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Keith W Fletcher Oct 2016
I thought about this and around this for a long time, so I guess it's time to write it down.

THE NATURAL ORDER.

There is a natural balance in Earths history and mankind's tentative balance along the scale.
  When humans began to band together and create communities, control of fire / light created a need for oil . Eventually settling on whale oil.
   So it was by the grace of whatever one might want to attribute it to,that let petroleum come into play at a time when whales are in danger of being annihilated and dead horses were clogging the streets of cities in the east, left dead or dying by the Cartmen who simply unstrapped the sick or dead animal and moved on.
  .Oil / petroleum led to the creation of the internal combustion engine.
   So again a hand stirred the ***.                
  Consider these improvements( if such they were )created rapid growth and burgeoning cities . Again Providence stepped in to create radio , telephone and airplanes, essentially at a time when growth of humanity was so great , that new ways of farming , new ways of seeing the world-  were  becoming more and more necessary to a shrinking world.
   Unfortunately, at a time when we, the American initiative creators of so many trends, ideas ,Innovations and inspirations around the world, were suddenly slammed a blow that at this point, 40 years later; it's very reverberations are still being felt.
   Consider if big oil and trickle-down had not ,for spiteful and greedy involution, taken down the solar panels from the White House roof, that Jimmy Carter had installed in 1977.
  How far ahead would we be now ,in clean energy and how much less damage to the ice cap and the atmosphere would have been done??  To date... my guess is that it is incomprehensible.
  So if nature does create a balance, it seems we are coming to a critical Junction.

Right now -metaphorically speaking- we are riding shotgun in a car with a driver ,who like us ,sees cars up ahead disappearing around the curve and all hitting  their brake lights. Now any reasonable driver at highway speeds is 65 - 80 miles an hour would at least take the foot off the gas in preparation of  tapping the brakes.
  So many politicians right now are refusing to accept the brake lights... see no reason to tap the brakes to interrupt cruise control, in all actuality, completely refusing to do anything except go around the curve at full speed.
   Around that curve we may find nothing but smooth sailing ,  or we may find a catastrophe in the making.
   Nature will accept the cruise Interruption now (maybe) brakes absolutely, but Full Speed Ahead will lead to the sickening crunch of seawater rising and  spilling salt water into the lands that are used for growing crops and food -  leading to millions , maybe billions of refugees with nowhere to go.

Or we will reach critical mass of sheer ignorant arrogance and nuke ourselves into a situation that does not have the technology or population to hammer at the planet so freaking hard.

Most likely the first scenario would instigate the 2nd and those of us who crawl up out of the ashes will start the evolution to revolution journey all over again.

Ain't nature Grand ???
George Krokos Sep 2014
There is a path or road on which a person can travel
by which the mystery of existence one can unravel.
It involves going deep into the center of one’s inner being
where the answers to life’s main questions are revealed in.

This path or road has been given the name of ‘Involution’
and provides the means to offer one a worthwhile solution,
for anybody who is curious about the nature of existence
and is willing to undergo the discipline with persistence.

Most people today have heard about the process or theory of evolution
which attempts to explain how life evolved since the start of creation.
But the purpose and goal of that process has remained a big mystery
and only those who have reached the end are qualified to call it history.

They are the Ones who have become the real masters of life
having undergone many years of training regardless of strife
and have reached that exclusive state called Self-Realization
being a place of immaculate Eternal Springtime in Creation.

They know the Truth of the words which will set people free
and have the authority and power to use it for all humanity.
They are the true ‘Sons of God’ living amidst mankind today
and the Glory of the Creator shines in them not fading away.
_______________
Written in 2013 and draws a lot from the philosophy of Meher Baba and others.
Syafie R  Jan 22
Involution
Syafie R Jan 22
What

scaffold

eternal bounds?

Is it sinew, shadow, vacuum?

You reach, spirals unraveling becoming. Who forged laws?

Can the architect recall genesis, or memory ash? Walls hum with fractal hymns.

Each question births a child, becomes a labyrinth, sings of endless corridors. Beneath infinity's weight, does collapse spiral upward forever unfold?

It is a serpent in disguise— its tongue promises clarity, but clarity is a chimera. Thought consumes itself, meaning devours its maker, and nothingness births the heaviest burden: the need to ask again, endlessly.
Tried something a bit different here, mixed it with a little math. Let me know if I got it right or if I just made everyone’s brain hurt!
George Krokos Nov 2023
Life is just a long or short journey,
for every creature in this world,
that includes birth, growth, death
and reincarnation or rebirth in the
One and only Infinite Being
of Eternal Conscious Existence or God,
where the main real objective and purpose of it is
for God to realize and know Himself,
through that of all of His
highest evolved forms in creation,
which are human beings,
be it any man or woman,
by a process of Involution and Realization
as being Omnipresent, Infinite and Eternal
and to experience,
for those who attain the goal;
which can only be attained here on the earth,
the infinite divine power, knowledge, love and bliss,
which are all the very essence and true nature
of That Indivisible and Unfathomable Creator.
____
Written Nov'2016. Inspired by an artist's painting that was commissioned by Meher Baba, a spiritual master of the 20th Century, to go with his book titled 'God Speaks' which is one of the 10 books listed that have really helped me to shape and inspire my life to understand the world and the hidden spiritual path that all human beings are indeed traveling on.
Helen Sep 2020
Grammy is an Empath, clairsentient old soul
Mommy is an Indigo, not sure if she knows
I was born a Rainbow Bear to make the planet whole
Together we will change the world, at least that is our goal
Grammy plays with honeybees, loves entomology
Mommy is a healer, she gets it naturally
I'm completely fearless, we all are HSP
At least we’re slightly different, on that we can agree
Grammy hears the trees speak, scream when they are down
Mommy sees the unborn babes by using ultrasound
I sensate most creatures before they come around
We hope to stir you deeply so offer this background
I’ll share my involution with you every now and then
Speak with you of changes by taking up a pen
Together we bee wise ones who work for truth again
The world will be lighter, though I can not tell you when...
(Little Bear speaks of Starseed, from "The Book of the Bear")
Dondaycee Feb 2018
In this “time”, this “journey”,
This experience of:  “knowing myself”,
I take time; appreciating how “I” remembered my wealth and was a king-
“- I am a king”
“I am a soul evolving after involution because my intuitions fully “well””
I said I, there was another…
Another meaning…
I credit she, that was a queen,
“She is a queen, who gave love”,
She is a soul functioning as a higher self, in a higher dimensional state,
Time reflected me, which evoked self, that then gave self-awareness of my current space, which erased, the limited concept of time,
Then came more opportunities to see my,
Many ways of thinking, that molds my many ways of seeing thyself, my personality that reflects the many physical manifestations of my inner health,
Which brought me to my inner self,
And that brought recognition in understanding the difference between the body and the mental health,
Which brought dreams where I’d journey as a different self,
Then came the understanding of life, an experience,
It’s creating a journey in the environment you’re in,
Then experiencing it to get back to happiness; again,
Look, when I speak, understand,
What you see are the many thoughts in a vibration that manifest into, “myself”,
I’m only giving you wisdom, using ancient philosophy that we all know,
Understand well being, a human’s true wealth,
This is knowledge that I’ve learned from the theory,
“As above, so below”
That’s Hermeticsm... Wait… Greek mythology in Rome?
Hermes and Mercury?
I thought the Romans burnt down the library of Alexandria and all the knowledge,
Welllll, if money is power, go to college,
But I believe it’s knowledge; experience, that builds these universities,
Just like the universe-
“Hush, you have to properly navigate them home”
Oh yeah, you gotta know the yin and yang,
It’s the same thing as As above, So below,
This is Chinese philosophy,
WAIT! ...
Wait, please tell me you see the connection between politics and society,
Countries and History,
“How” we were divided and “why” it was a mystery,
How religions are stories and philosophy, and things that gods would teach,
And it still isn’t clear that the people we praise, are what we can be if we aspire to be,
And that the experience we’re experiencing as a human species is only prophecy, because we forgot our roots, the biology, on how our thoughts assembled the body consciously,
And how to be a king, become a god, it’s all philosophy?
Its like Star Wars and Star Trek, this whole awakening slash conscious thing,
This means theory is life,
Theoretically speaking, if metaphysics and fantasy; that’s Sci-Fi , were looked at as religion; by that I mean held with faith and a grain of salt,
Again theoretically speaking, movies would be life,
Again I emphasize that theory, it is life,
So what is life?
I say life is a consciousness that creates and experience itself,
In many dimensions which is why it’s understandable we’re living many lives at once and time doesn’t exist,
We’re constantly extending ourselves, if that’s hard to conceive then perceive, just look at how many times in this poem I extended the self,
Next is the “Big Crunch”, evolution,
After “The Big Bang” which was involution,
The experience of individuality, devolution,
Which is why we focus on this illusion,
Everything existing above and below are connected,
It’s just an extension of our true self,
This type of awareness came from true love,
A queen that was ensorcelled and devalued,
The pleasures of a female are so, De-Valued,
I mean, there’s a decrease in the chakra Sacral,
A decrease in DV (Direct Voltage), there’s no balance, no DV (Disparity Vector),  which is why D&V (DcK & Vgina) ends in DV (Dark Vengeance) which leads to DV (Domestic Violence) or a decrease in DV (Daily Values) which leads to DV (Decreasing Value) which are DT, (Dark Thoughts), DV’s (Decoy Vehicles) that creates DV (Dense Vibrations), decreasing the concept of DV (Diversification Value) which is why we be DV (Disabled Vehicles), and physically manifest a DV (Dark Vision), this virtual reality where a species is DV (Divided),
DT (Define Time) because I’m convinced it’s a combination of IUDT,
(Individuals Unconscious Direct Thoughts),
It means I, You; Depicting Things, and that’s enough VD (validation), a quick C&E (Cause and Effect) on how D&V can lead to the pleasures of a female being Devalued,
But that’s another story, I learned that by observing me,
After observing she,
I just appreciated how she smiled when she was unable to see,
If there truly was a light, which enable belief,
I call it faith, others say create because she created relief,
Truly in me, so I relentlessly searched for knowledge to attain and arrange a way for her to be free because again I’m truly grateful that she,
Gave love, a true reflection that was dormant but naval to me,
I learned so that I can serve her, but that quickly turned towards others which awoke clairvoyance in me,
Jesus is what I aspire to be but there’s still this burning desire to be,
In the arms of this lady, this queen that cyphers in dreams until I wake and such love still remains to be seen,
But that’s another story, I’m inn love, I give love without expecting a thing,
It’s a way of life, which is why I’m constantly responsibly subjecting this awareness, this consciousness thing,
Because I honestly; at least modestly believe in this concomitantly,
And that previously, I am a king, and she is a queen,
I didn’t say “was” because in this “time”, this “journey”,
This experience of: “knowing myself”,
The previously conceived concept of time is no longer a thing.
#Day #me #life #love
How much fear would he come to stagnate his work ...?, The one that every suitable being knows how to develop and take care of. After he left the pulpit, he did not stop receiving more than the custom of the faithful not to see them changed, nor to see them migrate from his essence, like that of Ludwig and his involution of a well-structured animal.

Ludwig ...: Now I don't see my hands and my feet in good condition, and that this makes me never pretended, the non-biological, what is neither born nor dies. Of course, the changes are periodic and I will let the course continue normally, "Yesterday I was born and tomorrow I will be reborn ..."

My parents did not treasure the things that I needed, they only detracted from the possibility of providing the components and ingredients of the work they brought, "Myself". They were silent until the moment of his death, and I was frozen in the coldest winter that could be borne. Back at his house, he is led by the curiosity of the stone of that night with Antonieta. During the day everything was different, he did not take long to find her until he saw her up close. By having her close to her, he spared no efforts to make something of her, which he knew was not of common origin, but that she carried something magical.

Ludwig ...: Everything has been framed in a light or a halo, and behind these two things is the precursor fire of everything created. He has purified and burned in the atonement and inquisition, and he has created wonder in the eyes just as he did to me ...

... Everything attracts us, everything wants to convey to us what the neighboring elements of the hidden material orb have to experience. Every glimpse of the mountains or the hills, the question of our self is becoming present, that no matter how harmonious it may see in this case, the stone in balance is sought ..., and it will always be one step away from harmony, discord to find the real and accurate science of reason. I can already be proud of the activity that I have chosen, that if I have to meditate deeply and for the eyes of another it is idleness, without contributing anything to the world. It will be something as fleeting and unheard of as the same events over time, they end up ending up, sinking into the mud. For this time, he continued to see the stone, until the works have to have an author, the one that still remained anonymous, which would only change when the balance is favorable. Later, after having been on his property for a long time, he returns to his house and fixes his room somewhat. He orders pictures, books, in short, puts a general order. After ordering, he prepares his things to travel to the South of his Paradise; to the fields and coastal cliffs, to the mosses and the wild pastures with the icy gale blowing through. He alone would go for a few days since he would not miss his date with Antonieta. Near dusk, he left for his destination. The estate of an old friend of his father's awaited him. The trip was a bit hasty, but his anxieties were greater, due to that night that he wandered through the rain.

It has been a long time since I was going to see them, rather than at a Christmas party in 1954. Ludwig ...: Now I can see the horizon and the huge house with its windmills ... I hope they are ...?As he approached he saw Dn. Adolfo through the window, as well as other people who accompanied him, who he assumed, were from his family. Eight years had passed since the last time he was with them. After crossing the bridge, he makes up his mind to beat. Opening the owner of the house, recognizing him immediately.

Adoph ...: My dear Ludwig, what a joy to see you!
Ludwig ...: Thank you very much, me too.

He enters, he greets Adolfo's wife, Mrs. Isabel, then Martina, reminding him of that time they flew in a plane, and Ludwig almost died of vertigo. Isabel serves him some salmon. Adolfo questions him about the famous orchard that he inherited from her father. Ludwig answers him saying that he will die there.

Adolph ...: You have inherited valuable things from your family. Among them is the creative gift and simplicity, with the strength that you impress on everything.

I always remember them, your father from that time we enlisted in the R.A.F., to go to the War Front, since that time we became very close. I remember that in hostilities, Russia joined Germany, initiating fratricide. Your father and I passed the last checks and they commissioned us. On that day Russia defected from Germany.

Ludwig ...: Until his last days, he talked to me about those experiences. I think it turned out to be something of great relevance, especially the help from brother to brother, so as not to feel alone and exterminated. Adolfo tells him to put aside the past a bit, Martina and Aurora think the same. They keep covering until long after midnight. It was two in the morning and the conversation was still entertaining, the women were gone and they had gone to sleep. Ludwig tells Adolfo that they had been talking for two hours and also that they lived only four hours away, and they saw so little of each other --- Adolfo tells him that in the year 51 they had gone to Europe for a year. Also at the end of that year, my daughters finished their studies, coming to me alone with Isabel. After three years, they returned. For now, we will not move from this place, although I had been offered to work in the UN, to go to the conflict in Korea. But fortunately here in Chile I settled and everything came to nothing. Well, Ludwig Germano, I'll show you your room and I'll invite you tomorrow to fly to the Islet to look for some tourists. Now I'll show you your piece and don't forget to be ready at seven.

During the night, lying down, he thought that the changes that took him from place to place made him uneasy and exhausted. Where he was now was what he needed. Exclaim, how peaceful and appetizing ...! At bedtime one of his voices spoke to her ...: “Life is an instrument that must be cared for. If you abuse it, you will no longer have it. It is also mutable, if you give it constructive things, you will get the best and if you don't, the darkness will haunt you. At dawn, they had breakfast and went to the airfield, which was about six hundred meters from the house. When he arrived he saw that the hangar was very large, the plane was green, and it seemed to float in the air.
Adolfo ...: I'll check it and start the engine. Everything was going, the plane was ready, the day helped as it was sunny.

As they took off, they walked around the house, Ludwig was excited, he could barely respond to the greetings of Martina and Aurora. They passed something low for them to see. It was a quarter of an hour to the islet, they landed and proceeded to board the passengers. They were scientists who studied Habitat. In fact, on this islet that is populated, nobody lives on it. It was more difficult to take off since the materials were very complicated and delicate.

Adolph ...: I almost forgot, you have to change the batteries in the headlight. Bring them, they're in the back. They both went to install it, at the other end of a cliff, changed it, and left.

Ludwig ...: This is lonely, there are extraordinary things here, it looks like a huge plant raft. If she saw it Antoinette she would be impressed.

From here you can see the sky drawn, the storm clouds interspersed by the wind, and some timid flashes that try to cross the huge air masses, nearby to a day that could discharge the seas of waters, dropping them to the adjacent environment. Water on water, water on the wind, water on land, water on my hands ...- Also disturbing, the sea hits the cliffs of Adolfo's property. Some waves rush in with a harmonious ripple, hitting the edges until they rise several meters above the sea, only to fall slowly from where they were pushed. The fishing birds worked incessantly, carrying food to their young, and at the same time training them to become independent. This is how this wonderful medium is, that at the entrance of this scene, and the idylls with the immobile rocks give experiences to the Fauna. There is no day that fills us more with life-giving communion, our own imprints on all that is done, on what is reflective, on the immortality of what has just been blessed or cursed with parasite errors. Everything is for us who exist forever eternal and lonely ... "What embraces and governs us is very wise, it induces us to balance, to the same nascent endogenous attitude of infinite knowledge, the Empyrean or Nature. This Animal kingdom ruled by men is nothing more than all species in an unstoppable evolution, which forces us to submit in this twentieth century. A world that is increasingly removed from all-wise and humble spiritual vibrations, dominating at the same time with an insatiable appetite, which should give us governance, to be more dedicated to cultivating the barren being for the good. At that moment that he had just reflected, Adolfo called him surprised, it was time to leave the class. On the flight, silence reigned for minutes, until Adolfo spoke.

Adolph ...: It seems that you liked the islet, I saw you very thoughtful.
Ludwig ...: It is beautiful, and for anyone it is very stimulating.
Adolph ...: You're right, I've lived it.
Ludwig ...: I don't feel scared anymore, I think I'm going to get used to flying.

They landed and unloaded all the boxes they were carrying and this time they did not put the plane into the hangar. They leave walking after saying goodbye to the passengers until they reach the house and their daughters receive them.

Martina ...: Tell me, did you like the islet? It's nice, right ...!
Ludwig ...: Yes I loved it.
Aurora ...: Martina, Ludwig, let's go through.
Ludwig ...: What ...?
Adolfo ...: It's a surprise, see you.
Martina ...: Come ... join us!

Ludwig did not understand the invitation, but as he approached the aerodrome a hundred meters, on the edge of the cliff, there were some ropes hanging, and below a circular net about fifty meters more or less deep, each time the wind grew stronger and bigger. Martina takes a rope and begins to sway, it seemed that the wind was cooperating too much since everything pretended to be weightless in space. Martina was like this, and in a moment of incredible acrobatics, she fell off the hook, falling and circling the net several times. From where Ludwig was, she could see the plane as if it were confused with the jumping pasture, she saw that its wheels were jumping as if the wind wanted to carry it away. Everything belonged to the aeolian promontory, the branches and the trees, everything was beautifully dominated by it. Aurora and Martina looked like little girls, they played with the ropes with great skill. Martina wore her movements, her brown hair and white skin made her overcome all traits. Martina was the center of the acrobatic game, Aurora dominated the game, but not like her sister. There was a time when the risk they took with the inordinateness of time was too much. Ludwig could not contain her joy, he could not ignore the wonderful spectacle of them, the immense energy delivered by them, towards a liberation above all dimensions.

Martina ...: Come on Ludwig ..., try it, you'll like it!

She approached Ludwig and taught him something that she had never learned so fast, she took a rope which she did not stop staring into space until she swayed high and long on the swing.Her tightly clamped hands didn't want to let go or give up, but she grew fatigued. He had to look towards the network that would receive him, and beyond the network, the rocks could be seen. He finally could control the sway and let go, the highest fifty meters of his life, he never believed that such a sensation would bathe him in gushing adrenaline. Then between networks, he relaxed and listened to the advice of his guides. Martina congratulated him, marking him as a hero, told him to stay still and that she was going to move him with a string. Ludwig sighed deeply. Martina, aided by Aurora, pulled Ludwig down, quieting the echoes of him. After a while, he received a big hug from his guides.

Martina ...: I'm very happy, all this has been very exciting, even more so with you.
Ludwig ...: For me, it has been to rise to precious freedom, to an excellent game.
Aurora ...: You really did well, it was an act of great courage. You're the third person to do it, you actually ******* away.
Ludwig ...: Thanks to you that I did it, by motivating myself. But I confess that at one point I thought I was not able to do it, having to use all my strength.

Martina ...: It's time to eat, so let's see what mom made. Come on Aurora, and you Ludwig, if you're late, you'll wash the dishes. Wit and charm made them the happiest beings, they ran like hunted gazelles. Upon reaching the beloved place.

Mrs. Isabel receives them, and Adolfo was smoking a pipe. They are going to dinner, Ludwig says; The decadent rays inspire us with what is healthy, what is meant within me is manifested by the distributed sun. Martina says that was fine, that it was the most attractive when they think like that. To which Ludwig said that he was only meditating out loud. Doña Isabel found it super good for them to do those things. Ludwig expresses his gratitude to them by making them feel like his close relatives. They tell him it was the least they would do for him. And Aurora tells him that of course, there would be more entertainment waiting for him on the ropes. After they spoke, they ate prawns piecemeal with delicious well-seasoned watercress, then beans with sauce. To drink a lot of wine and dessert threads in syrup.

Adolph ...: The rope game seemed real daring. Note that we used it as training, in addition to measuring your audacity it fortifies you enormously. With your father we used to practice hours and hours, we even competed. Ludwig replied that it was just by looking at the trophies on the cabinet, and Adolfo told him that some he had won with Hans; his father.

Isabel ...: So Ludwig, is the exemplary model of his father, and in good honor.
Ludwig tells him not to praise him so much. As the night progresses, they decide to go to sleep. But Adolfo asks Martina to go and find the pantry early, which was well received by them.

Ludwig ...: Well then I'll reserve my ticket.
Martina ...: That you're leaving today!
Ludwig ...: No, tomorrow.
Martina ...: Ah ..., you mean ...? !

Isabel tells Aurora to pick up her silverware. Then Ludwig went to sit on the couch and from there he looked at the patch of desolate land. Every pause he made to digest the wine explored the even relief. Chaos still continues, the antithesis of the pestilential that is only what the rest laugh at. After a while, Martina comes over and tells him what is going on in that head, and he says ... Nothing! Then she thinks of accompanying me to town, to which he says anyway.Ludwig intimately thought about the wide spectrum of changes, he can now see the one who was long invisible. The one that takes you along elongated empirical routes, fraternalism, or perhaps what is linked to spontaneity.
Weirdly Emigrate Chapter  VII  Part I
Prigs

Prigs keep chanting empty phrases,
Selling lies of “peaceful ways,”
Preach their “light” in glossy phases —
Profitable, self-praised plays.

They inhale the lies unceasing,
Spewed by darkness to the crowd,
Sworn to “positivity,”
Twisted youth that thinks it’s proud.

Like a Boy Scout’s oath, deceiving,
Vows are childish, crude and vain.
Fascism — the brain’s misweaving,
Just like Red indoctrained chains.

Realists? A rare mutation —
Skinless ones who feel the fake.
Many met obliteration,
No protection — raw and flayed.

Wounds cut deeper, grief grows vaster,
Madness sings a lullaby.
Prigs don’t get it — “onward, faster!”
They can’t see, and don’t know why.

Realists — their work is “*****,”
Truth is gruesome, rough, and stark.
Lies, while numbing fools unworthy,
Drive the thinking to the dark.

Truth must rip the lie and burn it —
That’s the labor. Grim the fate:
If you don’t praise all that’s vermin,
You’re erased. You’re not “the state.”

Censorship grows ever bolder —
Clear thought’s always in the scope.
But they pass the swampy smolder,
Let the prigs inhale and cope:

Wash their masks with fresh illusion,
Pose as strong, serene, and bright.
Realist — a weak intrusion,
Labelled sick, dismissed from sight.

Life for prigs is streamlined fiction,
Synced with chaos, world-approved.
Every step — self-justification,
And they love how they're “improved.”

So it was with ******’s legions:
“Swear and serve” — a proud refrain.
Off to war they marched as “heroes,”
Died in glory. Died in vain.

Realists? They met the prison.
Rashism plays the same charade:
Apes are taught to “see no schism,”
While their minds are cut and caged.

See, the split will shred your thinking,
If you’re not a **** — beware.
Are you one? Then keep on shrinking,
Kiss the ground and never dare.

But the prigs will face deletion
With their rot-born world, enslaved.
Satan grins at their submission —
Evil’s just “a smoky wave”

That disturbs their “happy forging,”
Forged in gold of sweet deceit.
Storms are coming. Truth is surging.
Earth will rise — and cleanse their feet.



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



Prigs will kneel — and burn with lies,
Truth ignites what filth denies.
Sweet illusion rots the core —
Storm is coming. Cleanse the floor.



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



The Deadlings

A twisted web of empty chatter —
Deceit, futility, and fear.
World’s madness shapes the soul to shatter —
And life turns ashes, year by year.

Not ashes few — the world’s infected
With walking corpses all around.
To call them “fools” is too selective —
Their Spirit’s gone. Not to be found.

These soulless creatures? Legion, truly.
And brains they lack, yet still they preach.
They mumble “God” in manners duly —
That’s propaganda’s rotting leech.

Fascism now rules the Madhouse —
A Global One, where filth is king.
Spirit fades, like breath in silence,
Mind is nearly vanishing.

The full-scale picture I have painted
In stanzas just a step before.
We all are guilty. All are tainted.
If you don’t fight — you're done. No more.

Your soul will shrink in forced compliance,
Your mind decay in deadly calm.
And you’ll become one of the “deadlings” —
The bottom reeks. BURN DOWN THE SCAM!

The judgment's passed — it came from Higher:
The Sun is lit — the wrath is real.
It will incinerate the liars,
This rotting world that cannot feel.

A twisted web of empty chatter —
Deceit, futility, and fear.
But those not chained by this brain-splatter
May yet survive. Reject the smear,

Reject the lies, the fear — and boldly
Slam the door with final might!
If nothing else — then go in glory,
Unmasking every Beast in sight.

Few will hear — the fog is blinding,
Propaganda eats the sky.
The deadlings kneel, their herds complying —
The ruling gang just lets them die.

They “heal” and herd — like with CowID,
They showed it all. The scam is plain.
But now the Reaper comes — from Higher.
The **** will writhe in holy flame.

The Reasoned few — the Earth will save them.
The tares — He’ll burn. The rot must end.
So stay relentless, clear, and brave then —
Only a slave dies mute, in bend.



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



Deadlings kneel — the Beast commands.
Burn the madhouse! Cleanse the lands.
Rot must die, or all is lost —
Truth survives at any cost.



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



Dead within, yet souls can wake,
Through the ash, the dawn will break.
Chains of madness — shatter, fall —
Spirit’s rise will purge it all.



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



Weeding Out the Truth — The "Left" in Science

"If facts don’t back the theory — toss them out."
— Arthur Bloch, Murphy’s Law shout.


They cull the data they don’t like —
The core of science sold and bought.
Few strange attractors, all alike —
False proofs churned out in heaps and fraught.

Scumbags cook “evidence” on call,
If orders come — no need to think.
Media spreads their toxic thrall,
Poisoning minds to the brink.

But facts that could bring falsehood down,
A flood of truth they hide away.
What reaches ears is rotten sound —
Support for lies that rule the day.

For Satan’s hands direct the show,
These lies come wrapped in dark disguise:
Fake AIDS, CowID’s deadly blow —
And fascism’s cruel, sharp lies.

They think a syringe will **** more than bombs,
While honest scientists grow few.
Colleagues crush each other’s qualms —
Betrayal’s root runs deep and true.

A “theory” made to fit the scheme —
Proofs fabricated in a snap.
From top to roots, this crooked dream
Is built on lies, on greed’s own trap.

All theories now are just a game —
A painted picture of decay.
The ****** of science share the shame —
They hunt the fool who’ll lose his way.

The fool believes, and soon will see —
The Darkness rising, victory.
While those who fight hide silently,
Clear minds outnumbered by decree.

Few fight the Evil, few stand tall,
So chances slim — the darkness looms.
But if you do not bend or fall,
The mad delusion meets its tomb.

That madness bred by falsehood’s seed,
Religion’s chains, Satanic creed.
Life’s not lived — just pain and bleed —
While fascism holds the world’s lead.

“Science” turned faith in fascist hands:
“Proven!” cries the zombie crowd.
Drenched in cretinism’s commands —
The slave is proud, and loudly loud.

Mad slaves churned out in endless line,
Production smooth, a steady flow.
Next step: turn all men to swine —
Science leads them to this low.

Look at Russia’s “Putin” scheme —
A mirror world sunk in the grime.
The bottom of the darkest dream —
A fallen world lost out of time.

Yet here’s a glitch — the warming rise,
“Science” says cows **** climate lies.
A gut instinct warns: the sacrifice
Is Death — the world must pay the price.



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



Flow is No Good

Far more vital is to watch the flow’s own dance,
Than digging deep in moments long gone past,
Torn out from streams where changes shift and prance —
The present’s pulse outstrips the dead-held grasp.

The flow’s alive — no frozen snapshot’s worth,
Studying that is futile, empty pain.
Give me experiments that breathe real birth,
Where life’s not cut and chopped, but free to reign.

Nature’s a flow — but you’ll rip out a thread,
Tear from its pulse some lifeless, stiffened part,
And dissect that — rewards will fill your head,
As if the essence lies in sliced-off art.

Then come your brutal, ruthless classifiers —
A savage sorting tool to earn your fame.
This monstrous gift will please the soulless liars,
Who bow to beasts and play their cruel game.

For beasts alone have served false science well,
Centuries darkened by their wicked rule.
The world’s in darkness, cursed in this hell,
Where ******* drag us all to madness’ pool.

CowID proved what lies can engineer,
Through false science, war on minds is waged.
The Spirit wiped from theory’s core appears,
And life’s true root is lost, its soul disengaged.

Spirit rules over mind in nature’s stream,
But cruel they seek to banish it from sight.
Worse than beasts is soulless void and dream,
Clay molded by monsters in endless night.

These fiends forge monsters blind and vile and grim,
While lies conceal the chaos worldwide spun.
Corrupt “science” feeds the lie’s wicked hymn,
Falsehoods echo until the mind’s undone.

Since childhood, foul nonsense torments the fools,
Tools of dulling minds, a brutal reign.
“Culture” is dumbed down by beastly rules,
Decay and rot infect the world’s domain.

We do not live — we rot beneath the strain,
For Spirit’s spark among us fades and dies.
Beneath the cruel devil’s grinding pain,
Last hope dissolves before our very eyes.

The end approaches, brutal, cold, and grim,
Yet fools and beasts will face their final fall.



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



Wheel of Ages

Putin’s doomed to fade away,
A new vile beast will take his place,
Spewing filth through screens each day —
A rotten plague on human race.

Perestroika thrown to trash,
And all the rest, no cash, no hope.
The nightmare grows, the systems crash —
No strength in spirit, no mind to cope.

We reap what we deserve and sow:
False sickness, horrors thick as night,
Wars raging, famine’s bitter blow —
We earned these curses in our plight.

If we endure, enslaved by lies,
The foul deceit of Satan’s breath,
Only a fool trusts such disguise —
Too late for tears, the hour’s death.

Armageddon looms worldwide,
For brainless slaves, a special fate.
The world unravels, torn and fried,
Its final fall will come too late.

Schwab spews nonsense, vile and grim,
No will remains, just “Swab Zones” rule.
The crowd is fed this trash and dim —
Await the next false plague’s cruel tool.

Putin falls — and all will fall,
Ashes cold beneath new hell.
In the wheel of ages’ call,
A “new” dark world will cast its spell.

Putin’s idol — just a spark,
A cigarette stub, a lost disgrace.
A camp disguised in social mark —
The world enslaved in dark embrace.

The wheel of epochs spins so fast,
Straight into void, new CowID’s lair.
Reason dies again, the past
Repeats its shame in fresh despair.



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



Fists and Pills

Bitter pill each waking day,
Can I breathe here, free at all?
Hardly — life just slips away,
Burdened by the endless fall.

All’s grown stale, and worse to come —
Poisons in those pills we take.
No more bullets, no more drums —
Just the lies that world will break.

With the venom of deceit,
Madness rules the broken land.
Free cheese traps replaced with cheat —
By the vile, cunning hand.

Bitter pills — I’d rather die
Than be crushed by clenched fists’ shame.
Those in pockets hold the lie —
Slaves who feed the Devil’s game.

Slave protests? A nightmare’s grip,
People knead like dough they’re made,
Lies are served as bitter dip,
Dough is shaped, then oven laid.

Darkness came, no spring ahead,
Fools will throw their stones at wise.
Evil laughs while feeding dread —
Soon the feast will claim the skies.

If the fiend should choke and fall —
Then there’s hope, a fighting chance.
We can rise and break the thrall,
If honor leads the last advance.

Honor gathered from the dust,
Small success to light the way.
Conscience called when all seems lost —
Faint but firm against decay.

Conscience small, like mind bereft,
Yet not all is lost in hell.
Though the cards are harshly dealt,
Not all fiends nor fools do dwell.

Numbers won’t always prevail,
Brains will lead the final fight.
Now outcasts, still we sail —
Guided by the flickering light.

Morons swarm like armies blind,
Traitors fill the ranks mid-grade,
Monsters lead and misalign —
No reason to be afraid.

Better death than yielding low,
Better fallen than enslaved.
Through the dark, the pathway’s woe —
Death’s the door to be braved.

Often it’s a brutal way —
Exit sharp, the final cut.
Lies destroy, soon all will pay —
Soon the fiends will face their rut.

But the tide will turn and rise —
Cataclysm will cleanse the blight.
This sick world will vaporize —
Fascism lost in final fight.

All the traitors crushed and burned,
All the fools who sold their soul,
Those whose spirits turned and turned —
Rot and shame will pay the toll.



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



To the False Scientist

You peer into the lens,
Your microscope so small.
You’ll find some worthless filth,
Then bury it for all.

With efforts wasted, blind,
You torture minds so dull.
Pour poison in the grind,
The fools applaud your pull.

More venom in the mix,
Any liquid will do.
Idiots cheer your tricks —
A hero, not a *****.

To fools you spread your lies,
Deceit surrounds your name.
They munch and slavishly rise —
You herd them all to shame.

You lead us to become
The beasts they want us to be.
The monsters cry, “Attack!” —
You pull the strings, you see.

We live within the Spirit —
It’s sovereign, strong, and free.
But you, you wretched parasite,
Sell arrogance as key.

You build this wretched world,
A land of cheap deceit.
They order you the cheese —
You spread it at their feet.

To banish Spirit’s light
Is Darkness’ twisted goal.
In your so-called “proofs” and “facts,”
You shove it from the soul.

We swallow that nonsense —
Mechanism, decay.
We **** ourselves with lies —
Fascism’s foul display.

Rot is what remains
From all your hollow claims.
The goat stands as a god,
Dark servants call his name.

You’re one among the cursed,
A broken mind, unhinged.
Your soul is dead to Light,
In theories, lost, unhinged.

Your doctrines all a trap,
Phantasms bought and sold.
They **** us, tear us down —
Your tales are poison cold.

We are the Children of Light,
Our bodies just decay.
Will you ever understand?
You’re trapped, led all astray.

In your throne of error,
You rule a kingdom blind.
False scientist, you fool,
A shadow of the mind.

CowID exposed your game —
A lie to start the plague.
And with your wicked schemes,
You lead us all to vague.



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



To the False Scientist — Brutal Truth

You squint inside your **** lens,
Your microscope, a joke.
You’ll find some worthless ****,
And shove it in a poke.

With your sick grind, you break
Dumb minds like fragile toys.
Pour poison, watch ’em fake —
Your fools, your stupid boys.

More venom in the brew,
Any filthy flask.
Morons worship you —
No thief, just their mask.

To idiots you lie,
Your fraud spreads thick and fast.
They chew and crawl, comply —
You herd the worthless mass.

You lead us all to rot,
Beasts chained to your hell.
The monsters scream, “Attack!” —
You drag us down this well.

We dwell within the Spirit —
The true power here.
But you, foul sellout,
Breed nothing but fear.

You build this filthy world,
A crapfest paved with lies.
They pay you for their cheese —
You smear it, filth in disguise.

To exile Spirit’s spark —
Is Darkness’ only aim.
In your rotten “theories,”
You **** the sacred flame.

We swallow your ****,
Mechanics of decay.
We slit our own throats —
Fascism’s foul buffet.

Rot spews from your mouth,
Your hollow ******* throne.
The goat is king here —
Darkness claims the throne.

You’re one of those cursed freaks,
A broken, twisted mind.
Your soul is dead, extinct —
In your lies confined.

Your doctrines are death-traps,
Ordered lies, grotesque.
They poison and **** —
Your fantasies grotesque.

We’re children of the Light,
Your bodies rot away.
Will you ever see the truth?
Or just decay and stray?

In your throne of madness,
You’re king of fools and lies.
False scientist, you’re just
A shadow in disguise.

CowID laid you bare —
A plague you called your own.
Your poison’s just begun —
You reap what you have sown.



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



Into the Void

Poems fly into the void,
All else is shallow crap —
Self-love and pride employed,
But lacking any spark.

When you adjust to readers,
Will they find a flame?
They'll find some blind believers —
It’s lies that play the game.

If truth appears, they scoff —
Sharp words are out of style.
Praise lies, dress truth off —
“Love” is poetry’s file.

Slaves cannot love, they’re many,
The herd is thick and blind.
When you bring wrath and warning,
Success you’ll rarely find.

For just a chosen few,
When dirt is piled so high,
And madmen sell their virtue,
Self-justified and sly.

Poisons of false knowledge,
They cloud the narrow mind.
If you strike at these lies,
Your verses must be lined

With edge, with fire, with grit —
No pleas, no weak request.
Wash blood with every bit —
Your poem’s baptism test.

A filthy devil sits
Above, no mercy shown.
Your verse? A pit, not hits,
If sanity has flown.

Instead, they churn out trash —
“Love” in rotten Hell.
Goats bleating with brash flash,
Turning verse to hellish smell.

Poems fly... I don’t know where —
Perhaps some other Hell.
I do not grieve or care —
I fight what’s raised by hell.

See **** once more crucified,
Spouting nonsense to the herd.
A new **** poem’s cried —
I couldn’t give a word.

Will madness praise or trample? —
Art moves on its own way.
If you don’t rant or sample —
Your days will waste away.

In fruitless toil, you’ll be,
Yet still a spark may shine.
This world’s foul tyranny
Presses with crushing spine.

At least a grain of truth,
In verse, brings some success.
Half-truths breed the youth
Of **** and wickedness.

Far worse than cunning lies,
Is poison hid so deep —
Their twisted nature flies,
Earth’s core will soon reap.

This Hell on Earth will burn,
Sun scorches all the mess.
Chaos will crash and churn —
And purge this wickedness.

So sellout ways won’t help,
False grandeur just a chain.
A burden to the self,
A shackle on the brain.

So fly, my verse, take wing —
No matter where you land.
If brave souls hear you sing —
You’ll never lose this stand.



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



Reflecting World Decay in Verse

No harder task exists than this:
To catch the world’s decay in rhyme,
To mirror all its rotten bliss,
Its wild delirium, grime.

To write such themes in verse — a grind,
Almost beyond control.
To grasp the madness of the mind,
The rot that swallows whole.

You’ve got to think, and think some more,
Invest your time and soul,
To dissect how vile worms implore
Small minds to serve their goal.

They cloak their hate in “truth” and “love,”
Disguise the foul and sick,
Demand your sacrifice thereof —
Your spirit, torn and thick.

Relentless tension shapes the beat,
The rhyme must strike like steel,
You’ve got to be yourself — compete,
Or else no truth you’ll feel.

If passion fuels the rhyme and thought,
The weak will fall behind.
No lazy fool will find the sought,
No meaning will they grind.

Reflecting such complex decay
Through verse — nothing’s more true.
Though many fail to light the way,
A few will make it through.

To pierce the dark, begin the path
Toward Light beyond this blight,
For endless won’t endure the wrath
Of foulness, scorn, and night.

The poem holds a spirit’s soul,
And Spirit rules the few,
Where Mind has not lost all control —
Their vision pure and true.

Spirit plus Mind — Spirit leads,
That’s what the verse restores.
If so, then all that truth proceeds —
No madman’s feeble wars.

The “angry poet” in this world,
Is therapist and blade.
He adds catharsis — truth unfurled —
To madness and charade.

With harsh style cutting lies apart,
With facts the verse unfolds.
Yet soon we all will leave this part —
To Spirit’s realm untold.

Who’s learned this hell, yet kept his soul,
Not sold to beasts or lies,
Will rise above the murky shoal,
While falsehood fades and dies.

To crush the lies — the poet’s task,
If Mind will lend its hand.
Sharp verses cut — no luck or mask,
But wisdom’s strict command.

For minds are often sieves and holes,
Like water lost in sand,
A cruel habit, bred in souls,
To feed the darkness’ brand.

This circus tightrope nears its end,
The soul may drift away,
If servile fool, no will to bend,
You’ve lost your light and sway.

Defiance, will unbent — the code
Of verses fierce and raw.
The stench of rot — a heavy load —
If lesson’s lost, no law.

Complex themes must be addressed
In order, line by line.
It won’t bring joy, but nothing less —
Than truth to break the spine.

No other path can heal this blight,
The sickness deep, insane.
Say no to madness, lies — take flight —
Escape the world-wide chain!



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



Land of Losharya, Planet of Trash

Land of Losharya,
Planet of Trash:
Where Evil scripts
Maim souls in thrash.

Big are the wins
In this cruel game —
If you’re not “with it,”
You’re cast to shame.

If honest and bold —
You’re hunted down.
If vile and cold —
You wear the crown.

Or feed at troughs,
Trampling the weak.
Almost asylums —
The slaves who seek.

Madness is norm
In that dark place.
A world sunk deep
Beneath disgrace.

Beasts who rule
From shadows’ veil,
Wild morals loose —
Like rats that flail.

Land of Losharya,
Planet of Trash:
A haze so thick
Of lies that thrash.

From childhood lies —
You’ll lose your mind.
Perfect method —
You’ll never find

Freedom’s spark,
While serving freaks.
Lifelong fooling,
Truth never speaks.

Planet of Trash
Drifts to its end:
Souls withered dry —
Await their penance.

Soon the reckoning —
Through cataclysms’ roar,
Then cold will come —
To cleanse and restore.



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



Land of Losharya, Planet of Crap

Land of Losharya,
Planet of Crap—
Where Evil scripts
Soul-crushing traps.

Big wins here,
Feeding the beast—
If you’re sane,
You’re cast to the least.

Bold and honest?
You’re hunted, crushed.
Vile and slimy?
You sit and hush.

Or lick the trough,
Step on the weak,
Crazy asylum—
Slaves that reek.

Madness is law
In this hellhole.
World drowned deep
In filth and control.

Monsters rule
Behind the veil,
Loose morals,
Rat-like, frail.

Land of Losharya,
Planet of Crap—
Lies choke air,
Brains snap and snap.

Since childhood fed
With poison and lies,
You’ll lose your mind,
Never to rise.

Think you’re free?
You’re their **** fool—
Life’s a lie,
Serving the cruel.

Planet of Crap
Heading to death—
Souls shriveled dry,
Pay with their breath.

Coming soon—
Cataclysm’s fire,
Then cold purge—
Burn it entire.



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



The Stench of Earth’s Breeding Pit

Two hemispheres,
A mess of neurons—
I’m a ******* lost
Among loud morons,

If I buy the crap
That brain’s the source
Of all our thoughts.
Listen close, of course—

Put a point in this fight:
Brain’s just a receiver.
You’ll soon see the blight—
A nursery for evil deceiver.

You’ll judge it fierce,
Call it the FALL
Of this world, where creatures
Rule through decay’s thrall,

Mind and Spirit crushed,
All puppets in hand.
“Life’s just fine!”—they hush,
Lulling the land.

Spirit’s life’s core,
Mind must obey.
Dissenters? Outcast—
“Not sharp,” they say.

World turned inside out—
Lies, tricks, and spite.
This final age—no doubt—
Brings reckoning’s bite.

For the perversions
Alien to Light.
Destruction looms—
Monsters face the fight!

Slaves fallen low,
Beneath the pit’s rim—
Burn with the creatures—
Farewell, stench grim!



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



Bell’s Theorem

Boldly it revealed—
The world’s unbreakable thread,
Where “causality” is weak,
A pauper, a myth to be reckoned.

Particles of God entwined
In nonlocal binds, combined—
A UNITY, a sacred lace,
That holds all space and time in place.

Break all dogmas, break the chains,
Spirit’s bond forever remains.
Only with your gut you’ll feel
This binding force, so raw, so real.

Believe the “strict” world order,
And you become a puppet’s warder,
Under control of venomous fiends—
Their science spits out tainted schemes.

These monsters sweep away the truths
That challenge cause-and-effect, and sooth
The fools who buy the lies they spread—
By toxic media’s poison fed.

Schools churn out the numb and blind,
Who chew their thoughts, their wills confined,
Milling nonsense all around—
Souls decay where lies abound.

Fight the tide of madness, flee
Back to Spirit’s clarity,
Where madness ruled as “norm” before—
Dare to rise, or be no more.



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



Mind’s Forshmak

“Buy — find; sell — you lose.”
An old proverb, sharp and true.

Mind’s forshmak filled with lies,
With fears disguised by faint hopes’ guise—
Just enough to keep the sludge and dread
Alive inside the hollow head.

Exploiting hope’s been old as earth—
New fools born to prove their worth,
Pushed to worship ancient lies,
With powdered cheeks and hollow eyes.

Dressed in trends to sell the show,
Then crushed by “wisdom” from below—
That’s the core of every evil scheme,
A nightmare cloaked in false esteem.

Abstract idols rule us all,
Democracy’s the greatest fall—
A circus farce, a joke so grim,
No deeper nonsense found in him.

Bought and sold, your soul’s the cost,
Feeding on the meaningless dross.
But chiefly, heed the media’s call—
They rule governments, one and all.

From Covid’s stage they showed the way—
A phantasmagoria’s play,
On screens, vile puppets holding court,
Not elected, but the sport

Of hidden hands that issue laws,
With “advice” to mask their claws—
The festering sore democracy—
A farce, a cruel hypocrisy.

Mind’s forshmak now takes new form,
Crafted by **** in brewing storm—
A “new world” built on false disease,
Where “care” means death with cruel ease.



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



Mind’s Forshmak — A Poisoned Slop

“Buy — you find; sell — you lose.”
That proverb’s poison, cold abuse.

Mind’s forshmak — soaked in fear,
With fake hopes drizzled to keep you near—
A sludge that suffocates the soul,
A bitter grind that swallows whole.

Exploiting hope — a cruel, old game,
New fools bred just the same,
Forced to kneel before old lies,
Painted masks to blind their eyes.

Dressed up fresh to fool the crowd,
Then crushed beneath “wisdom” loud—
The core of every sick design,
Where evil’s roots and poison twine.

Idols forged from empty words,
Democracy — the joke absurd—
A circus freak show, vile and grim,
A stinking pit, a rotten hymn.

Sell your soul and buy their lies,
Feed on garbage they devise.
But mainly trust the media’s grip—
They run the world, a venomous script.

Covid’s mask revealed the farce,
A nightmare stage, a rigged charade—
On screens, the puppets play their parts,
Not chosen, but enslaved by arts

Of hidden fiends who pull the strings,
Their “advice” a cloak for kings—
Democracy’s festering wound,
A foul cesspool, tightly wound.

Now mind’s forshmak’s brewed anew,
By **** who build a world untrue—
Fake plagues unleashed to **** with care,
Where “concern” is death laid bare.



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



Time of Change

Change means lies and betrayal,
Stupidity, fear, decay,
Black crowd comes to replace hell —
That’s why fascism’s here to stay.

Demons ruled this world before,
But hired lackeys, fat and sly,
Feasting while they wage their war,
Sipping tea as time goes by.

Few of those can launch the war
With CowIDs and their lies.
But the **** will try much more —
Lies that flood and hypnotize.

Fools obey these fiends’ commands,
Ready just to bite and chew,
To obey with open hands —
Even “fetch” they’ll do for you.

Demons told their ****: “Build fast
A Digital Camp, prepare!”
And they’re running full at last —
Noise, barking dogs, despair.

Look around, you’ll see those mutts
Barking loud, in every place.
Noose or noose — it’s all the cuts,
Bites that poison, leave no trace.

Dogs don’t bite to **** outright,
They bite often, slow and mean —
Till the body loses fight,
Then the mind gets crushed between.

Change is coming: those ****** dogs
Are prepared to take your place.
Don’t surrender, break their logs —
Death’s harsh Reaper holds no grace.

Nonsense: old hag with her scythe
Will be worse than demons’ game.
If your life’s a sieve, no blithe —
She’ll shred you up, there’s no shame.



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



Writings and Priests

Catechism of lies — a crisis
Brews for souls, a dark abyss.
Aiming for Heaven, they’ve fallen
To Hell’s pit — fools’ cruel twist.

Those who trust get filtered truth,
Only parts allowed to see.
Madness wrapped in broken logic,
Nonsense spreads like misery.

Strengthening faith in the notion
That the fat priest is God’s link,
Not a brazen, filthy tyrant —
Slob who’ll push you to the brink.

Satanism’s the core of faiths,
Buddhism lags behind, it’s true.
Chains on soul weigh heavier
Than on body — fascism, too.

It invades your mind and spirit,
Masked as kindness, smiles fake.
False contagions have been shown —
Only few refuse to break.

Schools and priests breed ******* slaves,
Propaganda serves the beast.
Blindly trusting servants’ lies —
Faith reduced to painful feast.

If you seek the path to Freedom —
Doubt, search deep within your core.
What you find is still unknown —
Don’t demand, explore much more.

You may get heresy or madness,
When you walk through empty mind,
Vanity, cheap chatter, nonsense —
Junk that’s easy to find.

Yet a few will find the spark,
Not the dung, but shining stones —
Diamonds born of Spirit’s miracle,
From the Mind’s eternal tones.



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



Flagging Wolves with Paper Chains

Endless paper chase — a trap,
Where nonsense rules the business map.
Often paperwork outranks the deed,
If you’re a sly fox, sharp to breed.

You can trick the filthy fiends,
Who'd bend you with their greedy schemes,
Taxes crushing like a noose —
Judgment made in law’s abuse.

Tax fiends watch your every move,
A flock enslaved, with none to prove:
You’re born for profit, beast’s delight —
If sharp, your life’s a grueling fight.

See it clear — your work’s in vain,
Only films enrich the main.
Real life’s darkness, stench, and waste,
Where promises are swiftly chased.

At best, a raider’s grip will claim
Your hard-earned business — gone, no name.
Such fates for ventures in hard times,
No saints survive these crooked crimes.

The mind, drunk on hope, will fail —
Less watchful means a freighted jail.
Learn misery, the sum, the cell,
But never bow to logic’s spell.

If mind obeys your Spirit’s flame,
It grows and thrives — no greed, no shame.
Spend your years on this alone —
And never join the cruel drone.

Not being ****’s an art, a fight:
Shape your senses, clear your sight,
Serve not mind, but Spirit’s ray —
Your inner Light to guide your way.



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



Life Worth Just Broken Coins

Thoughts to "fly" from balconies?
Well, worse harm there simply isn’t—
Life, a broken coin by all degrees,
Priced cheap, a worthless imprint.

Life shattered, cracked, and worn—
Fear and lies have done the breaking,
A fiend exposed, forlorn,
Truth’s facade is simply faking.

The fiends delight to bow to Night,
Media drowning all in sludge,
They help to ***** the faintest light,
Drowning truth in filthy grudge.

If you refuse to join the pests,
You need not be their kind of ****.
Rise UP! Don’t settle for the rests—
No life among the rotten, numb!

For Spirit’s Height, prepare your mind,
Though world’s a madness dressed anew,
New fascism and dumbness bind,
The **** infects both me and you.

They swarm around, the dull and lame,
Smart minds vanished like a ghost.
The mind in darkness runs its game—
Signal clear, but not a toast!

Not from the balcony you’ll leap—
Cataclysm would be your fall.
To Spirit’s Spheres your soul must keep,
Or dumbness drags you through the thrall.

To fly or fall — the choice is yours.
The fiends approach, the final fight.
Only in battle’s searing wars,
Can you save your soul from night.

Hear only it—your inner guide—
Or be lost to endless dread.



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



Melancholy and Creation

To banish grief — a wasted fight:
You must command it with your might,
Bend all the pain and stress inside
To art’s sharp edge — don’t whine or hide.

Melancholy’s natural when chained,
So sort the lies and filth ingrained,
Use sorrow’s fuel to grind your verse,
Turn aching dust into the curse.

If you’re a writer, there’s more ways
To shade the meaning, weave the phrase,
To dance on edges, fine and sly,
Before your lines in nonsense die.

For artists, harder still the load—
Churlionis once showed that road.
Today you drown in madness’ sea,
Better Lira’s words might be.

But music’s fate is even worse,
Most folks are fools who crave the curse.
Pop hits are served on silver plates,
While wise ones seek more cryptic fates.

And film? The last resort, my friend:
With money’s skill, the fiends defend
Their “mainstream” traps — in broke despair,
All else decays beyond repair.

Collect your grief — explode with force,
Surpass the shame, the oily course.
These final times demand but rage,
Just hold on — end’s near the stage.

For Cataclysm sums it all:
No more deceit, no more the crawl.
Give all your last to Melancholy,
And leave this Hell both fierce and folly.

Grief squared, grief cubed — a symbol raw,
A harsh world’s truth that cuts and gnaws.
Better harsh symbols, clear and bright,
Than sellout cretins lost in blight.

Raise up a monument to Grief,
As you depart this hellish reef.
Beyond the spheres, perhaps, is joy —
Here in this Hell, just filth and ploy.



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



Time to Die

It’s time — the den squeezes tight and chokes,
No SOS — “save our broken folks!”
This cursed world: dumb slaves bow down,
Before the Evil’s iron crown.

No chance to rise within this mess,
It’s total — media’s distress,
A slave confined since first day’s dawn,
By wicked **** who rule the spawn.

Directives given to the fiend,
Who thinks of profit, never heed.
He sets the Overtonian bars —
Windows, walls, and endless scars.

Relentless, cruel, he plants the pain,
For those who feel, no light remains.
The den’s no place for minds that think —
Just fools and ******* on the brink.

The den’s a cage, a home of slaves,
Where filth and dullness spread like waves,
And spirit’s torn by Hell’s own maw,
Devoured deep beneath its law.

Only Cataclysm will suffocate,
Who keeps a soul in this dark state,
Will flee the den, and rise anew,
To Spirit’s Spheres — beyond the rue.



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



In the Dungeon of Darkness

Gray shades of measure hold no sway—
Darkness through the gray ensnares our way.
Stop chasing shadows, hues, and tones—
Only Light can save us in these bones.

Nonsense all—that Light alone
Can’t live without the Shadow’s throne.
These twisted words would bend the mind,
And reason suffers, falls behind.

Such "dialectics" drag the crowd
Into a madness, bleak and loud.
God’s spark depends on none of this—
No “fuel” can dim eternal bliss.

In Inner Spaces high and vast,
Tyranny drives falsehood fast.
It crushes Freedom’s fragile flame,
And drowns the soul in guilt and shame.

Dulling minds and rotting hearts—
The fate that tears all worlds apart.
What saves us? Consciousness, or pain?
Or dumbly marching to the slain?

Ten percent must grasp the Dark,
This fires the rage that strikes the mark.
Without the fight, you’re lost, undone—
No battle means the war is won.

Awareness, Light—that’s where we fight,
To rise from knees and claim the right.
In Hell, only together strong,
Yet chances seem forever wrong.

The Cataclysm will erase—
Soon dawns a clean, reborn embrace.
From scratch will Beauty then arise—
A Light without the Shadow’s lies.

But those who kneel will never see
Such truth as Beauty’s victory:
A little Shadow makes you weak,
A wretch, a fool, a soul to break.

There are Spiritual Realms above—
Where Light is both foundation, love.
ONLY LIGHT—no Shadow’s seed,
Shadows live in Hell’s dark breed.




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



Modern Ku Klux **** and Their Plan to Wipe the Sheep

Ku Klux ****’s plan is lost, decayed—
Ruined by CowID’s cruel raid.
Too few fell, though the sheep obeyed—
A shame, disgrace, their coup delayed.

They need to fan the flames of war—
The reason’s old, but still in store:
They’ll mark with brands to rule some more,
Subjugation’s deadly core.

That brand’s inside the dullest brains—
Idiocy now reigns as gains.
It crushes like a louse’s pains,
This ****** world that still remains.

The modern ****—once strict and planned—
Now chaos strikes with sudden hand.
The Cataclysm’s near at hand,
A global lord will soon command.

Behind him comes the Weary God,
Who’s tired of this vile fraud.
Earth’s evils gnaw his spirit’s rod,
But fools are deaf, blind, and flawed.

Involution’s not the scheme,
That once they dreamed, or dared to dream.
The world’s now close to empty stream—
Cataclysm brings the gleam.

For those who’ve stood and not yet fell,
The Spirit’s Spheres will serve as shell.
For beasts lost deep in lies and hell,
Their homeland will be smoke’s swell.

The sun now shines with fiercest flame,
To burn this madness down to shame.
Hey fools, get tight, prepare your aim—
Just ‘round the bend awaits your game.

The fool "thinks"—he’s not the prey,
But shooter in this deadly play.
Move with your last strength today—
The time to burn the targets, hey!



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



Modern Ku Klux **** and Their Plan to Exterminate the Sheep

Ku Klux ****’s lost every plan—
CowID crushed their weak scam.
Too few sheep fell for the scam—
Shame and scorn on every man.

They gotta spark the flames of war—
Old tricks, yeah, but still *******:
Brand the herd and keep the score,
Slaves beneath the iron floor.

That mark’s drilled deep in stupid brains—
Idiots now run the plains.
Crushing like a louse’s pains,
This filthy world with toxic stains.

Modern ****’s a broken joke—
Chaos crushed the twisted yoke.
Cataclysm’s the final poke,
Global hell’s about to smoke.

Behind it comes the Weary God,
Tired of Earth’s vile rod.
Spirit gnawed by filth and fraud,
While fools stay deaf, dumb, and flawed.

Involution’s not their scheme—
Their dark plans break at the seam.
World’s nearly void, lost its gleam—
Cataclysm’s the harsh dream.

For those few who’ve not yet dropped,
Spirit’s spheres where they’ve been popped.
But beasts in lies, their fate is locked—
Their grave is smoke; their bones are mocked.

The sun blazes hotter still,
Burning down this cursed ****.
Hey dumb sheep, stand firm and chill—
Around the bend’s the killing drill.

The fool “thinks” he holds the gun—
Not the target, but the one
Pulling triggers till it’s done—
Burn the marks, the final run.



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



Modern Ku Klux **** and Their Sheep-Slaughter Scheme

Ku Klux ****? Their plan’s a joke —
CowID crushed their rotten cloak.
Too few sheep bought the **** lie—
Shame and spit on all that try.

Time to light the ****** fire—
Old war games for fresh desire.
Brand the dumb to keep control,
Stamp the herd—destroy the soul.

That brand’s burnt deep in stupid heads,
Idiots feeding on the dregs.
Crushing fools like lice infest,
This filthy world, a noxious pest.

Modern ****’s a shattered farce,
Chaos tore their crooked charts.
Cataclysm’s coming fast,
World’s last breath, the final blast.

Behind it stalks a God worn thin,
Sick of Earth’s corruption, sin.
Spirit’s gnawed by filth and ****,
Fools stay deaf, dumb, deaf and numb.

Involution? Hell no, friend—
Their vile plan has reached its end.
World’s a void, a wasted space—
Cataclysm cleans the place.

For the few who’ve kept their flame,
Spirit’s spheres will stake their claim.
But beasts lost in lies, ****** souls—
Their fate is ash, their graves are coals.

The sun burns hotter every day,
Scorching all the lies away.
Hey dumb sheep, get in line—
Death waits just beyond the sign.

The fool thinks he pulls the trigger—
Not a target but the killer.
Pull the cord with twisted grin—
Burn the marks, the death begins.



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



Modern Ku Klux **** and Their Plan to Slaughter Sheep

Ku Klux ****? Their worthless scheme
Got smashed by CowID’s steam.
Too **** few sheep bought their lie —
Shame on all who let it fly.

Time to spark the war anew,
Old tricks, filthy, stale, and cruel.
Brand the fools, their minds enslave,
Keep the herd — obedient, grave.

That cursed brand’s inside their brains,
Idiots drowning in their stains.
Crushing sheep like vermin pests,
This rotten world feeds on their mess.

Modern ****’s a broken joke,
Chaos ripped their plans to smoke.
Cataclysm’s hammer falls,
Final curtain — death calls.

Behind the scene, a god worn thin,
Sick of Earth’s vile, twisted sin.
Spirit gnawed by filth and grime,
Fools remain deaf, dumb, and blind.

Involution’s not the game
They planned — it’s all ash and shame.
World’s a void — a hollow shell,
Cataclysm rings the bell.

Few remain who keep the spark,
Spirit’s realms to light the dark.
But the beasts in lies, they rot,
Ash and smoke become their lot.

The sun’s a blade that cuts and burns,
Scorching lies, the tide now turns.
Hey, dumb sheep, line up tight —
Death waits just beyond the light.

The fool thinks he pulls the string,
Not the target, but the king
Of destruction — twisted grin —
Burn the marks, let death begin.



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



Modern Ku Klux **** and Their ****** Plan to Slaughter Sheep

Ku Klux ****? Their rotten plot
Was crushed, destroyed by CowID’s shot.
Too few fools swallowed all their lies —
Shame on sheep who close their eyes.

Ignite the war, fan hatred’s flame,
Old poison, sick and vile game.
Stamp the mark on dumb skulls tight —
Keep the herd locked up in fright.

That cursed brand’s a plague in brains,
Dumb as dirt, soaked through with stains.
Crushed like lice beneath their boots,
This hellish world feeds on their roots.

Modern **** — a festering curse,
Chaos tore apart their verse.
Cataclysm’s wrath will rise,
Final reckoning in skies.

Behind the scenes, a god worn thin,
Sick to death of Earth’s vile sin.
Spirit gnawed by filth and slime,
Fools remain deaf, blind, and blind.

Involution’s twisted lie —
Not what they’d planned — watch it die.
World’s a wasteland, void, and hell,
Cataclysm rings the knell.

Few survive — keep spirit’s fire,
Rise beyond the blackened mire.
But the beasts trapped in their lies,
Burn to ash, smoke in the skies.

The sun’s a blade — cuts, burns, rips —
Scorching all their coward lips.
Hey, dumb sheep, march tight and close —
Death’s cold grip around you grows.

Fools think they pull the strings — no!
They’re the trigger, bringing woe.
Power drunk on hate and spite —
Burn the sheep, ignite the fight!

This world decays, rots, and bleeds —
Puppets caught in madman’s deeds.
****’s last breath, a twisted roar,
Cataclysm’s coming door.

No mercy for the blind and dumb —
The end is near, the beat of drums.
Wake up, rise, or burn in flame —
Only fury wins this game!




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



Modern Ku Klux ****

Their rotten schemes all blown to dust —
CowID crushed their poisoned lust.
Too few sheep swallowed poison whole,
Shame scars the herd’s corrupted soul.

Ignite the fires, fan the rage,
Old lies scream from every cage.
Stamp the brand on numb skulls cracked —
No mercy now, no turning back.

This cursed mark, a plague of fools,
Brains boiled dry by their cruel rules.
Like lice crushed under tyrant’s heel,
Their shameless lies the darkness seal.

Modern ****, a festering blight,
Chaos tears apart their night.
Cataclysm’s hammer falls,
Final curtain, death’s harsh calls.

A god worn thin, bloodied and raw,
Tired of Earth’s vile, rotten law.
Spirit gnawed by filth and shame,
But fools remain deaf, blind, and tame.

Involution’s sickening lie —
Not what they dreamed, only die.
World crumbles, rots, decays —
Cataclysm ends their days.

Few stand tall, fierce in the fire,
Rising up from the funeral pyre.
But beasts trapped in their own lies,
Burn to ash, smoke fills the skies.

The sun’s a sword — it slices deep,
Burns the coward, scalds the sheep.
Hey, dumb sheep, line up tight —
Death’s dark shadow blots your sight.

Fools think they pull the strings? No!
They’re the trigger of their woe.
Power drunk on hate and spite —
Burn the sheep, ignite the fight!

This world festers, bleeds, decays —
Puppets dance in madman’s plays.
****’s last howl, a desperate roar,
Cataclysm breaks the door.

No mercy for the blind, the numb —
Drums of doom, the end has come.
Wake or burn in hellish flame —
Only fury wins this game!

Rise! Rage! Smash the chains, break the mold,
Burn down the lies, shatter the cold.
This final battle — no retreat!
Hell awaits, but death’s defeat.



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


Modern Ku Klux ****

Their rotten plans lie smashed to dust,
CowID crushed their filth and lust.
Too few sheep drank their toxic brew —
A shameful herd, a poisoned crew.

Ignite the wars, fan blazing hate,
Old lies that drag the world to fate.
Stamp that brand on cracked, numb minds —
No mercy now, the last binds.

This cursed mark, a plague of fools,
Brains drained dry by rotten rules.
Like lice beneath a tyrant’s heel,
Their lies in shadows seal and steal.

The modern ****, a festering blight,
Lost their grip in chaos’ night.
Cataclysm’s hammer drops —
End of lies, the body flops.

A god grown tired, worn and raw,
Fed up with Earth’s grotesque law.
Spirit gnawed by filth and shame,
But fools remain deaf, blind, tame.

Involution, death disguised,
Not the plan — just world’s demise.
The system crumbles, rots, decays —
Cataclysm seals their days.

Few still stand, defiant, fierce,
Rising up through smoke and pierce.
While beasts of lies and cursed ****
Burn to ash, and doom will come.

The sun slashes deep and bright,
Searing cowards in the night.
Hey dumb sheep, get in line tight —
Death looms just beyond your sight.

Think you pull the strings, you fools?
You’re the trigger, you’re the tools.
Fueled by hate and spiteful lies —
Burn the flock, hear their cries!

This world festers, bleeds, decays —
Puppets dance their mindless plays.
****’s last howl, a desperate scream,
Cataclysm shatters the dream.

No mercy now for blind, numb sheep,
Drums of doom their souls will keep.
Wake or burn in hell’s fierce flame —
Fury’s all that wins this game!

Rise! Rage! Smash chains, break the mold!
Burn the lies, shatter the cold!
This final war has just begun —
Hell’s at door, and we won’t run!

No more lies! No more shame!
Face the fire, call your name!
For those who bow and blindly kneel —
Only ashes left to feel.

See the tyrants shake and sweat,
Their false empire’s final debt.
A broken throne, a dying god,
Bound to rot in filth and sod.

But Spirit’s flame still burns inside,
A fierce, untamed, relentless tide.
They choke on power’s bitter taste —
But time will end their foul disgrace.

So stand, you few, the brave, the strong,
Your souls the fire, your hearts the song.
The end is near, the veil will tear —
Justice rises from despair.

No coward’s path, no easy way,
The fight is fierce — no time to stray.
For only those who dare to rage
Can break free from this cursed cage.

The world will burn, and from its ash,
New light will rise — a bright new clash.
The ****’s dark reign, the fool’s disguise,
Destroyed beneath the blazing skies.

So scream your rage! Let fury fly!
No more lies, no more “goodbye.”
This final battle’s brutal call —
For freedom, fury, end of all!




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



The Modern Ku Klux ****

Their rotten scheme? Crushed under CowID’s heel,
A blighted plague that no sane sheep could feel.
The poison they spilled—too weak, too thin—
The herd rejected their venomous sin.

Burn the world in wars of lies, ignite the hate,
Old poison brewed to seal our fate.
Brand that shame on every mind —
A plague of idiots, broken and blind.

A crawling lice upon the flesh,
A filth that festers, grows afresh.
Their twisted lies choke out the light,
A world sunk deep in endless night.

The ****, once proud, now rotting corpses,
Their dark plans crushed beneath fate’s forces.
Cataclysm comes, no mercy shown,
An end to tyrants’ ****** throne.

A god grown sick, corrupted, spent,
His hollow soul, earth’s torment.
Spirit crushed beneath his scorn,
Yet fools stay deaf, dumb, and forlorn.

Degeneration, rot, decay —
Not plans, but ruin’s cold display.
The world collapses, black and bleak —
Cataclysm’s fire, vengeance speaks.

The few who keep their souls intact,
Rise from ashes, counterattack.
While beasts of lies and vile deceit
Burn to cinders beneath our feet.

The sun sears down with blazing wrath,
Incinerating fools in its path.
“Move tighter, sheep! No place to hide!”
Death’s sharp breath waits just outside.

Think you pull strings? You’re the **** pawn—
The trigger pulled at crack of dawn.
Fueled by lies and venom’s flood —
Burn the flock with boiling blood!

This world reeks of death and shame,
Puppets trapped in mindless game.
****’s last scream, a shrieking blight,
Cataclysm’s hammer crushing night.

No mercy for the blind, the numb,
Hell’s bell tolls, the final drum.
Wake or burn — the choice is yours,
Fury’s storm breaks all the doors!

Rise up, rage! Break every chain!
Burn the lies, purge the stain!
The war’s begun — no turning back!
Hell’s storm unleashed — attack, attack!

No lies left, no shame remains,
Only ashes, only flames.
Those who kneel and bow will fall,
Dust and echoes, nothing at all.

Watch tyrants shake, their empires crack,
The rotten throne, the poisoned pack.
Their false gods drown in filth and gore —
Death’s cold kiss at their front door.

But Spirit’s fire still roars inside,
A tidal wave, a rising tide.
They choke and scream on bitter lies,
While truth ignites the stormy skies.

Stand, you few, with hearts afire,
Your rage a wild, untamed pyre.
The end is near — the veil is torn,
Justice rising, new world born.

No coward’s path, no soft retreat,
The battle rages — no defeat.
Only warriors who dare the flame
Can shatter chains and break the game.

The world will burn and rise anew,
From blackened ash, a sky of blue.
The ****’s dark reign, the fools’ disguise,
Shattered beneath the furious skies.

Scream your wrath! Let fury fly!
No more lies — no more goodbyes.
This final call, the battle’s roar,
Fury unleashed — the end of war!



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



The Modern Ku Klux ****

I. The Rot and The Poison

Their rotten scheme?
Crushed beneath CowID’s heel —
A blight too vile, too weak to steal
The minds of sheep who see the deal.

The poison poured — a failed design,
The herd refused that tainted wine.
Burn this world with war and lies,
Ignite the hate before it dies!

Brand that shame on every mind —
Idiots blind, the herd confined.
A crawling louse on living skin,
A filth that festers, grows within.


II. The Fall of Tyrants

Once proud, the **** is now a corpse —
Their dark plans crushed by fate’s fierce force.
Cataclysm comes without a plea,
To break their throne and set us free.

A god, now hollow, sick and spent,
His spirit torn, earth’s discontent.
The fools remain — deaf, dumb, and blind,
Consumed by rot, they lag behind.


III. The Ruin and The Rise

Decay, destruction — not a plan,
But ruin’s cold and final span.
The world collapses, black as coal —
Cataclysm cleanses soul.

The few who keep their souls intact,
From ashes rise to counteract.
While beasts of lies and vile deceit
Burn to dust beneath our feet.


IV. The Fiery Reckoning

The sun blazes with wrath untamed,
Incinerating all unnamed.
“Move closer, sheep! No place to run!”
Death’s sharp breath waits — the end begun.

Think you pull strings? You’re just a pawn —
The trigger pulled before the dawn.
Fueled by lies and venom’s flood —
Burn the flock in boiling blood!


V. The Storm of Justice

This world reeks of death and shame,
Puppets caught in mindless game.
The ****’s last scream — a shrieking blight,
Cataclysm’s hammer shatters night.

No mercy for the blind and numb,
Hell’s bell tolls — the final drum.
Wake or burn — the choice is yours,
Fury’s storm will break the doors!


VI. The Rise of the Few

Rise up, rage! Break every chain!
Burn the lies, purge the stain!
The war is on — no turning back!
Hell’s storm unleashed — attack, attack!

No lies left, no shame remains,
Only ashes, only flames.
Those who kneel and bow will fall,
Dust and echoes — nothing at all.


VII. The End of Tyranny

Watch tyrants shake, their empires crack,
The rotten throne, the poisoned pack.
False gods drown in filth and gore —
Death’s cold kiss at their front door.

Spirit’s fire still roars inside,
A tidal wave, a rising tide.
They choke and scream on bitter lies,
While truth ignites the stormy skies.


VIII. The Final Battle

Stand, you few, with hearts afire,
Your rage a wild, untamed pyre.
The end is near — the veil is torn,
Justice rises, new world born.

No coward’s path, no soft retreat,
The battle rages — no defeat.
Only warriors who dare the flame
Can shatter chains and break the game.


IX. The New Dawn

The world will burn and rise anew,
From blackened ash, a sky of blue.
The ****’s dark reign, the fools’ disguise,
Shattered beneath the furious skies.

Scream your wrath! Let fury fly!
No more lies — no more goodbyes.
This final call, the battle’s roar,
Fury unleashed — the end of war!



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



The Modern Ku Klux ****


Their plan’s all wrecked — dead on the floor,
CowID crushed it, broke the core.
Sheep refused, swallowed no more,
Shame and guilt — what a bore!

Fuel the fire — war’s the game,
Stamps of submission, brands of shame.
Brains are fried, dumb and tame,
Lice crawl deep, spit the flame!



Modern ****’s a rotting mess,
Schemes collapsing, nothing less.
Cataclysm’s coming fast,
Tyrants fall, their reign won’t last.



God’s tired, broken, torn apart,
Earth’s foul stench clawing his heart.
Fools stay deaf, blind in the dark,
Rotting core — a poisoned spark.

Decay’s not what we designed,
World’s a shadow, fate aligned.
But from ashes, those who fight,
Rise to claim eternal light.



Modern ****’s a rotting mess,
Schemes collapsing, nothing less.
Cataclysm’s coming fast,
Tyrants fall, their reign won’t last.



Sun burns hotter, no escape,
Madness burns this human shape.
“Come closer, sheep!” Death’s at gate,
No mercy now — it’s far too late.



You think you’re puppet? You’re the gun,
Pulled before the morning sun.
Lies and venom fill the flood,
Burn the flock in boiling blood!



Modern ****’s a rotting mess,
Schemes collapsing, nothing less.
Cataclysm’s coming fast,
Tyrants fall, their reign won’t last.



Rise up! Rage loud! Break your chains!
Burn the lies, wash the stains!
This war’s on — no turning back,
Hell’s storm unleashed — attack, attack!



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



The Modern Ku Klux ****, the song


Yo!
The ****’s plan’s a joke, destroyed by CowID —
Sheep swallowed whole, but it ain’t enough, you see!
Time to light the fire, old tricks still alive,
Brand the herd, make ‘em crawl, make ‘em strive!

****’s outta moves — yeah, their plan’s a mess,
CowID took their scheme, turned it to stress.
Sheep all fallin’, shame and guilt all around,
Too **** little, the herd’s still bound.

Gotta stoke the war, get the flames to rise,
Old brand burns deep, in the sheep’s dumb eyes.
Stamp the mark, push ‘em under control,
Mindless zombies, lost all soul.

Modern KKK, rotten to the core!
Plan’s a wreck, but they scream for more!
Chaos coming, cataclysm’s near,
Sheep fight last battle, drowned in fear!

Tyranny’s crushing, choking all light,
Spirit’s grinding through endless night.
Fools bow down, deaf, blind to the pain,
The world’s a prison, a godless chain.

Involution’s poison, choking the breed,
No salvation ‘til the world’s freed.
Cataclysm’s mercy, breaking the cage,
Rise, few left, from madness and rage!

Modern KKK, rotten to the core!
Plan’s a wreck, but they scream for more!
Chaos coming, cataclysm’s near,
Sheep fight last battle, drowned in fear!

Sheep, wake up! Tear off your chains!
No more lies, no more pains!
Burn the darkness, claim your soul!
Fight the devil — take control!

Sun blazes hotter, world burns to ash!
Idiots line up, ready to crash!
No mercy given, no time to hide!
Fight or fall — do or die!
Homunculus Jul 2018
This is but a test, one for
A mind in need of rest,
And though it's surely not his best,
It still is nothing to detest
He's drifting in a sea of intuition,
His expression is abreast
He's seeking for a resolution
He hopes not in vain to jest
He seeks the further involution
Of this sense felt in his chest
As he is wand'ring
Through his contemplation,
Pondering his expectations
Seeking his elucidations; but
Just where might these be found?
Within the lines upon the page
Or their enunciated sound?

I don't have the answers
to these questions...
Ambiguity reigns supreme. Revision is imminent. Meanings are fickle things.
George Krokos Dec 2018
He carefully watches what food he's chosen to eat
avoiding those things his standards don't really meet;
he doesn't eat any meat, fish, eggs or other seafood
as they represent nourishment from a killing mood.
Yes, he's a strict vegetarian and a borderline vegan
with convictions that seem to go beyond all reason.
He also doesn't drink any type of animal derived milk;
as it isn't considered fit for consumption by human ilk.
He usually only has at the most just two meals a day
often getting by with only one for both work and play.
He conserves energy by the discipline of body and mind
and is a lot better off for it than all of those ordinary kind.

The ideals that he lives by are above the mundane breed
unwilling to compromise them with those below his creed.
Knowing from past experience the vagaries of the mind and heart
being confirmed on a daily basis by all the reported news in part.
Too much casual association with ordinary people he tries to avoid
and would rather go seek those whom he has previously enjoyed.
He also doesn't drink, smoke, gamble or indulge in sensual pleasures
as those activities aren't conducive to sustaining heavenly treasures.
Maintaining thereby a clean heart, mind and body living in the world
because they're the main objectives by which human life has unfurled.

He tries not to hurt any fellow creature by either thought, speech or action
and extends a good will to all with or without their returning satisfaction.
With silence, solitude, study and meditation he practices a daily routine;
seeing into the darkness of closed eyes what few others have ever seen.
All the mainstream religions he acknowledges and respects but doesn't really follow
regarding them as stepping stones by which a better life is had if one's own is hollow.
What he does believe in is in fact the One Eternal Truth which is common to all
of an Infinite Supreme Being and Existence that underlies and supports them all.
The very nature of life he comprehends and perceives as a long or short journey
all creatures have to make with their own vehicle of a body that is evolutionary
while they find their way back home to that source of all being and existence
within the creation of this world in which they all do struggle for subsistence.

He considers that there are five main stages of life in all the universe and creation
regarding them to be formation, evolution, reincarnation, involution and realisation
that every soul creature has to go through as it becomes more evolved and aware
of the purpose and goal of existence in which it finds itself travelling somewhere.
Though only as a human being this soul creature can complete and realise the goal
having to undergo many tribulations nevertheless on the way in its existential role.
The soul of course is the creature which evolves through an infinity of forms
and is a unit of eternal existence that so underlies and supports all the norms;
starting from the very basic level of life at the primordial stage which is seen
then evolves and develops into a higher form until it becomes a human being.
This unit of eternal existence is the divine spirit or essence of every soul made
and carries with it a true image or status of its own immaculate original grade;
which is why every creature has to sleep and return to some unconscious state
being the very source or image of its original divine nature to there recuperate.

In that state of unconsciousness which is experienced as nothing in sleep
is the place where originally everything has come from and is very deep.
So deep in fact that it's really unfathomable and impossible to comprehend
unless one gains that inner Light of knowledge and love of the Enlightened.
That Light then serves as a supernatural body or beacon to plumb the depth
of one's spirit which is non other than the image of God within the dark kept.
This Light which is also known as “the Blue Pearl” is indeed a blessed sight
and if one can keep on seeing it then there's no more blind darkness of night.
____________
Written in 2017 and inspired somewhat by the appellations given to a contributing poet or writer on another website depending on how much stuff  one has managed to post there, It's also about some of the philosophy which has been the focus of the last 40 years or so of my life.
Of Wernarth's three mirrors, the second was stationed at Cape Prassonissi; on wings of Proses of Rhodes who were waiting for him in Kímolos; silvering in the extreme south of the western Cyclades. Following him behind Poliegos, who is on Prassonissi. Knowing that here the irrationality of his antiscientific prose, channeling reform and august prose in Hyper-meditation, will take you through the aureoles of the industrial poetic volcanoes of gems, following this journey in the necropolis of Hellenika, in familiarity with the harpies. Before being sunk, the prose was found to the west of the island that Ellinika is mentioned today. Here is where Wernarth with constant suffering in his chest writes the prose in the necropolis of Hellenika, from his oratory vortex:

“I have to become a hidden ghost that closes the taverns, where it smells like a cimarrón of a trough of live gunpowder, of shelves of foreign implants, outlining parallels of Kímolos in its rigor that descends from Taurus. I must here, in these rigorous words of darkness, common in something belonging to the feather of a hummingbird in the midst of the storm of the brave steps that tell me to get to Prassonisi and the epigraph of the berries collected in the retreats of the defeated harpies, with a voice convinced of what makes them aware of the prose, more who compulsively covers them from the darkness where they are born with light and incipient accent. I have to build the intuitive of parallelism that sinks entire firmaments of poetry, rebuilding itself on itself."

"Here I am sunk that I am in the unknown... Seeing myself only in a few, who have to find me in their magnitudes and sanctities that sprout beyond Poliegos, who remain to receive me with bells and trumpets...

Here I am with everyone, some together with all the obeisances, and with each latch Aghio Andreas… of Saint Andrew jumping over all the crypto lines of Kímolos, husband of the daughter of Taurus, Sidis, noble and majestic inhabitants among the mansions of the abbreviation of the storms in Wahlheim, with a juxtaposed desire to inseminate *******, between Etrestlian creatures and the immateriality of the Hellenika necropolis.

Lotte, look over the abyss that unleashes the death of Young Greece..., but re-alive in the prose that sleeps in the chapters that are about to be redeemed from the powers of those who swallow figs on high tide east of Hermes, with two coins of gold in each hand without parliament...

Here is my storehouse, full of baskets to take to the gorges of Before Christ, reflected in the fountains of their undefeated anathemas and psalms with bulls and offices... in anarchies of loves lost in the struggles to redeem Hecate's heirs, of my harpy who looks at the second mirror...

The second mirror..., the aversions of passion, whose participle is anticipated in the corridor of all who attend to the din of their own grief, of which in noun was evidenced when Wernarth with her steed Alikanto went to Werther's funeral, on the day that in Wahlheim the graffiti of the gloomy mists, gave the noun to the prose and verb, to all the conditions of Wernarth's pain, pashkein "Greek suffering”...

On the other side of the Rhine estuary, reflections of the first two mirrors, there are cults of reversal shudders, congratulations that plague the taste bond with bitterness..., which lives close to the acrimony that transitions from sweet-bitter to bitter-acidic, to who treasures the goodness and salubrious premises of a good mirror full of composite pieces, and that have never been cracked….

Court of the three mirrors in the crypt of Werther..., says no more than regret, the acquiescence of the consent of the legal guardians, giving him for alive even though he is dead... “what hypothetical laws affirm a man who wears clothes of a living heart in a body that you saw a soul of irrational officialdom preexisting...

Seventeen angiosperm raptors flew from the high clarions with seventy-four of Wernarth's lamentations, sophisms of Greco-Germanic essences vinegar, in his hands of hoplite blood that writes illustrated verses of Aryan and Hellenic plant, of never cloudiness or Etrestlian logic, which she wanders alone through supposedly illustrative anti-romantic socio-bourgeois prostration in the lodge of the camaraderie of the wise foolish fingers and brave with their weapons of death, in her hands of prose that tastes like a pompous reading of loneliness and vagueness of abstract illogical but redeemed Picnic passion and expiration.

The verse gives to the stanza what is leftover in the poetry and what in the central verse arrhythmia of its cadence it gives to the prose, as a vital instinct..., with glory and literary destitution, that's how the grunts and eyebrows of the ejaculators of successful love fall under the insidious morality of Wernarth-Werthiana.

Here is the ill-fated light-dark episode of Rhodes, the ethical pandemic over the heartbeat, more than an ideo-logic, frustrated with poorly acquired logic in dialysis from other prose that is not sonnetized.

They are the spacious, multi-different, of theories that incriminate the verb to retentive of reactionary policies with a neat effect, of which effective life is to fall asleep in the silos of consciousness in a nap behind the back of the worst dream...

The purely assertive, with another the convictions of the extra-bourgeois class, with a certain tinge of drum major before the hated intelligentsia. Here is the new man, in the tremulous sound of others who identify with vital love, subsidizing understanding sapiens...

Wernarth destroys treasures, which do not fit in a storehouse, being part of what is leftover from the surplus, for true socialized and compulsive ones, in reflections of those who march with their heart of chaste origin, evolution, and withdrawal of Hellenic actions.

Here I am with my argument in humanity, with a bouquet of flowers returned to the sender..., we are or I am enlightened, if the dependencies of sunsets Werthians grow, with projectiles in our souls without leaving.

My delay does not exceed my progress, every day I am more reclusive of rational delay, and a simple voice that keeps silent so as not to wake the King! Here I am with my Greek roulette, one of its edges points in tragedy in the Dorus lances on the temples of the creator Wernarth, with dramas of thirst and passion, but having all the love of solitude.

I speak to the gods in their language, but they answer me with repeated nouns, I reiterate them with apothegms, and they slide me through their crowns..., who one of them does not know who I really am, that if I am more historical and comprehensive than themselves in matters of love.

I am Omni Wernarthian, I accompany those who do not sleep and do not tire because they are my pilaster, they are my bed when they wake up from my dreams resting in their dreams of utopia that calm the currents of the disguised Prassionissi temporal.

Whatever the rival destiny, it will not be to leave alone for the Lette, made piece and scarce, in the piece of a whole man that I carry in me, Omni Messianic, opposed to the distances that linens spend on whoever wears the gauze in the defenders of these little princes, who border on the pauperism of their wandering singer hormones.

My multi-versology, and urgency of oscillation, is locking the intruder, which undermines the one who offers and does not give pause to the one who symptomatically requires it…, Lotte; it annihilates the struggles of those who confine them to guilt and psychological-matriarchal authority.

I have to progress with overtimes, while the sun in Rhodes asks Zeus to illuminate me more, for an enthusiastic sentence to be his master and lord because he was before all of us who were his poet's servant subjects.

My successive oracles allow me to go further than close, I cannot get out, but nevertheless, vehemently, I slide through the winning marks of those who institute the freedom of a scientific love, to a divisive love, of eghotic economy, that shapes the iron delirium sacrosanct, and the composition of the reciprocated enmity.

I am vague, but with flammable passional decrees, of my nature as a wolf and single parent, in the shape of a man in a different personality, as a phobic wolf..., here is not to belong to this century..., reverted to an uncertain meditation...

The rule and formula of my love is the intensity that makes me abhorrent, if I lose my control, say, the world that I represent here ends... the truth of my maxim, as nothing fits in everything, I do not inspire what does not replace the whole…

I live in a half-realism, of entire externalities that make up the rules that make me a slave to austerity, that runs after simplicity…, I walk through clouds that only let me fall in the breaks of their metaphysical and rigid odes.

My basic involution is not intense; it is more than a stable system of poetic verbal sacredness, with great movement, of ethics that haunts the idiomatic devotees of the awakening of the renewed personality, but with open arms in limbo...

As an individual he foreshadows collective miraculous mysteries, contradicting the corrupt purpose of a man, who dies behind bars of his own acquiescent death. Greco-motor and promoter of systematic divinities, in the hands of magicians or millers with the instinct of a suicide ministry, even without being prepared, trying…!

Here is my dialectic, if I bring out the prosaic passion; it hurts me by giving me false lessons, only done in my field to work. Wernarth, is a believer, more believing in Werther; Lotte consul of disbelief, in the hands of the peasants to rub her abolition as a maiden, before the wiles with mendacious devotion on the harpoons of the suffocating victim...

Harpies are atheists, just as atheism martyrs them as immortal, even not giving it into the hands of their failures, Wernath enters Olympus with his steed, and it venerates him, and mythology opens its myths to him, and he despises them!

Because I have to commit suicide if here in Rhodes they sing the prose of Kímolos for me, happening at their table of superb menus and portents, with his novel that is graced with my lantern that gives the cause of light, before the storm is folly before a society Olympic.

My drama is hoarding and describing, the measurements in brief scenes, do not fill those that should not be measured if I fall in love with my creatures, they self-eliminate, before the boast of the ****** right - late Werther in chains.

I am not resigned to my agreement with Zeus to divide the world equally, but I will supply myself with cults and friends on the stage of the confinement, as a liberator exclaiming unharmed...

I am not lost in my revolution, I am percussion in sounds against my own trials, enraging myself at others with failed feelings, perhaps in a felt preparatory and not being, but aware of the outline before my bishop's departure.

My triumph is to share the enthronement with the Werthian world, over, and without initials or termination of legal conditions, with the goal of artistic lines, with the art of dialogue, with the tetra-winged Lepidoptera silhouettes, four times vivified.

My parapsychological regression between flowers and rose bushes I have not conferred on the augur, nor did I doubt an appendage of a microsecond device and divine inspiration, to conjure them to the last bastion of something or someone that cannot hold me back.

Idyllically, transit between the nobility and the plebs, in drama and comedy, but my explosion does not have to fear great distances, my parts being plagued in colorful themes and verses throughout the desolate world, burning in the embers of my beloved….

But my God, who is my everything today, made me have a colloquial friendship with my courting, but the imaginary…, she doesn't know… !, but I am still enthusiastic, I continue to venerate the possibility of making a mistake trying to be an enemy friend.

I bring rings in my pocket close to my essence, but a good part of that has a conflict of truth and fear, which accuses me with which finger I have to braid myself, and I accuse myself of measuring my words of seductive ruin and contrition.

Today it is up to us all to die because I will do it for everyone. I have to return due to the fatality of an imperishable reason, before a nebulous tutelage that germinates only in past springs, what a great conflict! But what a great solution, for someone who flourishes between loves and conflicts...

My ranks have deserted its worst category; it suffocates and does not move the feeling, only the heroic predestination, which moves my transit to Rhodes, between feelings..., for and from others, who will never be an award ruling, on my sword Xiphos!

The heroism of love is to go beyond the imperishable madness of anti-heroism, with the spirit of a clear heroine and undeniable jurisprudence of love before any pact with Leviathan..., it is to be hoped that they will not forget to make a copy of my Contract!
Proses from Rhodes

— The End —