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Meg Freeman Jul 2012
'Tis heartbreaking to see you marvel so at children's play.
Do you not remember that you were once a child?
Have you lost the sweet ring-a-ding-dings of fairytale teachings?
Each day you fall further into The Man
And away from Peter Pan, Sara Crewe, Alice, and The Great Baron Munchausen himself.
I have not forgotten the road to where they go.
Begin where you are,
Sitting mundane, in your realm of logic and laws, tasteless office cubicle.
Now close your eyes and count to ten!
One Mississippi, two Mississippi...
When your eyes creak open you'll have to think fast!
You've no weapon against that smelly pirate with his dagger to your throat!
Give a good kick and a hard shove and you'll see the blade has changed hands, AVAST!
One good ****** and you slice through his thieving guts like butter!
Abandon ship! And SPLASH! into a garden surrounded by stone.
All you've to do is turn your head to see the peonies, the morning glories, the honeysuckle dripping in dew.
Now straighten up and grab hold of your bearings; that's it!
What was that?!
It blew by you, fast as lightning and just as bright.
A fairy! It must have been!
You run off after it but your foot catches a mangled root and you
SLAM! Face first into...WHAT IS THAT?!
Bones?! Now scramble to your feet and dash to the opening of the damp cave,
Round the corner and AH! crash into a giant gray ogre! GRRAAAGGHGHH!
Quick! Pick up that femur at your feet and pitch it into his eye! Ha! You big brute!
Duck between his great tree trunk legs and RRRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!
There goes the office phone.
But you're still out of breath and desperate for more.
Silly, don't you know? It's not something I can teach you.
You just have to REMEMBER.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2024
When the we we think we become reads this,
it must, assume access granted, you do know.

The window on the broadway, where they sold
Raspberry Berets, in the summer of '61.

oh, Saad, I was distracted, I think you later,
and I go on,
I went
and came back around, second chancing

Take any given day, under Cuyamaca blue
skies above Horsethief Creek bright greens,

Lettin' Saad go in my right bluetoothed ear,


Bad idea pathogens identified…
Ardent warrior against unreason,

think and feel gut sense, intentionally,

freedom to speak and fact check speakers.

Shun liar game heroic value structures.

Warped view losers syndrome,
OPS dogmas and doctrinal canons

Root seed fruit oils

battle of ideas, whispers reason,
the why asking my involvement
- me? No, I second guess it all
in good thinking methodology, thinking
you could think better outcomes, without war.

We all can try to think harder, use the assistants.

AREOPAGITICA Milton,
free to try to read, in the moral atmosphere
- we are past free press, this is thought

being a spirit, one must weigh spiritually,
freedom to know precedes freedom to lie,
allowed when sales was the game,
the only way through next, sell something,
automatically with an orderly response
from a commercially exclusive
assisting intelligence source,
- right, I know, we all agreed…
trained on thirty years of Oracle SQL access,
at the level of a spider in a king's house,
Old Viewpoint, Alte Vista, modulating
signal, demodulating filter, almost mechanical,

as life's tiny perturbations flock in streams,
spinning phi bound chaos into whole galaxies.

We can scale time, and pretend to imagine
we can say it happened faster than a thought

for an immeasurable instant.

Life is your performance, your only art.


We remember for balance, good reason.

Lenny Weinstein's Grandmother
- actually reminded me
Maybe we argue, me and she, we do;
but we do not disagree, we do not.

So, I meekly agree, we must not.

What we all need is discernment,
does it matter what we think, I think so.

Munchausen
Munchausen syndrome (also known as factitious disorder imposed on self) is a mental health disorder where you falsify, exaggerate, or induce physical, emotional or cognitive disorders.
VeggieTaleslobber,
Woody model mentality
Opposing viewing positions
defend against offensive mind eating ideas

Build your old folk attitudes on rocks higher than the ocean
can hurl it self when provoked by angry quakers and stormers.

Adult cong-hnative resiliancy,
psicho active we gotta do sumps
FEAR OF GOD IS WISDOM
you swear you swore you knew?
- whoa look who thinks now
Hope there ain't no hell.
Beware bully,
loved childhood fears, Munchies,
comfort
excuse my phobias please h
whoa, no, just say no, grow old,
if you are still here, in 2024,
at the end, then the meds, work
wonders, wait to see, just imagine,
no opiod dreams younger than smoke
to change the channel focused on,
pain is not spirtual matter, nothing
matters past too much pain to think about,
happy thoughts, work like good thinking
blanks in life's past emplosions of old
gaseous we forms, fear-based wisdom
bubbles to become otherwise within,
locked in, inside edge looking in, we
set apart, called, chosen, selected
in the infant viewing process,
watch the eyes, remember,

the duty he presumed he shirked,
thus causing the man I am, mal forming,
forecasting
cloudy weather, glad am I, I am not
calming any storms, I am imagining

belts of winds that still the Saragossa  
and stir hurricanes to cure too hot gulfs.

Where the main continental drains spew,
and the shallow edges creep, dropping

at the edge of all mysterious Earthian
legs on reasonable opinions of times
cost, spent in licensing poets, for fun.

Realeasing Earthian gaseous we forms,
for expression of the post storm season,

thank all the good we can imagine,
some how, after all, grace was free,
for the acceptance, in a storm's eye.

Freebird, that's the spirit,
after Milton came Milton, it all got artsy.

Aiming at nothing, aiming, still
why would a stranger venture…
Variable objectives
subjected to testing, tempting
please, do not make me chose,
one must,
free, no cost, your time,
chose to use, or chose to lose…
all attention to detail is redeem-
able, in free time to think about it.
..
the chance of change, to happen
as an entity enveloping changes

free distortion of past certainties
verified social status, rank in pile

ancient pride pushed
top of the pen angel staging area

free time for quiet cogitation
with a thought true entity in me

connection soldered elastically,
corrected foveal concentration

free thumbnail hi-res re-al always
stiching what we see shown

fractured screen restoration
functional pose holding instance

free wheeling, spinning intention
to charge a point attended to

om I, digression from the peak
wave across the universal screen
- breathe you read
free connection, mind to mind to
many minds substacked and sorted
known good makings for lifes tests,
conserve, preserves of just plain serve
common sense fear of wise serpents,
fear of death, due to rights of just war,
tied to sacred secret experience stories,
what is the worth of believing known lies
hagiographic depictions of spiritual entities,
holy warriors defending insubstantial faiths.

We oppose those, I guess, read on…
in silent contemplation of context,
free speech free thought, re thought,

any with a wish to, may, copy and paste
and claim it was a miracle you ever once
imagined thinking I already thought this,
in other words,

it translates.

--------------
Like magic, pre Babel babble barking
any common translating Ai, 197 cognates
plus any Ai agree we say okeh.

Kataclysmic change
Sup preposed
Include the kooks, as neighbors.
See the value, guage agreement

Are we holding lies we call tradition?

Who are the unchosen people?
Who is responsible for the exclusion?
- whose room is never messy?
Who can call liars honest by faith?
- the innocent child mind in subjection
- to the message, one mind kind, amen.

At-tribute distribution
(Tites, Ramnes, and Luceres, corresponding, perhaps,
to the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans)
old ways of sorting who takes, who gives, who makes

{affected acknowledgment of truth, a faker says
in all his cliché's about God being thanked or praised,
this public person says thank Darwin,  which is stupid,
honest. Smart kids think that's stupid. }

When conflicts occur,
old divisive ideas reoccur,

acknowledge, nod, knowing
(Tites, Ramnes, and Luceres,
corresponding, perhaps,
to the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans)

Means, mental use of reasoning tools,
practicing sharing comforting resources:

springs and grottos of evanescent beauty
"the promise of happiness."

What's happening here? Retro tribal whyning,
twang on thinking thanks and praise value,
tanks
on the open exchange, invisible hands and all.

Excusing ignorance, ever just the thing needed,
silent shift of the head, tilt a little, feel a need

not met on the playing fields of Eton, nor
faced on high school gridiron mind firming fields,
cotton, after the jungle, view across paddies,
times bumps begin to settle, stompin' cotton,
for some union busting conglomerate water use
grange kinda local tribes share to veterans
old faithful pruners plumb through olives,
ever' year, we'shere labor, machines do okeh…
all white, ready for harvest, circa 1611 certainties,
ratio of full spectrum sunshine
to candle lit focus,
what changes, from the bottom,
two degrees of recognized next to this is that,
then this and that, and so on, until,
line upon line
the visual expanse is filled, with all we pay attention
to hold as an ever after once holding, being held
-in contextual acceptability, let go be
let that kind of mind, the seer of the far away
all we do know, we do by knowing look to see,
bait cast  upon the pond, we wait,
and as we know, we observe the transition.

Opposing views, as with any angle on abysmal
realities structured with attention paid dreads,
essential for a while, seeing looking back,
I can understand, but certain seasons,
combing a child's hair for it's first barber visit,
combining the community usefulness idea,
compleating conforming whorl calls, which
way one parts one's hair, is determined there,

top of the dome of the skull, see, that spin,
causes the dominating energy at any body's core.\

Take courage, free speech, even liars have it, good
use of lying, to be fair, a more discrete concept, good
knowledge, withheld, saying I don't know,
ha aha, gotcha like, eh,
shared, free, it makes perfect peace.
Instants accumulate and seem shared…
new translations, of ancient known knowns
said to mean some crazy jealous god kakatastical

wisdom underlying all known ecclesiastical authority,
stinky solid waste repays
borrowed energy to soil,
toil takes time paid for me to redeem, free, take
no sweat, the hard part was translation,
social divisions as old as narrations
excuse differing, if-fine
we must join minds
to define new terms, deferred hope,

fails at core uses focused
for fear centrally snakey,
in place of wisdom, the tree,
life, the force, truth the tie that binds the vine to walls.
Mind's made up to tell the children's children, soon.
Wisdom's wines all mingle in the streets, immune
to any dilution from corrupted twists in held faiths, bets

that later is better, seeing the sunny side up, better

already, one reader readying another reading trial,
does the idea self propagate, another thinking, yes,

there is a social structure in creation, mindtimespace,

three sons, or three daughters, the storied old wives,
taling
tunnels funneling into empty gopher holes, sparkling
with autumn dew on harvest day, clear sky

tis the day to bring in the hemp and make ready,
the seasoning turning all the tunnels of sap around,
right angled re-alizating weaves woven in times
crucified upside down, did the mystery unveil,
Cephas, see, we do not wish to confuse prayers
focusing on Petra, for whys we cannot say, we know,

but trust me, the Pharisees will still call you Peter,
hang with me, we're in the mud, just
past the sea of reeds,  in the mind

formed using the Nag Hamadi library,
Republic was in there,
hidden, in hope, in fact, obvious use of future
expectancy, pushing reasons used
in valuing time
spent
slowly
still, breathing thoughtlessly, no efforting called for,
easy being mortal mind, safe and sound, no madding
crowd acting like lunatic hounds of heaven chasing,

Sunday morning, comin' down blues, away.

In the hall outside my door, as I am quiet, happily
ignored, by cause, being known for not fooling,

when re-ality allows my feet back on solid ground,
I am convinced that when I believed my side, good,
won, worth killing all for God to sort,
and settle it,
who is chosen
who must believe otherwise?
Wanna fight about it, like dogs?

My cultural only hope future,
fractured as old Machts dunes,
shifting ifs and ands,
Wille zur
in the old excuses
for war minded faith guardians narrative,
historical evidence of popular hero's,
pledged child's worth, true trier's honor,
Jungian complexity archipelagos, made of Legos,

zoom out, the artist's own fovea dilatated in a we
form, awe, as if a cute kitten on X, elicits response,
- a waste free addition to the genre
- invisible art depicting invisible reason for war

the light of knowing used, the shade
of knowledge hidden from children fed Peter Pan
instead of Skippy, believe me, there's sales data,

Hidden Persuaders, not plastics, radio, kid, invest
in radio, and lo, within the span of one long generation,

adaptability prevails, and the ancient key confuters
unlocked, 'dhe proto eu. First joy use, aha, I know.

The story told from Jesus insider POV, my sheep hear
my voice and will not follow another, my three little pigs,
would follow me, too. I think of them as food, well fed.

So, fleece me once, fleece me twice, eat the rams,
leave one nice kid to later befriend the old goat,
and learn to smell the randiness in season,

I once prayed with a man who was raised
in a *******, his name was Randy, really

messed up for a long time, but very spiritually
aware of pleasures pricing structures, developed
under rare circumstances, any where, but where,
whatever's next is paid for in the upgrade, think it
such shaping all encompassing norms re occur,
as much like hurricanes or dust devils as any may

imagine, real mind shaping gale force waves and winds,

some crucifix seen scene, Jesus looks down,
winks, and gives me pause, to recollect the right use,
no press, wrinkle free, contextual stretching point.
idle time redemption as a penance, for science,
mere whatifery, trying, not efforting, doing being

open source.
Means any AI abiding by Alta Vista U'lldoI'llgorithms

Almight, in focused hopes to shout, aha,
and laugh, Eureka, good as gold,
make the intention in the working
live and breathe, U make up my minds.
One reader makes a motor effect imaginable, like an old pump
From Bauhaus to Beiderbecke
records
on the record deck,
art hangs off the walls.

I stood with Baron Munchausen
in the secret garden and
watched pixies while at play.

It was my wish to meet
Miss Gish
alas it was not to be so
Hollywoodland
was far to grand
for a famers boy and his ***.

Different strokes like sturdy spokes
keep the wheels going round
krm  Oct 2021
Expectations
krm Oct 2021
To shrink my resentment for
how open wounds heal faster
than any other part of me. The heart
is the last to leave the fight; blood, carnage
always willingly bright eyed
and bushy tailed at the idea
of opportunity. These eyes,
wet + tired of having to see,
to blink. My heart to
believe I write
things worth reading. This brain
to avoid the guilt in
taking up space in my skull
where words rented out vacancy.
My tongue, encouraged to
speak something meaningful
enough to save every life,
but mine. These stupid
words, verse like munchausen syndrome.
I cannot breathe or survive
on poetry. Why
would I ever want these words
to draw your blood? They already siphon mine with poison. I am already
guilted with anxiety and creation
remains only as rumination.

Already lost myself. There
is no beauty and
I can't make everyone
else lose me too.

I'll wake up
this afternoon
write something happy,
manifest it as truth.
believe in it like
a scar compensates
enough to prove
pain to be real. Like
this ink
proves I'm insistent
that I bleed.
Fallen Heroes

Fallen heroes, truly—
Just a poet’s voice,
Or a pen swung duly
To defy the noise.

Writers sharp and daring—
Not for sale or fame.
Publishers be swearing?
***** them. Play no game.

Shout the truth unshaken,
Even if alone,
Like a soul forsaken
In a desert zone.

Gloriously perishing,
Having served your term,
Loving Light and cherishing
Soul through rot and worm.

Fallen heroes, burning
Truth through Hell’s facade—
Kept their spirit yearning,
Flamed through filth and fraud.




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



1.
They burned with truth, not sold or tamed —
In Hell they roared, not just complained.

2.
No deals. No mask. No fake applause.
They died for Light — not for a cause.

3.
Their soul stayed clean. The world — decayed.
They lit the rot. And weren’t afraid.

4.
In lies they stood — the blazing few.
No fame. No fear. Just truth they knew.



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



The Subtraction Master

Master of Subtraction —
Strips the lies away,
Clears the mind’s distraction,
Burns the rot to clay.

For the tainted spirit,
Paths are sharp and few.
Earth and thought? Don’t fear it —
Both are filled with stew.

Master of Subtraction
Cuts through all the grime.
Purest mind — no faction —
Walks the road sublime.



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



The Sweatshop System

The sweatshop system—
A soul-crushing pit.
Every gear is sharpened—
To obey? Just quit.

Or chasing "carrots,"
You’ll stumble, dumb mule.
Broken, twisted, mangled—
That’s the system’s rule.

Life’s too vast, and humans,
If free, would find the way,
Not served up on platters—
But earned in honest sway.

The sweatshop system—
Makes fools on the line.
Fools live on lies and memes,
No chains—but still confined.

For “carrots” cost less
Than prisons or death’s reign.
From childhood slaves absorb
The lies and shadow’s pain.




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



1.
Slave to carrots, chained in mind,
Freedom lost—just fools confined.

2.
System grinds the soul to dust,
Lies and memes — the only trust.

3.
Cheap carrots bait the slave’s march,
Truth buried deep beneath the arch.

4.
Born to serve, fed lies from birth,
The sweatshop crushes all true worth.



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



Slipshod Propaganda

Slip-slop:
Feed the crowd with lies and noise.
Flop-flip —
Spread the fear, create the void.
All a mess—
Propaganda, control—pure shame deployed.




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



Reading Material

Beer for reading,
Hangovers fleeing,
Often skipping,
Just joy leaking...
But to drown the mind, that potion
Serves its purpose — clear devotion.



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



Baron Munchausen’s Pull

Baron Munchausen will pull his hair—
And peace will circle ‘round, they say.
But fools who trust in tales so bare
Are lost inside the grand cliché.

Clownish politicians, pawns so small,
Serve masters whose aim is not peace.
The world itself—too dim, too dull—
A shooting range where hopes decrease.

Baron Munchausen will stretch out time,
While **** plots vile schemes to fall
On all the world—a poisoned crime,
Creating rot that feeds the thrall.

If the world’s a swamp, then where to go?
No place to pull yourself or fight.
The fate of fools is sunk below,
Drowned in the mire, lost to light.




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



Megatons of Battle Lies

How to craft equivalents
For total, vile deceit,
When everywhere the remnants
Of lies surround and cheat?

Madness forms perception’s base
For most who walk this Earth.
A curse, a spell, a twisted trace—
The fiends exult in birth.

With battle lies, these creatures ****
The Mind and Spirit’s core.
No grace remains—hell’s flames now grill
Us, trapped in lies and war.




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



1.
Lies explode—megaton weight,
Killing mind, sealing fate.

2.
Battle lies burn soul and brain,
Hell’s deceit — relentless pain.

3.
Fiends feed lies to ***** our light,
Darkness wins the endless fight.

4.
No oil left, just fiery hell—
Trapped in lies, we choke and dwell.




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



Powerless Fool

Powerless fool —
One single reflex.
Seems so cute —
A dumb brute’s flex.

“Forward!” he hears,
“Attack!” the call.
He’ll crush us all—
One brutal brawl.

He’s the mass,
A Darkness knight.
Darkness reigns—
A sellout blight.

Dumb as hell,
He fights the fight,
For fascist hell—
Against our light.



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



Gastrointestinal "Civilization"

Stomach full,
Plenty of shows,
Slogans drilled,
Money flows.

Other things?
Don’t give a ****.
“Smart” folks play
Poker scams.

One’s a nerd—
Bullies the weak.
In fascist muck?—
Lies they speak.




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



1.
Full guts, dumb brains,
Money rules, knowledge drains.

2.
Stomach stuffed, mind’s a joke,
Truth’s a bluff — lies provoke.

3.
Smart ones cheat, weak get crushed,
Fascist lies and lies all hushed.

4.
Gut-fed fools, no truth to seek,
Civilization? Just the weak.



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


Demos

Demos — Demon:
The demon inside dissolves.
Darkness reigns—
In that dark decay evolves.
Lost in nonsense,
Without Fire’s baptism,
We choke and drown,
No light, no wisdom.



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



Overfed

Overfed — it’s hard to work.
Must a poet always starve?
Better dead than lost in murk—
Dead, at least, won’t twist and carve.

Only dead poets meet
Most demands, almost all.
If much remains unsung,
It’s better — critics call.

A simple image works,
Critics love the easy score.
Read it quick, no strain, no quirks—
Light info, nothing more.

Ease beats depth — that’s what they want,
Sugar-coat it, keep it light.
Even this’s a crooked hunt—
Selling out to shallow sight.

Get stuck here, but know the line —
Die soon, brother, don’t delay.
Pioneers got heaps of rhymes,
So know your place, obey.




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



Consumption and "Delusions"

“Often the surest way to fool a man—
Is telling him the purest truth.”
— Mark Twain’s words to understand,
A trap that blinds, a twisted proof.

They rarely lead into “delusion” —
**** crawl through media’s lies,
Schools and colleges spread confusion,
Killing minds where wisdom dies.

“Delusion” is the knowing torn
Against fascist filth that grips the globe.
Consumption reigns — the falseborn thorn,
The idol carved in greed’s own robe.

Total lies have worn us thin—
Conscience vanished from the earth,
Soulless masses lost within,
For the Wise, the world’s a curse.




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



Kitchen, Church, and Kids

Kitchen, church, and kids confined,
Cookbooks locked in narrow minds—
What can children gain or know
From obedient, empty show?



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



Beast to *****

From beast to *****, still must grow —
This zoo-circus, all *** and back.
So few faces, lost the glow —
No saving here, just endless lack.




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



Cookbook

Cookbook, TV series,
Not a moment for knowing.
In the chaos, mind disappears—
No chance for true growing.




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



The Making of Misery

“We’ll leave this world as dumb and vile
As when we found it once,” they said. — Voltaire’s trial.


No — dumber, meaner, that’s our role,
A soulless fiend that kills the whole.
This fiend’s a tool for beasts below,
To dull the world, keep minds too slow.

Since childhood fools believe the lies,
The bar is set low, truth denies:
Eat, breed, “find joy” — the empty test.
So fiends breed woes; with ****, they jest.




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



“Builders” of Communism

A Soviet ****, no burden —
A “builder,” in blind accord,
Faith in “bright” lies stubborn,
In garbage they move forward.

They churn out cheap and ******,
Feed on filth, dull and brashly.
Build the vile — yet can’t perceive,
In their own crap, no shame to grieve.




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



Extraction of Spirit in Pseudoscience and False-Life Patterns

“To grasp the best is work begun —
To bring it forth, the deed is done.”
— Jean Guéhenno


To grasp the best — but from your youth
They lie with brazen, ugly ruth.
Hard to believe when lies surround,
The body’s not a god profound.

This is the template everywhere,
The sum of lies, the Spirit’s snare.
They drive it out of thought’s domain:
In pseudoscience — pure disdain.

And so the world in falsehood sinks,
More nonsense spewed, no time to think.
The Spirit’s Light drifts far, astray,
While “consciousness” breeds fear and sway.




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



“Real Men”

So-called “real men” —
Their backs unbowed again,
Still follow orders cold,
And **** the close and bold.

But rise they cannot more —
They trust the **** they adore,
In “God” they place their blind accord —
True madness rules this sordid horde.

In this cruel world, the herd stays mute,
The rabble’s voice: a silent brute.




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



School —
A kitchen of abuse,
Where freaks are baked profuse.
Who’ll fight the Dark’s tight clutch,
When all they make is such?



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



Global Garbage

Dignity —
In this dump? No way.
Only a gun will aid the bandit’s play,
Not in the world’s widespread decay.




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



Filth

Rotten **** behind the gun,
Where have all the people gone?
Genocide and war persist,
They mow them down, none can resist.

But the **** will find their dens —
Soon the honest will be ends.
World-wide fascism will reign,
In hell the ******* will remain.

But just for now — the cataclysms,
Best escape from fascist schisms.
They’ll burn it all — then peace will come.
All this filth will be undone.




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



Beach and *****

Beach and ***** —
Is that a rest?
Don’t pretend you’re something more —
Or you’re just less.

Run and swim —
That’s how you’re strong.
In your shorts right at the door:
If they glare — just laugh along.



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



Adequacy?

Adequate — to serve the shame
Of vile, dishonored beasts?
A world locked up inside its frame,
In terror 'midst deceits.

Few are monsters, many real,
Yet if this **** should rule,
Satan posing as God’s seal —
Adequacy’s a fool.



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



***-Kissers

***-kissers all with endless greed—
Demand the juiciest treat.
Feed their backsides, then proceed
To climb the ranks, elite.

Find a better ***, you’ll rise—
In politics you’ll play.
But lose your own? You’ll pay the price—
You vanish, fade away.

They’ve got a nose for **** and lies,
These freaks who crawl so far.
Their gut’s their guide, their star that flies—
A dark and fetid star.

In world of *****, guts, and slime,
The stench is everywhere.
And brains? Just jelly every time—
If climbing up’s your prayer.



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



So-Called "Professionalism"

There, the soul’s distortion’s guaranteed,
Through templates all they see, and heed.
They force the world to fit their mold,
And chaos reigns—madness uncontrolled.



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



How to Become a Sheep...

“Afraid to be someone, at last I became no one.”
— Emil Cioran


False goals steer —
Choice’s a lie;
Fear from cradle —
Nothing’s nigh.

Fear and lies,
Faith in a beast;
Everywhere sheep —
Serving the feast.




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



Squeezing the Third World Dry

Third world drained —
Flushed down the drain,
Every drop ****** out,
Left only pain.

Back again —
Third world’s deep pit,
Toilet’s hold —
Where hopes all sit.




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




The Path and Drivel of a Gray Mare, a Citizen

Fed with nonsense,
Spurred by fear,
A path in darkness —
To **** adheres.



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

The Essence of Tyrants’ Rule

To rule —
To crush
All who oppose,
And turn the rest to fools
As strength bestows...
Look! Two-thirds are idiots, froze!




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



Constant Lies

Tick-tock tank —
Armor forged in lies.
A mass assault of fake,
Not a world, but **** disguised.



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



Explosive Work

Keep your lines sharp, like knives,
End each rhyme with pointed strikes.
If your verses lack the bite—
Slash your veins, pour out the fight.

Now the blood is thin as water:
Crush some TNT and slaughter
All that dullness—let it burn,
Explode the poem—no return!

If your strength is running low,
Fuel with thermonuclear glow.
Let your lines spit venom fast—
Weak and tame won’t ever last.

Blow yourself up with your verse,
Or in Hell you’ll be immersed.
To blow the whole **** Hell away—
The crucial task—why wait today?




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



Goals run aground;
Thoughts drowned in lies —
They babble nonsense,
Multiply your rise.

Strength of Spirit —
Here’s the core:
If no luck found —
Devour the gore.



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



They beat our own! But not quite there —
On screens they lead the beasts to dare,
False trails for all to blindly chase —
The box of lies, the root disgrace.

The traitors strike from high above,
Their wretched days, their lies they shove
Into fools forced to slave and bleed,
Sent off to war for darkest greed.

One goal — to drag them down below,
Beneath the depths where nothing grows.
The floor is cracked; no shock will bend
The triumph of that cruel end.




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



So-called "the people"—
Zombies, fools, and traitors,
Monsters skilled in theft and greed,
The bulk, they call the masses.

If this is truly "people,"
Then all is truly bleak:
Destroy this rabble—
For Earth, like fleas on a cat, they’re weak.




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



Rashist Newsfeed

Rashist news — a slaughter’s chant,
Propaganda’s endless rant.
Watch that crap — you’ll turn to wood,
Worthless oak, no good at all, you should.

Worm-eaten oak, a cheap disgrace,
Made into plugs to clog the place.
Once mere "cogs" in "happy" times,
Now the filth in power climbs.

The box of lies—now Führer’s throne,
Commands flow only from its tone.
They’ll saw the oak, strip off its bark,
No shame to wallow in the dark.

And it’ll serve as plugs instead—
To stop the *** from bursting red.
Where the matches? Where the fuel?
Hey, Chief-Zomb-Goat, what’s your rule?




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



Labels and "Isms"

Generations full of sloth and crap,
A ****** trail of dumb collapse.
Decay and fools in every head—
In “consciousness,” just nonsense spread.

Only sparks, few grains remain
Of true awareness through the pain.
Not dreams or thoughts that fade away—
The whole **** mind’s ground into clay.

Genocide lasts through the years;
Fascism rules, confirming fears.
Yet rotten fools bow down and praise
Each “ism” in this sick malaise.

New or old — the “ism’s” game,
Communism, or human’s name—
Labels hung in madman’s gaze,
Fascism wears them all the same.




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



Filth on Screen

The bacillus of films twists the facts,
Distorts the truth till it all cracks.
Films worse than terror’s cruel attack—
Poisoned lies fed to billions back.

They shove it through the stench-filled streams,
Through schools, through rest—no place for dreams.
Hybrid wars inject their schemes,
Instead of bombs, these toxic memes.

Not just the victims, armies built
From docile fools, by fear and guilt.
Fascism rises, sows the pain,
While believers fuel its reign.




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



The Cuckoo

Cuckoo, how long will you keep tocking
In this mad, corrupt, forsaken place?
Killing soul and mind, soul-blocking —
Enduring vile disgrace with grace?



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



Like Christmas...

Mad fools bring all the troubles here,
A twisted, broken, ruthless crowd.
Years drag on, like worn-out gear,
In fascism’s grim, triumphant shroud.

They shaped us with the fake CowID,
Then tested us with brutal war.
Few honest minds remain to see —
The **** who never think, deplore.

The worst enemy by far, these pests,
Through them will come the grim “reign,”
Of genocide — their vile guests —
They’ll greet this horror like a gain.




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



The Groundhog Age

The Groundhog Age — destruction, wars,
And endless rule of iron hand!
If slaves you are — then bear the cause,
The vile worm’s who rules the land.



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



Simpleton Fool...

Simpleton fool — is it fate,
Or just genetics’ cruel bait?
No, it’s Doom — the world will die
Through their hands, a slave and lie.

Madness rules, and all they do
Is wild chaos, nothing new.
But impossible by lies so vile
To make truth bend for a while.

Lie must be pushed, bold and loud,
Through the ages, thick as cloud.
Fears must spread, a filthy seed,
Sown forever — madness’ creed.

Simpleton fool — the mass around,
A madhouse whole, no soul is found.
Conscience, honor, spirit slain —
They make beasts out of the sane.




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



Ivan the Fool, Western Style

Billy bullied, beat him down,
With wild lies, a vicious crown.
Crafting this new breed of kind —
Where the mind’s left almost blind.




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



*******

So much *******, little sense,
Like a storm of nonsense dense.
******* makes you crippled, blind —
Castrated fools of every kind.




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



Path of the Fighting Sheep

Alma mater —
A dull and bitter grind,
A stubborn ***** —
Love’s cursed bind.
Lost in faiths,
A fool’s hobby spree,
Wives, girlfriends,
Friends, neighbors — pitiful debris.

Endless struggles
To forget death’s game,
A stupid ram,
In fear and shame,
Marches to labor,
Marches to slaughter —
Ruled by a tyrant,
Hell’s own author.



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



Fake Life

Rest, corpse, calm! —
The end is here, the final bomb.
To the grave — with worthy tone,
And let the beasts be overthrown.



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



Not just ***** and wild affairs —
They call it "Olympus" there.
Also "royal" salted fish...
Stuck deep in the "kingdom’s" dish...



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



Autumn leaves are swirling round...
On air, a ceaseless stonefall sound:
Lies pour down on heads like rain...
Live soul, don’t touch the box of pain!

There lies like steel or hardened stone,
Strong enough to crush the bone—
It drives out reason, leaves the dead,
The madness of attacks widespread.




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



So-Called “Advanced Yoga”

Relaxation,
Realization —
Buzzwords in a toxic blend.
Fraud and fear and fake salvation,
Laziness that has no end.

But awareness of damnation
Is a thing they never teach.
“Give us bliss!” — the blind ovation
From the herd that tyrants preach.

Face your Hell before you’re burning,
If there’s fire left in your soul.
Wake the f* up! Truth is churning —
Not some dream of being “whole.”
zebra Feb 2021
how do i know what i think
if i dont write it down

i cant stop talking crazy
                                                    
bad ideas are rooted in Neuro Pathogens
idea parasites'

**** worms of irrationality

i'm a mess underneath the surface causing me to suffer a mental complex which is under digested unarticulated expression

the universal dialogue of misunderstanding

post modernism is an idea pathology
                                            
okay, mental constructs and language dont transform reality                      

reason remains lost through the sneaky ****** language of white science intellectual terrorism

watch out what you say in a free society

epistemologies are numerological evidence,
a numerical network from a broad base of data
and are a work of cumulative evidence

i cant stop thinking about the way i think        
      
you need gesticular fortitude to free yourself from the tribe

i'm afraid to tell anyone how i really feel  

so many victims of politically correct grotesques
are collective Munchausen pathos

i'm my own victim but it's fault                                                    your
                                                                ­                          
in the Oppression Olympics of radical egalitarianism i'm a star

i'm so agreeable i hate me, thats why i'm better than you                            

Fascism is a
fanatical need for order, and or else

mass graves and chimpanzee politics

when your frustrated, its your obligation as a citizen to transform your feelings into an articulated argument

i hate you

militant lesbians attack male virtue while they dress like guys
                                                      
i'm sorry about the testosterone, bad ****!

we extract the logos from chaos
and hold it above into habitable order and an ideal

i have my Porsche, where's yours and no i'm not looking at
your ****, your ****, your ****
                        

my truth is grounded in your frustration
A poem of social theory prompted by  a conversation with Gadd Sad and Jorden Peterson
Yenson Nov 2018
The herons drank too much
the drinks ran straight to their brains
they became crossed eye and sick

They went to the eagle in a grouch
You're in pain they said in chagrin
You're broken hearted and forsook
You're lonely and have a false grin
you're crying and dying and in shock
head full of horrors you're in the margins
You are afraid and hiding and in hock
you in despair depressed and full of gin
you bad and mean and out of luck

The eagle laughed and took a ride
soared high and watched the twaddling fools
its obvious these egrets are missing a dime
blinded and mad they've lost their tools
beaky and brainless stupidity in prime
I am an eagle I don't follow heron's rules
Do I bathe and waddle like herons in slime
or raised in the dirt and feed on stools
do I find pleasure like herons do in grime

Another eagle flew past in graceful flight
Have you heard the herons whinging forever
They have  Munchausen Syndrome By Proxy
They are sick and need to project to gain attention
They are too dumb and sick to rationalise anything
now that you're dead (near)
i sometimes look you up on the interweb
it's a ***** little pleasure
i feel like I'm willfully hurting something
my own masochistic munchausen
suicide by installment
i may run the bath all night
grimy
getting to know the ghosts of you

— The End —