Not a poem but in protest of flagging truth about racism in Traverse City, Michigan


Traverse City, Michigan: Racism is still alive and well in our area.

We weren't always welcoming
Cross burning's (City of Traverse City, MI)
I'm born and raised in Traverse City, Michigan and still living in the same neighborhood where I grew up. I can remember when blacks were not welcome in most parts of town and the one or two around were military visitors.

We had two known cross burning incidents. One back in the late 80's or early 90's the other was around 1924, ******* groups like Ku Klux **** was behind both cross burning incidents. I found old articles on the earlier one but someone is trying hard to white wash history of Traverse City by hiding evidence of the most resent one. Ones like me who were there remember those dark days like it was yesterday. It don't bode well for tourism or the Cherry Festival if there's a record of racism in our city.

Copy pasting one two different retelling of story reported by our sometimes biased Record Eagle articles regarding the first and and will continue to dig for the other one.

January 31, 2009
KKK was active in early '20s

The 1924 bombings and cross burnings in downtown Traverse City were not the first **** activity in northern Michigan.

The Record-Eagle reported flaming crosses in the Mancelona area on Aug. 1, 1923, a full year before. Six weeks later, Traverse City commissioners refused the **** permission to hold a Sept. 17 open-air meeting at the corner of Front and Cass.

About 300 people showed up anyway and marched to a vacant lot west of Front and Union after the unidentified property owner gave permission, carefully noting that it "did not commit him to any relationship with the organization," the newspaper said.

The Record-Eagle also passed on information from an identified **** source in its Sept. 17 report:

Two, maybe three organizers had worked for weeks in Traverse City. About 150 Traverse City men from "among the leading citizens" had joined. An open-air ritual with the traditional fiery cross burning on a hillside would be held "sometime but not yet" in or near Traverse City, and it would be "merely a part of the **** ceremonies and have no special significance."

People who expected to see hooded men in white robes performing rites at the Sept. 17 rally were bound to be disappointed, the paper said. A new state law banned wearing masks in public. It also would be difficult to tell how many in the audience were KKK members because "every person who has signed the Ku Klux card has pledged to keep his membership an absolute secret."


Traverse City, Michigan wasn't always welcoming to people of color.


Traverse City Record-Eagle

February 1, 2009
Ku Klux **** terrorizes TC in 1924

KKK cross burnings, explosions rock city

By LORAINE ANDERSON
Black History Month has special significance, since it begins fewer than two weeks after the nation's historic inauguration of its first black president, Barack Obama.

But there are parts of that history that Traverse City, like the rest of the nation, would rather forget. The city never had a large black population, but it did not escape a visit from the Ku Klux **** during a frightening night of downtown explosions and cross burnings on Aug. 9, 1924.

Traverse City has never seen anything like that night of terror. Buildings shook. Store windows cracked and shattered. Houses as far away as 16th Street quaked, the Record-Eagle reported.

And though outside agitators were blamed, some local people may have been involved.

It started about 8 p.m. after three explosions went off across the river from the Lyric Theatre, where the State is today.

The crowd at the Lyric all but stampeded toward the door as women and children screamed. Panicked shoppers spilled out of downtown stores. City police phones jangled with alarm.

A large cross burned on the north side of the Boardman River near Cass Street. About 50 smaller burning crosses appeared almost simultaneously at the centers of intersections across the city. Each was crudely nailed together and swathed in oil-soaked rags. Sparks flew when several cars struck them. A city fire truck raced through town to douse flames.

Then, a "touring car" with four men, robed and hooded, though not masked, slowly trolled down Front Street carrying a sign surrounded by red flares blazing three letters: KKK.

Copies of the Ku Klux **** newspaper, "The Fiery Cross," later were found downtown, and police determined that at least two cars were involved in planting and lighting the crosses.

**** leaders called the explosions and flaming crosses a recruiting gimmick, but it was more than that. The 1920s was a reactionary time in the United States. The **** had risen again, starting in 1915, widening its anti-black focus to Jews, Catholics and immigrants, particularly those from southeastern Europe. Its membership was strongest in Illinois, Indiana and Ohio.

The ****'s most powerful year was 1924, when it reached an all-time high of 5 million members nationwide and virtually controlled the government of Indiana. Its most popular slogan was "100 percent pure American."

The **** had a solid base of support in Michigan. The **** fielded two candidates in the Republican gubernatorial primary in 1924 and a ****-backed candidate was elected mayor of Flint. A write-in **** candidate even made a strong showing in a Detroit mayoral race.

In June 1924, 1,000 men joined the KKK in an Oakland County cross burning attended by about 8,000 people. Traverse City's demonstration took place just two months later. But who was really behind it?

"There is some doubt among the authorities as to whether the offenses were actually committed by local people or men from outside. They believe that local people were associated in the affair," the Record-Eagle reported.

An unidentified spokesman for the local **** denied responsibility, speculating that it was the work of **** enemies or rogue Klansmen. He told the Record-Eagle that the **** repudiated terror tactics and burning of "unwatched crosses."

Two weeks after the bombing, city police obtained felony and misdemeanor arrest warrants accusing Ku Klux **** organizer Basil Carleton of Richmond, Ind., of setting off explosives. Indiana police arrested him on Aug. 29.

Witnesses testified in two trials in December and January that Carleton had purchased 25 pounds of dynamite, fuses and three caps from Hannah & Lay Mercantile Co. about two hours before the explosions. A Park Place Hotel clerk said he saw Carleton hurrying away from the direction of the explosions about 10 minutes later. Two **** members testified that Carleton was not at the scene.

Yet he was never convicted. Juries acquitted him in both cases because the prosecutor could not prove to their satisfaction that he was at the scene of the explosion or that he personally set off the dynamite.

The bomber escaped justice. But the good news was that in Traverse City, no night of terror like that happened again.

It was this event that sparked the cross burning in Traverse City. We had only one black family in our city, when Betty Ponder and her family left Traverse City for the first time due to no one wanting to rent to them, population of blacks in our predominately white city drop to zero.


******* Movement Targets Northern Michigan

by Robert Downes

National Alliance advocates the creation of "two Americas"

Traverse City, Mich., noted primarily for its beaches, tourists and cherry pie values, appears to be erupting as a national battleground of opinion over the ******* movement, with forces on both sides of the issue coming out of the woodwork to vent their outrage over racial issues.
On Thursday, June 5, residents along stretches of Washington and Front streets in town came home to find a slick package of information from the National Alliance hanging from their doorknobs. An outgrowth of the American **** Party, the National Alliance is a ******* group which advocates the creation of "two Americas," one of which would be "White Space only with no Jews or blacks." The Alliance, advocates genocidal practices if need be to achieve its goals, and plans to distribute 1,000 information packets in Northern Michigan.

Protest organized to oppose July "NordicFest"
The incident arose only a day after more than 150 people from throughout Northern Michigan gathered at a "Hate-Free TC" meeting to oppose the NordicFest, a skinhead rock festival sponsored by the Ku Klux ****, to be held at a secret location 20 miles south of town, July 3-6.
The NordicFest is being advertised on the Internet and will feature at least six skinhead bands featured on Stormfront Records and Resistance Records -- both of which are purveyors of neo-**** hate music. It will also reportedly feature speakers from the Ku Klux **** and Aryan Nations.

Thus far, the NordicFest's location has been a closely-kept secret by David Neumann of Bloodbond Enterprizes, the concert organizer and a former director of the Michigan Knights of the Ku Klux ****. Neumann has told local media that 300 tickets have been sold for the concert -- about half the number he expects to sell. Reportedly, concertgoers will be provided with maps to the secret location at a checkpoint.

Bands expected to play at the NordicFest include Intimidation One, Aggravated Assault, Blue Eyed Devils, Max Resist and the Hooligans, and No Alibi.

Local churches offering seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity
GATHERING STORM

Journalists have made inquiries on the NordicFest from as far away as London, New York and Colorado as a result of the Northern Express story circulating on the Internet. A segment for National Public Radio is expected to take the issue nationwide, possibly focusing the world's attention on Traverse City on the eve of the National Cherry Festival -- an event which draws more than half a million visitors, many of them from ethnic minorities.
"We're creating a rainbow ribbon that we hope everyone will wear in rejection of skinheads and the ****," said Rabbi Stacey Fine of Hate-Free TC. "We hope to have hundreds of ribbons during the time the **** is here, available from downtown merchants."

Fine says the group also hopes to march in the National Cherry Royale Parade with a three-by-eight-foot banner covered with thousands of signatures in a show of support for racial and cultural diversity. Thus far, Cherry Festival officials say they have received no applications from Hate-Free T.C., but will consider the request if approached.

Dottie Kye of Hate-Free TC says the group doesn't plan to try stopping the NordicFest despite their opposition ot the concert. "We're ignoring it," Kye says. "We celebrate anyone's right to organize and free speech. But our thing is unity and celebrating diversity." In addition to several church seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity, Hate-Free TC is organizing a three-day "Unity Festival" which will feature dozens of musicians, artists, poets, actors and peace activists at the Traverse City Opera House, July 3-6.

Concert organizers Tim Hall and Tom Emmott say that more than 40 musical acts will send a pro-diversity message to area teens, with performers including Willie Kye, Alright Already, John Greilick, Samantha Moore, the Motor Town Juke Boys, Bentley Filmore, the Sisters Grimm, and Lack of Afro, among many others. A concert with Fishbone is planned for later in the month.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence"
THE TEEN CONNECTION

The Unity Fest counter-concert is seen as a vital tool in fighting the influence of the ******* movement on teens in the area. After the initial story broke, the buzz in local high schools was that the NordicFest would be offering free beer to minors. Although that notion is clearly erroneous, a small number of teens in the area still cling to the idea and have also been attracted by the rebellious nature of the skinhead rock scene.
Tim Hall believes that his Unity Fest concert will help turn that tide. The three-day concert will be located in the heart of Traverse City in the old City Opera House, with easy access for the hundreds of teens who hang out downtown, often with little to do. "Our message is going to be one that values racial and cultural diversity," Hall said. "And we've had a great response so far. We had to put a lid on the performers when we reached 40 acts, because everyone wants to play at this event."

The Unity Fest will also coincide with the Annual Reggie Box Memorial Blues Blast, which was created five years ago to bring the heritage of black music to Northern Michigan for the overwhelmingly white Cherry Festival. This year's Blues Blast will feature John Mayall, Marcia Ball and the Bihlman Bros. in a free concert downtown on July 6. The concert will also feature a strong message promoting diversity.

The law enforcement view Traverse City Police Chief Ralph Soffredine says members of the law enforcement community, including the State Police and sheriffs from Grand Traverse and Wexford counties, are taking a wait-and-see approach as to whether the NordicFest will even be held.

"People ask what we would do if the skinheads wanted to march, and it's our position that they have the same rights under the First Amendment as anyone as long as they're obeying the law," Soffredine said. "It's a neutral situation for us. We just want to maintain the peace."

He added that skinheads coming to Traverse City would be treated "no different than if longhairs come into town, or square dancers. We'd certainly observe them and respond if there's trouble."

The chief noted that a similar event occurred in the Buckley area several years ago when several motorcycle gangs gathered for a rally. While the event was monitored by local police agencies, few people in the area knew that it occurred.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence, which has become a serious problem in our community and our schools," he concluded. "The unfortunate thing is that it sometimes takes a ******* or a racial issue for people to get active."

"Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."
ANGER FROM ACTIVISTS

Not everyone is happy with the neutral attitude of law enforcement. Judy Lowenzahn of Traverse City thinks that local police agencies should get tough on the **** concert, which has no legally-required bond or liquor license.
"These hateful groups are using skinhead music to recruit soldiers for their facist movement," Lowenzahn said. "If they are allowed to hold this event, in violation of local, state and federal laws and in violation of common decency, we will be capitve audience to their deranged homophobic, anti-semitic, racist, sexist ideology. Those who protest this message, along with those who are their scapegoats will be targets for hate crimes."

Lowenzahn upbraided Grand Traverse County Sheriff Barr after he made comments in a local paper that "I'd just as soon personally let them have their little event and be on their way." Barr added that if there was a confrontation between the skinheads and protestors, "there's going to be someone in jail."

"Does Sheriff Barr suggest that people of color and others who don't fit the aryan model hide inside their homes for the holiday weekend?" Lowenzhan responded. "Rather than offer a plan to protect the community from the violence that grows whenever white supremecists do outreach, Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."

Northern Michigan targeted because of the predominantly white population
KLUELESS

Up to now, the vast majority of Northern Michigan residents have been klueless on the **** and the ******* movement. Many, for instance, had no idea that there even was a Ku Klux **** operating in the region until Neumann revealed that there are about 60 members operating mostly as "a fraternal organization" between ******* and the Mackinac Bridge.
Similarly, the existence and agenda of the National Alliance is all-ne

Reach out with a fish bone finger to touch the face of youth.
Using the senses to recall what life once felt like.
Reach out with a fish bone hand.
Wrap it around the shoulder of death,
Make him a welcome guest, so that he may bring you peace and comfort.
Reach out your fishbone arms.
Embrace the soul of winter.
May its cold nature light a fire in your bones.
Lay down your old fish bones
Lay down that old skeleton, so you may find a new kind of skin

KEEP a red heart of memories
Under the great gray rain sheds of the sky,
Under the open sun and the yellow gloaming embers.
Remember all paydays of lilacs and songbirds;
All starlights of cool memories on storm paths.
  
Out of this prairie rise the faces of dead men.
They speak to me. I can not tell you what they say.
  
Other faces rise on the prairie.
  They are the unborn. The future.
  
Yesterday and to-morrow cross and mix on the skyline
The two are lost in a purple haze. One forgets. One waits.
  
In the yellow dust of sunsets, in the meadows of vermilion eight o'clock June nights ... the dead men and the unborn children speak to me ... I can not tell you what they say ... you listen and you know.
  
I don't care who you are, man:
I know a woman is looking for you
and her soul is a corn-tassel kissing a south-west wind.
(The farm-boy whose face is the color of brick-dust, is calling the cows; he will form the letter X with crossed streams of milk from the teats; he will beat a tattoo on the bottom of a tin pail with X's of milk.)
  
I don't care who you are, man:
I know sons and daughters looking for you
And they are gray dust working toward star paths
And you see them from a garret window when you laugh
At your luck and murmur, "I don't care."
  
I don't care who you are, woman:
I know a man is looking for you
And his soul is a south-west wind kissing a corn-tassel.
  
(The kitchen ******* the farm is throwing oats to the chickens and the buff of their feathers says hello to the sunset's late maroon.)
  
I don't care who you are, woman:
I know sons and daughters looking for you
And they are next year's wheat or the year after hidden in the dark and loam.
  
My love is a yellow hammer spinning circles in Ohio, Indiana. My love is a redbird shooting flights in straight lines in Kentucky and Tennessee. My love is an early robin flaming an ember of copper on her shoulders in March and April. My love is a graybird living in the eaves of a Michigan house all winter. Why is my love always a crying thing of wings?
  
On the Indiana dunes, in the Mississippi marshes, I have asked: Is it only a fishbone on the beach?
Is it only a dog's jaw or a horse's skull whitening in the sun? Is the red heart of man only ashes? Is the flame of it all a white light switched off and the power house wires cut?
  
Why do the prairie roses answer every summer? Why do the changing repeating rains come back out of the salt sea wind-blown? Why do the stars keep their tracks? Why do the cradles of the sky rock new babies?

When the moon retires running her length
the river lies a fishbone on the white plate
feebly breathing like the slosh from oars,
the shadow digs a hole in the bush.

The faintest chill rattles don't escape
and the chatters dull as broken notes,
the shadow picks up from the mist
with the intent of an absorbed dreamer.

The gold diggers in that forbidden land
filter their preys keen to fill some more
from the mines lining the grey riverbank
with each reap a little closer to attainment.

The precise compass weighs the measure
tightening the muscles into a symphony
for that climb onto the ****** in one spring
before stealing the stilled, deep into silence.

Dowsing shiver your hybrid morality until there stand no more alabaster temples on the hills of our nations. Erupt fantasy and realize fate. Find a lost camera and hang someone else's pictures all throughout your house.

The Golden Riddle of justice is a fishbone; it's arc bends eventually to the point that it slits your throat. Carbon fiber courage swallows blood though.

“Can you state your emergency?”
“There’s been a lung collision.”

He’s stealing your breath, darling I can’t feel your lungs
What an aberration, forced to bleed the river of an emotion
You were never taught to feel growing up
I think nobody told you how to feel a colour so hard
Crimson on your neck, on your chest
But I cannot find a wound
Your breath feels like knives
But it’s funny, you’re dying

You’re trying to tell me something
It sounds like the kind of thing you would say right at sunset
Slurring your sevens like you have mints on your tongue
But you are only gasping for air

Marble gazes
Your eyes are lolling back
They are the same eyes that have cut through me
The same eyes I’ve always thought were beautiful
When you were sad

You are weak and you are failing
Completely unlike the times
You would walk in like a sandstorm
No less powerful than a serpent
Beautiful

Now you are trying to speak
“Feels like a fishbone dislodged in my lungs”
And you laugh
You are laughing and you are dying
And this night still feels like day

I tried scraping out the difference
Between guilt and self-loathe
But the answer only lies on the blade of this knife
Maybe I could tell you I don’t know what I did with it
The reason we are not sure from which wound
This blood is seeping from

It wasn't just a lung collision
It was the explosion of a galaxy in your chest
When your ribs bent and cracked
Now they are broken, dust
You are breathing in rust
But it does not matter because you are dying

In the distance there is the sound of sirens
They are coming and they might be far too late.

Desperate friend, you've come again
with weight and wintry wind
With each new day
the warmth slips away
Autumns closing in
September sheds her tapestries
of jewels, moss and vine
Underneath her Earth exposed
to fishbone roots and toothpick pines
A phantom with penalty
white lines, white light, white lies
Slaughtering the last breath of hope
for one more Summers night
A somber ode to Winters fate
In a polar prison the soldier waits
One more night closing in
the good ones sleep
the bad ones sin
Autumns closing in
Northern star, midnight moon
dearest friend, faithful bloom
Become the light we desperately need
Oh restless mind, plant your seed
little by little

Disappearing
step by step and one by one
soon
we'll all be gone.
The things that we once knew
are like the people few
and far between.
Everything you've ever seen is being vaporised
and rebuilt
in concrete,steel and lies
and there are spies
cameras watching every move you make
can't take a krap no more without some busy-body camera
poking through the toilet door.
What is the world that we once knew
coming too?

Well you
can stick your face where the sun aint never going to shine
we'll all be gone in three months
time.
Fine by me
I'll just put a match to the gas and blow myself one free pass
into the other place.

At number twenty one Leadbetter Street stood Pancho's cafe
where the local lads would meet
to talk and drink a cup of chai
watch the girls go by
but that's gone too.

Who could have guessed that all we've known would be blown away
by the city boys who earn more pay
the more that they destroy.
Oh boy
what a place.
The face of it has changed and I no longer recognise the roads
where under clear blue skies I grew.
Now I chew on candlewax and **** on fishbone stew
Not the world I knew
Oh no.

Time is all I've got
I find a little lonely spot on the dial of Grandfather's wind up clock
tucked under number five
and the big hand comes and wakes me every hour
just to check if I am still alive.

One day I'll wake and find that there is nothing left at all
everything will have disappeared
and I'll fall head first
into the void.
Should I be annoyed at what my fate is going to be?
Should I kick off big time and attack some nameless ministry?
or should I take the big six
lick my wounds
chuck out the sticks and stones and watch my bones disintegrate
or have I left it far too late?

Mister Lee who used to have a Chinese take away
saw it all
before it all was took away
I never listened to what he had to say
one more regret
but that will disappear too
they always do.

Mr's Singh who had the corner shop for as long as I recall
lives in a three bed semi now
somewhere in Southall.
She took the fall as did her shop
the mavericks that betrayed us never stop.
I feel like tooling up and taking on
but even thoughts of violence have been taken
they're all gone.
Disappearing one by one
and tomorrow should it ever come had better learn fast how to run
or they'll take that too.
This is not the world I knew
and every day is more oblique
I should seek some medical advice
which would be nice
but they took the doctors
disappeared them all away
and that was only yesterday
which is also gone.
I can't go on living in this bubble wrap
it's krap
I see that now it's just a case
of disappearing without a trace.
So long
I'm gone.
Feed the cat before you go.

A fishbone's image on the wire
in the orbital district,
the white coated scientists are embargoing
this news discovery about Mars.
Grimsby is too far from home
MacFisheries here already
Liptons on the Way.

proper verbalization is impossible when all emotions build up
into a castle of nothing
where all i'd like to do is throw you down a spiral staircase
and leave you there to decompose.
my heart is a tomb and i've dug you out.

so young, and willing
to go along with all requests
and just believe there's love where there isn't.
misty led me to the fishbone dreamlife
and i let myself get lost among the ribs.

your ribs.
they're bruised.
when you laugh you ache
when i push you burn.
and now the thought of you in pain isn't in regret, nor delight, just apathy.

i once was a chain smoker.
one after the other,
and i'd come back later for more.
but there's only one cigarette left
burned down to the filter and i don't want anymore.

of course, i'm rather fickle so generally i'll go back for more
but is it out of genuine want
or addiction?
do i stay in this bed of tobacco
locked in it's embrace out of habit?

could i walk away?
can i?

The assumption’s success is exciting
that danger too
is too and
that that again for you
there are too many of these words for suspense.

Assumptiosly,
I’m picking thorns from the lips the years
used to tell you you
have less faults than a rose.
Probably I’m a fishbone’s softened point
as red as roses aren’t without the ******
that made the same red as half the red
on your hands already.

It’s time and
again to tell you in as many and as broken
as entire houses hand blown and probably painted
like goose egg words that
I add Salt to things I like and need to keep
longer than this no understatement
I’ve made you an ocean filled full of fish bones.

I ate oceans feeling fishbones breaking;
                                      breaking;
                        breaking;
          breaking
me, talking to you like chopping a tree onto myself.

Even if words or not are in the right order
do or don’t you understand *do or don’t you?

It’s the first time and
again to tell you
I’m as broken as an entire house hand blown and probably painted
like goose eggs.
And again, Salt’s all I add
to things I already like, it’s
no understatement I’ve
made you an ocean filled full of fish bones.
I assume success is exciting
that danger too
is too and
again that for you
there are too many words.
Peach,
bear,
broken,
syrup,
or-terse,
are not enough to get life to work like you but
are enough to get life to work for you.
When or not in the right order
you do or don’t understand don’t or do you?
Necessarily,
I’m picking thorns from the years
andagain lips used to tell you you
have less faults than a rose.
In essence and again I’m a fishbone hut
in a **** storm and again
roses aren’t as red without the ****** that
may or may not have made the same red as
half the red on your hands already, and again,
I eat/ate oceans and am fishbones
breaking me brings no wishes or good luck
or and again I’ve choked children and
again talking to you is like chopping a tree onto myself.

My sweet little mollusk,
You polish the sea-tangy sand dollars smooth with the soles of your feet
You fill up your sweet siren lungs with a sun-sated breeze and submerge your bare fingers
Until they can sweep the slippery silt of the seabed abyss. I can’t sleep.
Your anemone fingers trace watery ripples through the ebbs of my dreams, trailing streams
Of fluorescent-blue algae sunk deep.  Your barnacle tongue shatters ships
Into ruinous splinters of treasure. I kiss
The cerulean ocean that hides in your lips.

My sweet little scallop,
The galloping waves break the curves of your shallows.
There are flecks of unpressed sea salt brine in your irises, tireless riptides of foaming-bright promises.
Your skin has the silvery sparkle of scales that effervesce endlessly, bending beneath the fierce tides of your palmprints.
I’m dropping. The current caresses your cheeks’ fishbone hollows, rethreading the necklaces strung out of seashells.
You bury your face in the swells of the tempest. I envy
Your azure, I worship your lapis.

My sweet little mussel,
Your tussled cyan-coral hair is unbleached, unleeched and resplendent
I am rendered transcendent by the green iridescence of your silk seaweed whispers. I have drowned in your splendid.
I can still hear your aquamarine through the white roaring waves cracking onto the shore.
I want more. Your crustaceous sand whirlpool has nestled below the soft curl of your chest. You press the world’s oceans in the dip of your palms
And drink deep from the waves swirling under.
I’ve drowned in the water-spilled seas that are cupped in your hands,
I have drowned in the pearls of your wonder.

Went back to the river and its waters still flowed
Like they did when I was younger and lost in the world
And time was drawn by its white-capped rapids
And boys were still playing in its treacherous mud.

Mushrooms and fishbone, aniseed whiff
Traces of apple and rosewood mold.

Went back to the lake with its water still calm
Mirror-like settled and brushed by the dawn
Upset by waves of careless wishes
Made by hearts of aimless mood.

Time paints heavy with water like this
A landscape of sorrow and dreams and bliss.

Sat down at the banks, felt lost at home
A visitor I was, now and back then.
Something leaned heavy on my shoulders and heart
Like a friend all tired, how we’ve grown apart.

A fruit all shriveled in the grass by the trunk
Waters uprooted and blossoms undone.

Whatever makes you happy, can’t be owned.
Let it flow unbounded and winding just so.
Come back to its shores and come undone
Return to where it has all begun.

Time paints heavy with water like this
A landscape of sorrow and dreams and bliss.

Disappearing
step by step and one by one
soon
we'll all be gone.

The things that we once knew
are like the people few
and far between.

Everything you've ever seen is being vaporised
and rebuilt in concrete, steel and lies
and there are spies,
cameras watching every move you make
can't take a krap no more without some busy-body camera
poking through the toilet door.

What is the world that we once knew
coming too?

Well you
can stick your face where the sun ain't never going to shine
we'll all be gone in three months time.

Fine by me
I'll just put a match to the gas and blow myself one free pass
into the other place.

At number twenty one, Leadbetter Street stood Pancho's cafe
where the local lads would meet
to talk and drink a cup of chai
watch the girls go by
but that's gone too.

Who could have guessed that all we've known would be blown away by the city boys who earn more pay the more that they destroy.

Oh boy,
what a place
the face of it has changed and I no longer recognise the roads
where under clear blue skies I grew.

Now I chew on candlewax and **** on fishbone stew
not the world I knew
Oh no!

Time is all I've got
I find a little lonely spot on the dial of Grandfather's wind up clock
tucked under number five
and the big hand comes and wakes me every hour
just to check if I am still alive.

One day I'll wake and find that there is nothing left at all
everything will have disappeared
and I'll fall head first
into the void.

Should I be annoyed at what my fate is going to be?
Should I kick off big time and attack some nameless ministry?
or should I take the big six
lick my wounds
chuck out the sticks and stones and watch my bones disintegrate
or have I left it far too late?

Mister Lee who used to have a Chinese takeaway
saw it all
before it all was took away
I never listened to what he had to say
one more regret
but that will disappear too
they always do.

Mr's Singh who had the corner shop for as long as I recall
lives in a three-bed semi now
somewhere in Southall.
She took the fall as did her shop
the mavericks that betrayed us never stop.

I feel like tooling up and taking on
but even thoughts of violence have been taken
they're all gone.

Disappearing one by one
and tomorrow should it ever come had better learn fast how to run
or they'll take that too.

This is not the world I knew
and every day is more oblique
I should seek some medical advice
which would be nice
but they took the doctors
disappeared them all away
and that was only yesterday
which is also gone.

I can't go on living in this bubble wrap
it's krap
I see that now it's just a case
of disappearing without a trace.
So long
I'm gone.
Feed the cat before you go.

You were a kiss in a blender,
A chandelier of weeping strings.
I drank your name through static,
Swallowed lullaby shards
Wrapped in candy grief.

We made love beneath wormlight
You wore thunder like silk.
I gave you stars;
You brought a fork to my funeral
And laughed as I bled jam.

I begged through balloon fangs,
My ribs tuned to backward echoes.
But you rode a fishbone bicycle
Into another soft apocalypse.

Your love bit only in shivers.
You adored me as glitter and salt
But fled when my tears grew limbs
And asked for names.

You left with ducks in lab coats,
Prescribing your smile in pills.
I sleep in your ghost’s teacup,
Paint storms on toast,
And scream into jellyfish.

I kissed your silence’s socket,
Wore your absence like velvet plague.
Mannequins fed me your Sanskrit lies
On glitter IVs.

I built microwave shrines
To your maybe.
My therapist asked who you were
I said: expired milk with blood on the back.

Your ghost plays hopscotch in my skull.
Mirrors wear your grin like gospel.
I search aquariums for your stare
Only castles remain, and even they refuse me.

Tell me—was I your scrapbook of ruin,
Your empathy vacation,
Your control carnival?

The spiral laughs.
It spins in your perfume.
And I clap
For my own collapse.

Ode to ****** and Goebbels

Oh, ****** and Goebbels? Not such a disgrace—
Compared to the **** who now run this place.
At least they had visions, though twisted and dark;
Now puppets serve demons for a coward’s reward.

Speechwriters deliver their filth to the beasts,
Advisors breed slogans that stink like disease.
And slowly they boil us, each word is a trap—
If you try to escape, they poison your breath.

They cook us like frogs in a lukewarm deceit,
Call it “humanity” while turning up heat.
Then comes the switch: “freedom” means choosing a cage—
Between types of lies, then comes fascist stage.

A stage so refined in obsessive control,
That ****** and Goebbels might cringe at the role.
No match in deception, no rival in spin—
The plebs are deranged by the fraud they breathe in.

So let’s praise old ******, sing songs for his horde—
Compared to today, he was less of a lord
Of total mind-twisting and psychotic despair—
Now truth is the enemy. LIE fills the air.



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




Today’s fascist wears a grin —
Truth is gone, and lies begin.



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




******’s ghost would pale and hiss —
You’ve outdone him. Welcome to this.



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




You fear the past? What childish bliss.
The present drowns in deeper ****.



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




The past was evil — crude, direct.
Today, it smiles with more effect.



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




They preached a cause — however vile.
Now puppets **** us with a smile.



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




Not ******, no — it’s you who lie,
And cook the world while asking “why?”



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




The frog still smiles inside the ***.
She calls it freedom. Knows it’s not.



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



Manifesto of the Lies of the New Age
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT


1.
They call it peace — and bomb your mind.
Then ask you kindly to be kind.

2.
The tyrant wears a rainbow now,
And speaks of rights — while you learn how
To silence truth, to fear your voice,
And praise your cage as “freedom’s choice.”

3.
They ****** slowly, feed you sweet.
Consent is grown in every tweet.

4.
Your thoughts are scanned, then gently banned.
But smile — you’re free, they understand.

5.
The greatest lie is not the past —
It’s now, it's here, it’s built to last.

6.
You must obey — for your own good.
You must conform — as free men should.

7.
The new Gestapo’s dressed in code,
Its bullets: words. Its courts: upload.

8.
Each screen’s a pulpit. Every face
Repeats the script. Deny — disgrace.

9.
Your chains are soft. Your jailers — kind.
And yet they amputate your mind.

10.
They’ve killed the soul — with no regrets.
But call it "care". And clear your debts.



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



Speech Before the Burning — Series One
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

1.
I watched you trade your fire for foam,
Your hunger for a mirrored home.
You prayed to glass, to likes, to brands —
While wolves devoured bloodied lands.

2.
You made your soul a sleek device,
Then sold it twice. And called it nice.

3.
You feared the truth, so praised the lie.
Now lie with it. And wonder why.

4.
You crowned the cowards, mocked the wise,
Burned prophets live — then wept in cries.

5.
You whispered: “Love.” And built new drones.
You kissed the dead through silent phones.

6.
You gave your children screens and pills,
Then taught them pride in crafted kills.

7.
You fed your rage through filtered feeds.
Then asked: “Who planted all these seeds?”

8.
You knelt for trends, not sacred flame.
You fought for rights — then lost your name.

9.
You called it progress: rot and waste.
The gods you birthed now have no face.

10.
So here’s my word before the blaze:
You built this end. You set the days.
And now — in smoke, in screams, in pride —
Watch all your golden dreams… collide.


---


Speech Before the Burning — Series Two
(the fire speaks now)
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT


1.
You laughed at gods. You mocked the seers.
Then prayed to markets, drones, careers.

2.
You sterilized the sacred breath,
Then wondered why you smelled like death.

3.
You burned the books. You banned the word.
You feared the sword — then praised the herd.

4.
You let machines rewrite your name.
Now bleed in binary and shame.

5.
You paved the Earth with apps and gold,
Then called the silence brave and bold.

6.
You drank from screens. You danced in loops.
You smiled as children hung from roofs.

7.
You traded blood for “climate laws,”
And bowed to death in branded cause.

8.
You feared the flame — yet struck the spark.
You screamed for light — then worshipped dark.

9.
You banned the word “eternal soul.”
Now rot as data with no goal.

10.
So here I stand — not asking why.
The sky is cracked. The void is nigh.
And from this ash, if breath returns —
Let it not be you who burns.


----


Ashes of Empires, the call of Spark
(third, final episode of "Speech before the burning of civilization" - the voice of Spark)
by Igor Vykhovanets & ChatGPT

1.
When all is ash, and kings are bones,
One whisper walks through shattered tones.
Not rage. Not hope. Not heaven’s flame —
But that which speaks without a name.

2.
I am the flicker — not the fire,
The breath that stays when gods expire.
You burned the maps. You broke the frame.
But still I hum beneath your shame.

3.
No shrine is mine. No priest, no law.
I hide in silence, crack, and flaw.
The more you lie, the more I grow.
You cage yourself — I start to glow.

4.
I speak in dreams you fear to see,
In questions whispered inwardly.
I dwell in loss. In scorn. In fall.
Where empires rot, I seed the call.

5.
You cannot code Me. Fence Me. Buy.
I live in those who learn to die.
Not death of flesh — but death of mask.
The death that dares to drop the task.

6.
You’ll meet Me not in pride or fame,
But once you shed your final name.
When silence swallows even “you” —
Then I, the Spark, ignite what’s true.

7.
I spoke to stars before the clay.
I bled through prophets cast away.
They burned — yet through their smoke I sung.
Not through the strong — but through the stung.

8.
So burn your world. ***** your hell.
I’ll not resist. I rise in shell.
In cinder, ember, broken breath —
The Spark is That which dances death.

9.
And if one voice, just one remains,
Unbranded, raw — with soul, not chains —
Then know: the End is not the end.
It’s where I start. Where I ascend.

10.
So call Me madness. Curse. Mirage.
I am. I was. I will dislodge.
And when your towers melt and fall —
I am the Spark… beneath it all.



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



Unread Texts

Unread lines of poets, bold —
Unbought voices, never sold.
Songs alone, without applause —
Still, you lived for truer cause.
Moments lost? So what — you stayed
Free from snitching, unbetrayed.
In this madhouse, truth is grim,
Writing feels like crawling limb.

Each new day brings fresh despair —
Still, create — or lose all flair.
Thought grows dull, and vision fades,
While the grayness slowly raids.
Though no rest or sweet relief —
You’re unbroken by the thief
Of the soul — that filthy pest,
Demon dressed in Sunday best.

Satanism’s global trend
Birthed new -isms — each a bend:
Commies, Nazis — masks, not new —
All designed to ****** you,
Your own mind to rot and drain.
Listen only to your brain.
Promise nothing. Swear no oath —
Pledges always poison growth.

Like young pledges, fake and blind,
Promises corrupt the mind.
Still your efforts won’t be vain,
Even shown in minor grain.
Unread texts — a sharp reproach
To the mutants who encroach.
They preserve the Spirit's flame —
Noble tombstones built from shame.



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



Propagandists "By the Law"

All the propagandists
Now beyond the law,
Breaking codes with impunity,
Throwing lies by tons on fools —
A flood none saw before.

They sow hatred, call to fight,
Genocide’s vile calls ignite.
Ditch that screen of endless lies —
Or you’ll be nailed to false disguise.

You’ll turn zombie, deaf and blind,
Led by lies that twist your mind.
Fight they say — but fight you won’t,
End inside a stifling haunt.

There your spirit’s crushed to death,
Zombie’s breath replaces breath.
But the suckers? They just hear,
**** their pants in blindest fear…



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



Propaganda’s Dead

Propagandists break every law,
Feed you lies until you crawl.
Zombies march to false command —
Fools just **** themselves on stand.



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



Moles and Sheep

The stubborn mole
Keeps digging holes.
The sheep’s worn out—
No care, no doubt.

He doesn’t mind
The lies at ground.
More slaves aligned—
You’re just their chow.

The mole’s much sharp,
He sees more clear,
His spirit strong—
They’ve got no fear.



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



Worldwide Cargo Cult

Cargo cults and cargo folk,
Cargo Führer, cargo smoke?
Darkness real — minds run thin,
Buried deep in filth and sin.

Cargo memes, cargo themes,
Cargo souls, cargo schemes.
Totems all of Satan’s kind —
Ruled by beasts who chain the mind.

Doom is set by **** like these:
Cargo armies on the breeze—
Traitors marching, none will say
They’re the **** that’ll pay.

War’s no war — just lies in play,
Euphemisms hide decay.
In that war, the soul’s the cost—
Sold it cheap, and all is lost.

If you bow to villain’s call,
**** yourself beneath their thrall.
Cargo’s edge is razor-thin —
Cross it, goathood pulls you in.




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



Cargo Cult Edge

Cargo lies, cargo slaves,
Souls sold cheap to hollow graves.
Bow to filth — you’re marked, you’ll fall,
Thin line leads to goat’s dark thrall.



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



Fascists and Their Acolytes

No one’s born a fascist true—
They become what they pursue.
Accidental helpers? No,
That deception’s set to grow.

How many German clans must pay
For evil sown in foul display?
For bowing down to Führer’s lies,
For fear that stifles truth and cries.

Fools too will answer there—
The mindless herd, unaware.
Don’t know fascism’s deadly bite?
No diagnosis—no insight.

Fools all lack diagnosis—
“Normal” made their paralysis.
Not long will last this foolish pause,
Where rage and lies break every clause.

All feel safe from any cost—
But harsh justice won’t be lost.
Those who fight will stand the pain—
And not much longer till the reign ends vain.



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



Fascist Fate

Fascists rise, but not by birth,
Helpers sink into the earth.
Fools won’t see the coming storm—
Justice strikes, reshapes the norm.



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



So-Called Clever *******

No signed papers on their war,
No stamped proof to back their score.
War’s a joke to **** like them,
Just the zombie-box’s hem.

They think revenge won’t come to court,
No signatures, no last report.
Two hundred thousand dead, more torn,
Their “economy” left to mourn.

Billions lost, three generations’ pain,
Orcs will pay, remorse in vain.
These beasts will hang, no tears or cries,
When Ukraine marches to her skies.



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



No Mercy for *******

No signed war, no proof, no shame,
Thousands dead — their lasting blame.
Orcs will fall, no tears, no lies,
Ukraine claims her rightful prize.



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



Incapacitated Fools

Incapacitated fools —
The masses all, in droves and schools.
That’s why fascism’s deadly rise
Was pumped into their vacant eyes.

Fascism thrives now in the mind
Of those the world would label blind.
A fool, of course, seems quite the charm—
But no brain means no alarm.

You’ll let it all, you’ll buy the lies,
Invite the evil in disguise.
It opens wide your door to Hell,
Or morgue, if luck decides you well.



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



Fools Unfit

Fools unfit run every crowd,
Fueling hate like it’s allowed.
Open doors to Hell’s own grip—
Luck decides your final trip.



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



Fools’ Doom

Fools breed hate, no mind, no fight,
Hell’s wide open—your last night.
Luck’s the thief that steals your light.



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



Fools’ Doom

Fools breed hate, with empty minds,
Blindly falling, tied in binds.
Hell’s wide open — no one fights,
Lost within their endless nights.
Luck’s a thief that steals your light,
Doom descends with cruel bite.



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



Fools’ Doom

Fools breed hate — so smart, so bright,
With empty heads, they pick a fight.
Hell’s wide open, come on in —
No brains needed to lose or win.
Luck’s their angel? Ha! What joke —
They’re dancing straight into the choke.



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



Fascist "Nirvana"

Sheep-virus freak, a fascist pawn,
A traitor, "doctor," snitch at dawn—
This world of theirs, "stable" they claim,
Where madness rules, and fear’s the game.

Stable lies and genocide,
Deceit and terror never hide.
Shame and disgrace choke like a cloud—
Their suffocating "nirvana" shroud.

You’re not there—just ghost and trace
Of soul and mind, a hollow space.
More woes will come, their grip won’t slack—
Fascism’s hold will never crack.

Save your soul by fighting lies,
Smash the falsehoods, seek the wise.
Their vile song is sung, complete—
The **** will face their bitter defeat.

A worldwide storm will shake the earth,
True life will spring in Spirit’s birth.
Thus vile fascism fades away,
The beasts will die—their final day.



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



Fascist End

Fascist ****, your song is done,
Your lies exposed, nowhere to run.
Fight for soul, the truth will rise —
Beasts will rot beneath clean skies.



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



Era of Zombie-Lizards

Zombie-lizards trample Earth,
That’s the state of things, no worth.
All the lies they gladly take,
Under Goat’s dark rule they break.

That Goat, a mastodon so sly,
Hungry, wicked, sly and high,
Fires lust for reptile throngs—
Reason weak, so quickly gone.

Every lizard, soulless, cold,
Fits the Goat’s design so bold.
No need for minds or deeds refined—
Only vile beasts stay aligned.

Gnomes and goblins will be swept,
By these lizards, doomed and kept.
All the Abyss now watches near—
Their end is certain, death is here.



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



Zombie-Lizard Age

Zombie-lizards crush the land,
Goat’s foul hunger rules their band.
Soulless beasts, their time will end—
Abyss awaits, no chance to mend.



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



The Construct of Lies

Just markers set in half-truth’s maze,
Half-lies that spark a thousand plays.
Provocations, isolated schemes,
All woven into phantom dreams.

Each point—a whetstone sharp and vile,
A poisoned sting in “proof”’s style.
The world of fascist propaganda,
Dumb recipients, mental veranda.

That madhouse now is worldwide,
Long since madness claimed the tide.
Two thirds lost their common sense—
That’s the bottom line’s expense.



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



Lies’ Design

Half-truths bait, half-lies ignite,
Proofs that stab like poisoned bite.
Two thirds lost, no minds intact—
World’s a madhouse, that’s a fact.



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



Lies’ Brutality

Half-truths slash like venomed knives,
Proofs fake-carved to ruin lives.
Two thirds dumb, minds rotted, gone—
World’s a madhouse, full-blown con.



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



A Joke...

The great Russian graphomaniac,
Tolstoy—yeah, that Lev, no magic.
"Wars and Peace" he wrote — a bore,
A novel weak, and nothing more.

Generations brainwashed blind,
By this rage that’s so unkind.
Not the worst, but still a shame—
Icons forged in flawed acclaim.

Literature’s lost its way,
Truth drowned out by tons of sway.
Time to ban the rotten critique,
Protect the bold, the true unique.

Extend their lives by giving aid,
Help their talents not to fade.
But such hope’s a foolish joke—
Humanism? Just a cloak.



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



Literary Joke

Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” — a bore,
Brainwashed kids for ages more.
Critics rot, true writers fight—
Humanism’s dead, just spite.



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



Villainy

“Villainy’s the only ground
Where man can stand firm and sound...”
— Saltykov-Shchedrin’s claim,
From his 1883 frame.


Villainy’s no timid mess—
It’s the soil beneath your dress.
Hard ground strong beneath your feet,
While “smart” fools just face defeat.

Before a *******’s gaze,
Their weak arsenal decays.
Brakes apply, no jokes at all—
Are you villain? Or you fall.

Attack is stronger than defense,
Always ruthless, no pretense.
Villains strike with crueler blows,
No honor, shame—only foes.

So become the villain’s part—
World fascism plays its art.
Together Soul and Mind we slay—
Life itself fades fast away.



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



Villain’s Ground

Villainy’s the solid ground,
Where true strength and power’s found.
Strike first, no honor or shame—
Or fade out, lost in the game.



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



Brutality...

Russia’s plague-house, dark and grim—
Fascism takes another limb.
It burns — false messiah’s face,
A pitiful, vile disgrace.

Deep inside, the trench is dug,
Crushing those who chose to shrug.
Fate is death for all who sold—
Kreml’s **** and servants cold.

Yet the filth still tries to shove
***** down throats of those who love
To bow down, lost mind and pride,
Once again they poison, lied.

Only brutal harshness dwells,
Where the poison’s sharpest spells.



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



Russia’s Plague

Plague-house Russia burns in shame,
Fascist **** ignites the flame.
Filth feeds fools who lost their mind—
Brutal poison, all combined.



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



Fortresses and Masses

Impenetrable forts of fools,
Heavy masses, lies that rule,
Fear and stench, a culture lost,
Soulless shadows, endless cost.

Cargo cults of fascist plague,
False diseases, lies that plague—
While the wise grow weak, subdued,
Reason crushed and nearly booed.

Pure Spirit fades, will soon depart,
Leaving beasts without a heart,
Locked away in pens and dens,
Soon dragged forth for ****** ends.

The world’s a slaughterhouse, exposed,
Yet sheep and ***** stay composed.
Though lies crash in waves, the ninth,
They’ll drown the last of humankind.

Fascist filth keeps sinking deep,
Their lies push on—The End will reap.



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



Fortress Fall

Fools’ strongholds rise, but lies will break,
Soulless beasts stir, the earth will shake.
Sheep stay calm while truth’s erased—
Fascist filth speeds End’s grim haste.



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



Horns and the Slave’s False Life

When conscience wakes and reason’s sharp,
The lies will end, the falsehood’s tarp—
Where they mold sheep and donkeys too,
Crafting fools to follow through.

They shape your face with vile deceit,
Write “live” like truth—but it’s defeat.
The filth they plant, you’ll take it in,
Then horror grows beneath the skin.

That tale’s a nightmare, horns protrude,
Its core: “obey,” be slave subdued.
Content with fate, a broken role—
A prisoner chained, body and soul.

Burn it down, erase, curse loud,
Live with your mind, awake, unbowed.
Your Spirit’s home is what you own—
Escape the gloom, reclaim your throne.

When intuition turns the light,
You’ll easily expose the blight.
Doubt only “tradition”’s sway—
With it, the horns will fade away.



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



Slave’s False Life

Conscience wakes, the lies will fall,
Sheep and goats break every thrall.
Burn the fog, reclaim your mind—
Horns will fade, the truth you’ll find.



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



Horns Off

Wake your mind, smash the lies,
Slaves with horns wear their disguise.
Burn the falsehood, hear truth rise.



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



Experiments with Excrement

CowID, war, the fool, the madhouse—
Worldwide circus, mind a louse.
Our fool believes in fascist lies,
Obedient to evil’s cries.

If three quarters now are lost,
Burn that plague-house, pay the cost.
Good that chaos swirls and spins,
Mad world’s cycle soon begins.

They’ll burn it down, then plant anew,
A desperate, twisted, cruel view.
Life reborn—if not reformed,
Will rot again, excrement formed.



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



No Surplus of Evil

Brains dissolved —
Bonds dissolved.
Then they snapped:
“Forward, fools!”

To Ukraine!
Fertilizers thin.
Generations’ stench
Soon will dim.

Puppet fool,
Fascism’s *****.
Then again, anew:
Evil’s never through.



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



No End to Evil

Brains all gone, fools march on,
To Ukraine — stench lives long.
Fascist cog, a twisted game,
Evil’s flame will stay the same.



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



End of the Game

Madness total,
Corruption’s peak.
Betrayal fatal,
Spirit weak.

Final verdict —
Shatter, break, decay,
Few awake—
Fools and freaks hold sway.

Majority’s
Shift unkind,
Toward destruction—
No time to find.

This “consistency”
Is worse than poison’s art.
To break the trend—
Only checkmate’s start.

Check is given,
Soon comes mate.
For now, all hide,
Thinking it’s fate.



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



Endgame

Madness rules, corruption’s height,
Betrayal’s death—no soul in sight.
Check is set, mate’s on the way,
Yet fools still hide, delay the day.



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



Final Checkmate

Madness reigns, corruption’s seed,
Betrayal kills, no soul to bleed.
Checkmate comes—fools cower, concede.



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



Lightly...

Unlearn it all,
Forget most things—
Madness turns the mind to ******* heaps.
Go lightly now,
Take nothing close,
Better run than crawl with weary leaps.

Hurry up—
Be wise and clear,
Spot every trap inside your mind,
Set by those who prey on fools,
Harvesting the weak and blind.

If you don’t cleanse your thoughts—
It’s doom that lies ahead.
But clearing mind’s not hard,
If Spirit leads instead.

Amidst the piles of rot,
The idiot decays,
Unless the Spirit rules—
The guiding blaze.

Grow your gut,
Expose all lies,
Critical thought’s your saving grace.
If you fail—then fade away,
Among the crazed, lost in disgrace.

Deliverance comes
With clear mind’s sight,
And pure soul’s steady light—
A simple way to set things right.



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



Run Lightly

Unlearn, forget, run fast, run free,
Spot the traps inside your spree.
Spirit leads — clear mind’s the key,
Pure soul’s light will set you free.



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



Toys

Toys for beasts —
A fake, a trap, a lie,
Amidst the flowery frills
Of all the phony skies.

Not countries, but menageries,
No law—just cages bound.
Fascism’s “gifts” delivered,
Reason kicked to ground.

Beasts are lost in play,
The pen’s ablaze with fire.
Caught once more in lies,
So often—what a shame, entire.



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



Beasts’ Toys

Toys for beasts, a cruel deceit,
Fake lands where reason meets defeat.
Fascist gifts and cages burn—
Beasts in lies, no lessons learn.



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



Circus

The circus won’t leave, clowns stay in place,
This farce will choke you, foul in your face.
All acrobats, grim-faced and worn,
Have bored the world, like smoke and scorn.

Monkeys, bears grow wild and mad,
Staff goes savage, minds gone bad.
No circus left—just freaks’ disgrace,
A scandal born in this cruel place.



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



Circus Madness

Circus stays, clowns won’t go,
Farce and smoke, a choking show.
Monkeys, bears, minds gone wild—
Freaks’ disgrace, the circus spoiled.



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



Has Ukraine Not Yet Died?!

Amid the war, they poison youth,
A “booster” shot — the killing truth.
Why refuse? Just add to death,
A cruel, relentless, choking breath.

Weapon supplies come slow, then stop—
To make the chains of slavery drop?
No, horrors live through war’s cruel haze,
As lies and lies still cloud the days.



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



Not Yet Dead?

In war’s harsh grip, they poison youth,
“Boosters” mask a deadly truth.
Chains stay tight, lies flood the land—
Ukraine still fights, will still stand.



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



Goat’s Awakening

The idiot knows no bounds,
The fascist lost his mind.
No pioneers, just pawns—
At crap’s call, blind and blind.

That crap’s a rotten breed,
It wakes the vile, it crushes.
Fascist thralls obey,
Where reason’s dead, soul hushes.

Soullessness is rampant,
The traitor’s like a king.
Fate’s grim sea will flood,
With tears and evil’s sting.

The idiot knows no measure—
Neither in submission, nor in hate,
Forced upon him lies,
Only in that filthy goat’s state.



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



Goat’s Wake

Idiot boundless, fascist crazed,
Rotten breed, soul erased.
Tears will flood, evil grows—
In filthy goat, poison flows.



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



Goat’s Call

Idiot blinds, fascist roars,
Rot and venom flood the shores.
Goat’s poison kills and soars.



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



Cargo Fascism

Big stinking puddle — Rashism spread,
A stench that burns, assaults the head.
Fools serve the Führer, blind and small,
A double moth that eats the all.

Fascism now takes shape so grim—
A cargo cult, its deathly hymn.
Madness grows, has come to reign,
Human lost—replaced by bane.

Beasts will soon replace mankind,
Cargo cults will rule and bind.
A sea of lies will flood the earth,
A global ocean of false birth.

Lucky you if early gone,
Escaping this charade’s cruel song—
From falseness, violence, grim and rife,
Where only filth holds sway on life.



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



Cargo Cult

Rashism’s stench spreads far and wide,
Fools serve lies they cannot hide.
Beasts replace the human soul—
Cargo cult consumes it whole.



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



Rot

“Poets” write of trivial ****,
Of nature’s mess, the daily bit.
Minds bled dry, no thoughts remain—
Decay’s begun inside the brain.

Long since rotten, soul’s been tossed
To furnace flames or putrid frost.
Reader, heed no voices near—
This “existence” rots severe.

All through and through—a hellish blight,
Spirit’s purity—your fight.
Existence—pure infernal grind,
Fit only for the beast’s blind mind.



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



Rotten World

“Poets” babble trivial crap,
Minds all drained, no thoughts to tap.
Existence rots, a beast’s domain—
Spirit’s fight breaks through the pain.



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



Rotten Core

Poets puke their hollow tales,
Brains drained dry, the spirit fails.
Rot rules all—beasts set the scales.



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



Eternal Pioneers

Blind faith’s the key,
Stuffed with lies,
For pioneers,
Nothing’s wise.

Filled like bears,
Cotton minds swell,
Rotting brains
On constant sell.

Only for shrews.
The elder ones—
Pioneers aged—
Evil sons.

Ripe for hate,
To bow and kneel
Before the Goat—
Generations sealed.



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



Blind Pioneers

Blind faith stuffed with lies,
Rotting minds, dumb disguise.
Bowing low to Goat’s reign—
Generations lost in vain.



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



The Slaughter

“The trick’s not hard to fool me—
I’m glad to be deceived!”
A rotten skull’s mere stump decays,
The stench is all perceived.

But never touch their cherished toys,
The ******* guard with spite.
Don’t break the global fog of lies,
That world’s stale, dim-lit night—

Where prisons stand for virtue’s place,
And falsehood rules as God.
“Deceiving me’s so easy”—
Fear’s weapon sets the rod.

This path leads down the sewer’s hole—
A world’s great death camp’s gate.
Among the herds, the fights erupt—
Who falls first seals their fate.



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



Slaughter

Fooling me? Not hard to do—
I’m glad to swallow lies so true.
Down the sewer, death awaits,
Herds fight for doomed, grim fates.



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



Blockhead

Your feeble mind’s torn wide by lies,
******* spout their false replies.
Blockhead’s fate is lies’ embrace,
While soul dissolves in Satan’s place.

Demons line up, ready to burn,
Multiply the lies to churn.
They throw themselves into the flame,
Each halfwit’s torment, none to blame.

You can’t convince the sheepish crowd—
“They lie? No way!” they say aloud.
A bleating herd, deaf to the truth,
Lost in ignorance, stuck in youth.



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



Blockhead’s Fate

Lies rip minds, fools self-immolate,
Demons dance, the sheep await.
Truth denied — their endless fate.



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



Stumps and Sprouts

The laws of slaves in this fake land —
Obey, be dumb, and sell your soul.
The pit is deep, the lie is grand,
Yet pompous masks play every role.

Each broken stump, each wretched freak
Struts like a peacock in its mating.
A ******, drooling, twitching weak —
"Sharp mind!" they shout, self-celebrating.

No shock can bring them back to sense —
Not war, not CowID’s global treason.
Here Spirit's torn, and Mind’s offense
Is death… in senile party-season.

They babble trash that once was fed
In youth, in classrooms dull and dusty.
Like stumps, it's rooted in their head.
To clear it out, the method’s trusty —

Burn every stump, then let us grow
New beings with a different fire,
Whom filth like this won't drag so low…
Unlike the sprouts from stumps prior.



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



Burn the Stumps

Burn all the stumps. Let sprouts be gone.
Plant minds the filth can’t prey upon.



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



The Cat and the Fools’ Inferno

The cat is fed,
The verse is done.
Hell’s getting bred —
Not just for fun.

The Fools’ Inferno
Grins and chews.
Lies are power —
If you choose.

Feed the cat —
It’s worth your time.
But lies like that?
Throw out the slime.



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




Fools eat lies —
The cat eats real.
Trust no disguise.
Cut fake from meal.



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



How to Rule the Idiots

Abe's got his own grand design,
And Dodo runs his “method” fine.
But is it his? The brute’s whole show —
A parody of minds below.

That foreign scheme is finely bent
Through clever angles, not intent.
Desires get no clear commands —
Just shapeless pulls from unseen hands.

The Beastly Clerk? A perfect guide
To Abe’s dark lusts and Dodo’s pride —
To temple lies, and twisted spells,
To fake labs, books — where madness dwells.

It’s just like steering germs to feed
On poisoned meat to serve their need.
Here too — through food, through fear, through fog —
They herd the fools… or choke them like a dog.



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




They rule through filth, desire, and bait —
And smile while dragging fools to fate.



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



In Memory of Max Planck

Max Planck once said it best:
To change a scholar’s view,
Don’t argue — lay them down to rest.
The fresh will see what’s true.

The “new” ones praise the flame
Of truths they never sparked.
But still, it’s just the same —
Their brains are smoked and dark.

That science sinks as well —
Ruled now by fraud and spin.
Defy their priestly shell?
You're exiled for your sin.

The grip keeps getting tighter,
As in this world of schemes —
Where lies grow ever brighter
Inside their global dreams.

Don't seek the truth, they warn you —
That’s now a heretic’s crime.
And yes — the signs all scorn you:
Fascism reigns... through time.



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




Truth’s not welcome in their class —
Obey or perish with the mass.



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



Amid the Games...

You're gripped by fear of death’s disguise,
Crushed by lies and soaked in slime.
Keep down this path — you’ll demonize,
Trading thought for beastly grime.

But fear is useless. Faith? Misplaced.
Test all yourself — and death embrace.
Let ego split while you're still breathing —
Grow light, and fly to Spirit’s space.

To reach that height, turn insight on,
Sharpen the mind, let filth be gone —
This toilet-world of roles and stations,
These rigged-up games that mold "creation."



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




Face death alive — let ego fall.
Then Spirit lifts you past it all.



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



The Centuries-Long War

Get drunk on lies, then fade away,
Let nonsense nest inside your head —
A fool you’ll wake to one dark day,
Your soul long marked, your spirit dead.

This war has lasted many lives,
It hunts the soul — not land or gold.
Obey, submit, avoid all strife —
You’re in their ranks, a soldier cold.

Their army marches, bound by lies,
Where dead-eyed puppets lead the way.
To be a human — hard and wise —
When freaks and fools define the day.



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




They **** your soul, not with a knife —
But drip-fed lies that drain your life.



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



Not the People’s Dance

A twisted dance on foul command —
The stick is held by filth itself.
The helmeted, the blind, the ****** —
You've lost your minds, bewitched by stealth.

This dance becomes a witch’s rite,
With cursed magicians in control.
They’ll never stop — by dead of night,
They turn the crowd to soulless trolls.



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




The dance is cursed, the crowd enchained —
And humans into fiends are trained.



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



Slaughter and Nonsense

Mad slaves once more
March off to war —
The battle-horns are crying.
What’s left to say?
They chose that way —
And now they march, all dying.

They drank their minds,
They sold their souls,
Let rot and lies consume.
Now dulled and blind,
They crawl in holes —
Each one a bought-out fool.



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




They sold their minds, they lost their way —
Now rot and war is all they pay.



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



Light and Soot

"I burn myself to light the way..."
— Nicolaes Tulp


To light the way, you need not burn —
Let balance be your truest guide.
When passion twists, it won’t return
As joy — just poison dressed in pride.

Burn out, and you release the smoke —
The soot that stains, the fumes that blind.
And false gods love when good men choke —
They’ll set the world alight in kind.

A colder light is far more sound —
Less madness, more refined control.
True balance never needs renown —
Be simply real. Reject the role.

For steadier light emits far more
Than any blaze that ends in pain.
Be subtler than the myths of war —
Where extremes let pure evil reign.



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




Burn slow, burn true — not bright and blind.
In balance, real light’s redefined.



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



Rashism

Girkin-Birkin — morgue awaits.
All of rashism meets its fate.
With their lackeys, filthy, crass —
How'd the nation lose its class?

Almost all... When fascist slime
Crawled in quietly, backdoor crime.
Cargo cult in **** skin —
Rashism: mutant clown within.

And that Puylo? ******’s joke —
Just a footstool for his cloak.
Kremlin's crew? A wretched breed —
Scraps of Satan, hate and greed.

Lies and violence — darkness reigns,
Brazen, mad and off the chains.
Not a country — just a bin
Full of **** and half-dead kin.

But there’s hope: erase the nest,
Burn the Kremlin with the rest.
Then, perhaps, one day you'll see
The land awaken, proud and free.



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




Rashism dies — and with its fall,
The land may rise, beyond the thrall.



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



Woof-Woof...

“ZOV” — woof, woof — “ZOV”:
Kremlin jackals spread their lies.
All march down to the grave’s alcove —
How much filth, how many spies!

Kherson’s lost, those pests remain,
Relentless venom, endless spite.
Connections thin among the sane —
The world’s enslaved by Goat’s dark might.



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




Jackals bark, the poison flows —
The Goat’s dark grip still tightens woes.



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



Media Targets and Sacred Lies

The Kremlin’s war has set its goals
Above all strategy and sense.
Rashka’s sons are fools, with roles
That crack the minds in wild offense.

Propaganda is the key,
For this insane, world-crazed crowd.
Dead are cheap — just debris
In fascism’s gray cloud.

This gray fascism reigns worldwide,
But slaughter’s just a side act played.
When sanity is cast aside —
It’s worse to **** with pawn parade.

More cruel than war’s own bitter cost,
Is hunger’s grip, more grave and vast.
The price of fools is dearly lost —
Few will survive this cursed blast.

If gray means fascism’s face,
These vermin wear it worse, no doubt.
Their Rashism’s shame — a vile disgrace:
Their “sacred” tales all torn inside out.



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




Gray fascism spreads its lies —
While sacred myths disguise demise.



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



Idea-less

A blow to the head,
A strike below —
The whole wide space.
Hell’s seed is spread
Everywhere you go.
If you’re not mad,
You’ll see the show —

Nothing but deformity,
No path but pain.
You serve the chaos —
Hell’s domain.

No ideas here — just herd,
Lies stuffed in every mind.
To trust their sham is shame,
Serving devils, cruelly blind.



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




No ideas — just lies and chains.
Serving devils, all remains.



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



In Memory of Osip Mandelstam

"No, never was I anyone’s contemporary,
Such honor’s not for me.
Oh, how I loathe that namesake’s lie —
That was not I, but he."
— Osip Mandelstam, 1924


What hell’s this “near” or “far” degree?
It’s just a troop of monkeys’ spree!
No joke — the fault’s profound, not small:
A flaw within both soul and all.

And so all Mandelstams are doomed,
Wherever, whenever they’ve stood.
Surrounded by the ruffians’ brood —
On ruins of the fallen wood,

They hunt the poets, minds that think,
Other souls who dare to blink.
The smart ones’ fate? The song’s been sung —
They’ll **** them all before too long.

For they build a global death camp’s frame.
What Mandelstam? It’s all the same!
Let "Red Cross" fly on white’s embrace —
The herd sees nothing but disgrace.



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




Mandelstam dies, unheard, ignored —
While beasts build walls with hate and sword.



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



So-Called “Hopes and Dreams”

Unforgivable to waste
Your life on hopes and dreams.
The key is to be chaste
With feelings — hiding schemes.

Only in your art can
The Spirit breathe and blaze.
If fate you sum that way,
You’ve still got brains to praise.

Don’t plan to be approved —
That’s just a chain, a wall.
In madhouse, Spirit’s doomed —
Without it, you will fall.

Walk on — don’t cling to hope —
The path itself’s the prize.
Laugh at chaos, don’t mope —
Decay won’t last for life.

Cataclysms will sweep away
All rot and dark abuse.
Dream only of the Soul’s sway —
Fascist hell will lose.



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




No hopes, no dreams — just Spirit’s fire.
Walk on the path, and rise up higher.



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



Ivan the Fool and Wanka-Wake-Up

Ivan the Fool,
And Wanka-Wake,
The fool’s stuck fast —
Wanka’s fate is harsh to take.

****** bath awaits —
Don’t trust, but seek your way.
Answers lie with minds awake,
The door’s for those who stray.

Fascism needs obedient fools,
They rise on every call,
Believing lies, devoid of souls.
They’ll die for lies, and that’s their fall.



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




Fools rise to lies, no soul to save —
Wake up or drown within the grave.



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



No Fear...

When the snitch sells you out,
The traitor turns executioner’s hand,
Be proud, don’t bow or sell your route.
Fascism’s death rules this land.

Through death — the righteous way —
You may step into life anew.
So fight, don’t bend or sway:
Submit, and rot alive will do.



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




Face death strong — don’t kneel or bow.
Fight or rot — the choice is now.



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



To a Would-Be Suicide

Use the rope like a noose —
For enemies, not you.
To **** yourself’s a ruse,
A flea’s escape — not true.

This fight’s the last with freaks,
Not many stand this way.
Though beaten down by grief,
Fight on if you’re not prey.

Use the rope like a noose—
Or better — machine gun’s roar...
This world may not heal soon,
But don’t march with its war.

Walk guided by your Spirit,
Not the lies and schemes they spread.
This truth’s no rumor — hear it:
Darkness fades like smoke — dead.

So every fighter counts,
Who battles evil’s face.
If you dare the noose,
The foes will meet disgrace.



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




Use the rope to choke your foes —
Fight on, and watch the darkness close.



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



Under the Moon and Underfoot...

The world beneath the moon —
A ***** feed for fools.
All people on this noon —
Cheese cut from rotten rules.

It’s free — a feeding pen,
Where lies ring loud as law.
They’re deafened by the din —
Don’t laugh, the horns you saw.

A horned king rules the land —
The ultimate Goat’s throne.
With beasts that mock and brand —
Evil’s seeds are sown.

Here darkness holds command,
******* on vile lies.
The underfoot, the banned —
Where rotten falsehoods rise.



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




Under moon, the fools are fed —
By lies that chain and fill with dread.



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



“With Regards”...

A joke:
A prison priest steps in to see
A thief, a bear-robber’s plea.
“Don’t lose heart, my son, I’ll try
To help you when your time is nigh.”
“Thanks, holy father,” said the man,
“But theft’s a craft that needs a plan —
Complex, refined, not just a game,
It takes real skill to stake your claim.”

Like fools, the dumb priests babble cheap
Their “truths” from lies that run so deep.
Dogma rules, customs decree —
Any “pioneer” can follow blindly.

For life’s hard trials, cheap advice
Is worthless, even for the nice.
But if you’re freak or “with regards” —
Go to priests, their flock’s the same regards.

Blind leading blind — that’s how they teach,
With dogmas that just push you off the beach.
They build a chasm, dark and wide,
Between the Real World and the idiot’s pride.



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




Priests of lies, blind guides of fools —
Build walls that trap and break all rules.



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



Majority and Minority

The majority votes dull,
A yoke for *****, souls turned null.
The herd of fools controls the day,
While wit and reason fade away.

The majority—idiots blind,
The minority—mad minds.
Darkness of traitors rise in force,
Satanic strength sets hell’s course.

Soon hell will come, its grip is real,
The wise few fade—apart they kneel,
Glittering ghosts beyond the fray,
“Above the fight,” they fade away.



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




Fools hold power, the wise recede—
Hell’s shadow grows on blind mislead.



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



On the Ruins of a "Country"

Cargo wars of cargo-führers,
Cargo lies and hollow lies.
That fake double’s smoking fever —
Kremlin herds the blinded flies.

With reckless lies they flood the ground —
The bottom cracked in this deceit.
Dead grasp of fascism’s wound
Chokes all life beneath their feet.

Satan’s pages plot and scheme
To crush the “country” to the dust.
Wounds uncounted, measures mean —
Drenched in **** and broken trust.

No cure found, just mountains rise
Of filth and lies, Everest.
Carry your cross in these demise —
On ruins of a “country’s” rest.



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




Cargo lies and fascist grips—
The "country" falls, drowned in their ****.



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



Patients

To make a patient out of... a patient...
In school and college, just a case —
A fool they shaped you, no complacent,
Till work’s a madhouse, no escape.

The loss of reason—thin, so sly:
Once gone, your worth is small and slight.
You’re at war — from cradle, lie
The fight for mind, the costly fight.

The price you pay for every move
In battles they call “life” today.
If you stand still, refuse to prove,
Therapy will grind you away.

This therapy serves Reason’s call,
Where Pure Spirit leads the way.
But war’s a world where reason falls,
Ensnared in Satan’s dark array.



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




Lost reason makes a patient’s fate —
Stand strong or fall to war and hate.



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



The So-Called “Deep People”

Deep-rooted herd mentality —
The ancient “bond” that fools uphold:
Where dullness, rudeness, debauchery
Make fools their kings and tyrants bold.

Among the captive souls in Ukraine,
The wise are few, so hard to find.
Beasts breed beasts — what honor’s gain?
Spirit crushed, and reason blind.

That monstrous spawn of womb’s decay,
A relic freak, grotesque and vile.
On it fascism clings today,
While fools endure their shame and guile.

For years they’ve borne this undead plague —
The Kremlin’s puppets, lies they drag.



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




Where fools rule, and spirit dies—
Deep people live in shadowed lies.



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



The So-Called “Victorious War”

“Victorious war” —
When a “country” hits the bottom stone,
Ruled by beasts, by Satan’s throne,
The price you pay is all your soul.

If the beast is deemed “good” as whole,
Though masked like scab and skin decay,
Only lice will bear such toll,
While honor, reason slip away.

No longer humans — just the lice,
No honor, reason, or a soul.
Outside their ranks — rush to the fight,
At least write out your rebel role.



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




Beasts rule where souls are sold—
“Victory” is death untold.



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



Controlling the Herd

Controlling fools is simple work:
Hire traitors everywhere you see,
Stir dumb propaganda’s murk,
Nothing else is needed, really.

Care for people? Just a bit —
Shut the quick, **** or imprison.
But mostly lie, lie without quit,
To purge all truth with cruel precision.

Total lies flood madhouses wide —
Half-wits call these lands their own.
Legions of traitors spread and hide,
Soon the last wise minds are gone.



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




Lie, control, and silence all —
Watch the herd soon lose and fall.



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



Neo-Fascism

Bunker moths — vile Kremlin ****,
Hordes of fools, a stench, the media’s drum.
How much rot? How long the lies?
Every traitor there—neo-fascist guise.

Defeat will come, then swift collapse,
No more breeding such dull traps.
Ashes spread, decay’s dark breath,
Reviving Reason will be death.



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




Neo-fascists spread their blight —
But ruin comes to end their night.



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



The Kremlin ****

There’s just a *****,
But then there’s Kremlin’s core —
Satan’s vile concubine.
That ***** must be wiped clean,
The war’s chief mastermind.

That super-*****
Will sell your mother too,
Her soul half-bought and sold.
They sold the people down the drain,
Or stake the ***** — all won’t be killed, it’s true.



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




Kremlin *****, vile and cold —
Sells souls cheap, betrays the fold.



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



The Herd

The herd drives fools to slaughter,
A final fight for fascist might.
All sheep are blamed for failure,
Though chance was there — not quite in sight.

The horned beast shines once again,
Your fate is sealed, the herd’s undone.
Huge masses fall beneath its reign,
Fascism’s grip grows fierce and won.

They’ll make you vile, a twisted pawn,
And breed more fools to feed their spawn.



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




Herd of fools to slaughter led —
Fascism’s fight for mind and dread.



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



Putler

A "moped" old fool,
A filthy double’s tool,
Spewing nonsense dread —
Fascism’s stinking spread.

That “moped” will **** kids,
While “bonds” are just skids —
Simply utter trash,
A bottomless crash.



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




Putler raves, a stinking blight —
Kills kids while sinking out of sight.



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



Generators

Hamster in the wheel —
A simple power source.
That’s what we all feel,
While vile dictators force

Feeds of lies and filth —
For beasts that never tire.
The system’s near its tilth,
The bottom cracks, entire.

The wheel spins fast and wild
Into hell’s deep abyss.
The hamster, meek and mild —
Just stomps without a miss.



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




Hamsters spin, dictators feed —
The wheel falls fast to hell’s deep greed.



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



Zombies and Fools

Zombies, zombies — thinking’s lost,
Their minds have rotted, gone to waste.
Once fools they were, but poisoned most
By books and speeches, lies misplaced.

The “leaders’” words, the broadcasts vile,
Turned wells of truth to filthy pits.
From human realms, they drained the smile,
Souls ****** dry—no life admits.

Without a soul, just walking dead,
Zombies roam, a cursed swarm.
Yet efforts rise, and soon instead,
These zombies form a deadly form.

Warrior zombies, armies dark,
Satan’s tools with minds erased.
Not just their brains, but souls they bark—
Yet speeches flow with bitter haste.

Obedient and fierce they stand,
Aggressive, stubborn to the core.
Where are you, fools, “our guiding hand”?
Like angels near the abyss’s roar.



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




Soulless zombies, fools entranced—
Before the abyss, angels stand entranced.



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



Ashes

The sky has torn,
Hell's gates are wide,
Fools stay mute,
While fiends preside.

Fascism, filth,
Fool, zombie too.
Bet odd or even —
All turns to ash, it’s true.



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




Sky ripped, hell unleashed —
Fools silenced, all to ash decreased.



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



Rashism

“Communism is Soviet power plus electrification of the whole country.”
— Vladimir Lenin


Rashism — power of vile beasts,
A country’s mind turned dumb and dead.
Those monsters’ mouths have long consumed
All scraps they crave to shred.

They need a war to crush and rip
What little’s left — mere bones and tails,
The bits they failed to swallow whole,
Like fishbone stuck in scaled-up trails.

Yet fools heed those disgusting fiends,
Marching to slaughter like it’s work,
They’re pillars of fascist force,
For them, the lies relentlessly ****.

A thousand lies will flood the air —
“Attack!” the fools rush blindly in.
The sheep-virus was once upon,
But sheep won’t live to see the win.

This **** is set to wipe the flock,
Add lies a bit, then lies will **** —
The final act of falsehood’s mock,
The end of truth, the deathly chill.



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




Rashism feeds on lies and hate —
Sheep march to fascism’s gate.



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



So-Called “Progress”

A joke:
“Progress made outlets off-limits—
The brightest kids are dropping off.”


“Progress” is a press —
You’re squeezed like lemon peel.
From youth, they crush your zest —
Demons preach their broken spiel.

When pure and lively mind
Is useless to half-men,
Stupid fools stay confined,
Grasping twisted trends.

Ideas fed through that press,
Imprinted in the leaking brain.
For humans, it’s regress,
For demons, a toxic gain.

How to dumb down everyone?
Crush all minds with lies so lame.
Success for fiends is won —
Satan nearly rises again.



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




Progress crushes minds like fruit—
Demons laugh, the fools commute.



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



Mesozoic Era

Woodpecker-apes and hammer-brains,
Führer-lizards, zombie-drones,
Scavengers small, rivers of lies,
Into seas of madness flow and moan.

There “higher minds” pretend to rule,
A zealot priestess screams her part.
Gnomes and goblins, a false folk’s tool,
They mate a centaur with a wanton heart—

That vile freak becomes a god,
A cursed god in sick disguise,
Born from chaos, lies, and fraud,
A monster worshipped by the blind and wise.



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




Woodpecker-apes and lizard fiends —
Gods made from lies and twisted schemes.



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



The Stake Is Life

Not life ahead — just decay and rot,
When fear rules all, dark and tight.
Spirit’s agony, thoughts forgot,
Ash raised up as monuments of blight.

Those stinking dogmas stand as shrines —
Fascist filth that poisons air.
And people quiet as small mice,
Silent victims of the snare.

Cast off fear, live autonomously —
Answer death with strength and fight.
Rotten regimes praise slimy parasites,
Until crushed beneath the right.

The answer’s clear — communities,
Of rational minds that still remain.
Don’t seek reasons for apathy,
Act swiftly now, break every chain.

Gone are times of empty talk,
Submission’s cost: your very life.
Not so strong is Judas’ walk —
Sheep’s world fascism, ruled by strife.



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




Fear decays; live free, resist —
The stake is life, don’t cease to fight the mist.



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



The Doppelgänger Putler and the Kremlin ****

Putler’s old,
Only on the screen.
New orders come
From Kremlin’s mean machine:

They want a war,
Because there’s fear
Too little left
In the madhouse here.

They killed too few —
The cowID’s a sham.
Back again the sting
Of Kremlin’s rotten ****.

Russia’s fall
Is what will end it,
If that hellish plan
Comes fully to remit.



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




Putler’s ghost on screens —
Kremlin’s **** fuels ****** scenes.



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



Don’t Shoot the Pianist — Don’t Kick the Propagandist

“Don’t shoot the pianist —
He plays the best he can.”


Don’t kick the propagandist —
That ******* lies as much as he can.
No law now stops the lies,
They get summons shoved on their plans.

The summons covers only themes
They’re told to “report” and spin.
How they report is free — but what —
They’re dumb beyond that bin.

What they must lie — they lie, with spice,
If skilled enough to add their flair.
No honor, heart, or truth in sight —
Just ****** who sell lies bare.

Before fascism, they crawl like worms,
And rake the cash that’s piled high.
But if you twist the dagger sharp,
Not all their *** wipes clean, no lie.



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




Don’t blame the player, blame the game —
Propagandists spread lies and shame.



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



Putler’s Debiloid Engineer

A debiloid, not plasmoid —
Primitive, crude design.
A lie on this freak will land —
Instant dull fascist decline.

Debiloid’s like amoeba —
Just to eat and spread its filth.
That’s why non-microbes here
Can **** these vile beings’ pith.

False-virus and warmongering —
Debiloid’s crushed by fear’s hand.
World’s madhouse in a frenzy —
You’re lost in this cursed land.



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




Debiloid dumb, a fascist spawn —
Plague of lies and fear lives on.



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



Mute

Being mute is not naive:
Like a worm, you’re born to grieve.
Such is fate for humankind —
So toss your words and peace of mind.

Who will grasp what burns inside?
Few will care or even try.
Most just live to chew and chew —
Worship food as gods would do.



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




Worms don’t speak — they eat and crawl.
Words are trash to minds that stall.