sleeping mind absorbs the threats.
---------------------
Straightening Their Backs, Rising Up...
They straightened their backs —
Struck down by the idea!
And from their knees, the hacks
Rose up—wild propaganda’s fear.
The BEAST’s loud cry will lead the way,
To the Crematory, where they’ll pay.
They’ll roast the fools, the broken breed—
The pitiful herd, consumed in greed...
---------------------
Changes in the Pastures
Baa-baa, moo-moo,
In the grass so true.
Hear this, my friend—
The herd’s loose end.
It’s getting rough—
Not enough beef stuff.
The slaughterhouse line
Doubles its grind.
---------------------
Machine Censorship and Ranking
TikTok’s sprout,
The grass — a flood of lies.
A verse runs out,
Censorship decides.
---------------------
Double of a Double?!
A matryoshka of madness!
Oh, how deep’s the pit,
Where lies breed with sharpness.
It’s all run dry—
The oars are withered,
In rotting deceit,
Only insanity is delivered.
---------------------
The Grand Universal Madness
Sarcasm won’t help in this delirium,
The BEAST’s strength leads to its own end—
A ******-up, fiery, twisted show,
The end is near, as chaos grows.
---------------------
Cop Shows
Cop shows, though filmed by the score,
Convince only fools — nothing more.
This abyss, so deep, it’s clear—
Only the dumb dare draw near.
The cop, not the sellout of old,
Now brave in movies, bold.
Fascism crushed the land we knew,
And sent it all spiraling through.
---------------------
No Choice in Total Slavery
"Music of Spheres"
Or Lucifer's gears?
No choice, you see.
"Choice" is just insanity.
To drown in chains,
To live in pain—
To live or rot?
To be or not?
---------------------
Limitless Stupidity and Greed
Deceiving now’s a simple feat:
Greed and folly—limitless deceit.
The BEASTs lie on without a care,
And the wise? They’re left despair.
---------------------
The Little Mind
A splinter of threat
Lodges in the mind.
A splinter plus dreams—
Is it thought or shame we find?
---------------------
The Grasping Mechanism of the Mind as a Replacement for Thought
The grasping instinct, flight from strife,
A reflex to escape from life,
Forgetting you’re just a tool
For others’ greed, their lusts to rule.
To trap you in their filthy pen,
Through fear and lies, they reign again.
They deserve this, these grasping fools—
A law of likeness: dust to dust, no rules.
---------------------
The Ignorant’s Hopes
The ignorant’s hopes,
Like hooks of old,
Are what the BEASTs use
To trap in their hold.
Conditions are strong,
Hopes are absurd—
What can there be in slavery?
Deceptions in torment—deferred.
Hope deceives,
For in lies the fool believes.
This lie is total—
The earth infernal.
---------------------
Trash-Culture by the Ton
A culture built of shredded lies —
Just scraps are worth a second glance.
Soviet lit? In whole — it dies.
Pure rot in patriotic trance.
---------------------
The Hard Work of TRUE Solitude
Alone. Yet pounding at the door —
The crowd returns as ghosts of lies:
Old creeds you swallowed since before,
And sweet delusions in disguise.
They haunt you just to blur the Depth,
To shield your mind from seeing clear.
But till you throw out all that theft,
You're not alone — just bathed in smear.
---------------------
Culinary Arts
"Even dreams can be turned into jam — if you add fruit and sugar."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec
A mighty kitchen, pots of lies,
Dreams baked as fragile, brittle pies.
They top the crust with steaming fiction,
Then glaze it sweet — a pure conviction
Of “faith” and “hope,” naïve and blind.
The crust gives in — not hard to find:
The fools aren’t stingy with the mess —
They’ll bring more lies with due finesse.
---------------------
Children’s Drama Club
The stars on stage? It’s mom and dad —
Loud-mouthed tantrums, twisted, sad.
Shame and spite in every shout —
That’s what “drama” is about.
Little minds, still soft and bending,
Face this “show” that's never ending.
Worse than books that rot the brain —
It’s poison served as heartfelt pain.
The soul gets warped by ****** scenes,
Where “chasing dreams” means vile routines.
And in this play, if you don’t break,
You’ll play a **** for grown-up’s sake —
Just useful trash in madhouse grind,
To slave for peanuts, dumb and blind.
--- Total 28 poems. ---
