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On the Infinite Universe and Worlds
(DE L'INFINITO UNIVERSO ET MONDI)

by GIORDANO BRUNO
1548 – 17 February 1600
burned at the stake in Rome's Campo de' Fiori

THREE SONNETS

Passing alone to those realms
The object erst of thine exalted thought,
I would rise to infinity: then I would compass the skill
Of industries and arts equal to the objects.
There would I be reborn: there on high I would foster for thee
Thy fair offspring, now that at length cruel
Destiny hath run her whole course
Against the enterprise whereby I was wont to withdraw to thee.
Fly not from me, for I yearn for a nobler refuge
That I may rejoice in thee. And I shall have as guide
A god called blind by the unseeing.
May Heaven deliver thee, and every emanation
Of the great Architect be ever gracious unto thee:
But turn thou not to me unless thou art mine.

Escaped from the narrow murky prison
Where for so many years error held me straitly,
Here I leave the chain that bound me
And the shadow of my fiercely malicious foe
Who can force me no longer to the gloomy dusk of night.
For he who hath overcome the great Python
With whose blood he hath dyed the waters of the sea
Hath put to flight the Fury that pursued me.
To thee I turn, I soar, O my sustaining Voice;
I render thanks to thee, my Sun, my divine Light,
For thou hast summoned me from that horrible torture,
Thou hast led me to a goodlier tabernacle;
Thou hast brought healing to my bruised heart.

Thou art my delight and the warmth of my heart;
Thou makest me without fear of Fate or of Death;
Thou breakest the chains and bars
Whence few come forth free.
Seasons, years, months, days and hours --
The children and weapons of Time -- and that Court
Where neither steel nor treasure avail
Have secured me from the fury [of the foe].
Henceforth I spread confident wings to space;
I fear no barrier of crystal or of glass;
I cleave the heavens and soar to the infinite.
And while I rise from my own globe to others
And penetrate ever further through the eternal field,
That which others saw from afar, I leave far behind me
I found this on http://www.positiveatheism.org/hist/brunoiuw0.htm

Giordano's crime was to envisage the Earth as being one of many inhabited worlds and the Sun as one of many stars.
Set of cave genes If you could read... pluri freedoms of the dark light of ignorance teach understand that breathe under the Naturality Natural Nature is not necessary to have an understanding heart and store on their empty heads of knowing ancient rain where wisdom possess. If dance on every grain of chickpea for each foot plant what could a plant obey; foot, Plant, and Plantation...

Resulting in kingdoms on my animals, fungi, plants, and protists, media freedom as a seed to reach our evolutionary lack of ceased hopeness...

First  Ellipsis Angle loneliness"God felt Chained"

Chained down by dragging the last link of its multiple arcane freedom in which transfigured recent swings where he collapsed with the latter being of himself whose life lies lifeless alive but lost. The latter that child not to know and deprived of nascent freedom that will never be born and come knowledge in our genome of Independence.

When the caveman thought to be a complement to the world is enslaved by the mystery of lost in himself... The born and born, never dies, that's so naive and innocent... is still full unaware of their free will, rather it is he who must re-literate and be a living part of the ancestral genome Cavernario component. Oh Heavenly Lord of the steppes I look because more of you today without having lived what you lived, as he would have played with my gaze to succor and keep you had fallen into the fangs of an animal, or you had fallen on the glacier cliff where he has separated you from your Clan Cave.

Emancipation means to be always innocent, my blood runs through yours,
I read and understand any phenomenon of deprivation exist without you lack wisdom satiate if all your generations crushed by the ignorance of falling subject will be well, me and my being I take my precognitions as a tormented child's worst nightmare before about sleeping. Sixth Papal almost, almost kneel before the creation of memorizes creation. This prerogative Lord lives Bread’s God Minor remaining....of whose iconography will not leave this fifth fraternal dimension will not come, if not more will enter the latter end of absolute solitude... and shorter than the last thousand years of Neandertal.


Cavernary Political and Ellipsis:

On a day of gentle wind and tense rain proclaiming Clan joined, they all shouted running, the ground shook and the children slept in terror... the 10 infants who were talking about the Sign from above, but the nines they crossed his arms remaining to create solidarity roof that protects the man in your imagination...
The eighth child of the clan ran quickly into the arms of his mother and she imagined how far, how far would never come... uncharacteristically who came with his brother seventh had in their hands the word of entertainment of Being, to be a plaintiff political all of braiding them together with lines enabling the hermit may decide that creation is a mass of lines of certain fashions together, everything sings like the slightest cyclamen dew on the line pointy rough fallen fungus. All arms folded on the upper porch of the Vatican Macario in Franconia, saying that many who unite in their fevered requests large modern man ceased to be autonomous when it came out of their caves and charnel pit.

Ran all she enjoyed doing that almost without knowing whether or not they fall...
Ran because of every day the sun ahead of them a lesson for a man of the future...
They are running to be released the day of his birth chained to stars of light, to carry him to his mother and father, sneaking to his brothers.

Brother worn eleventh birth to her existence as another being evolved Eukaryotic: Surely those provided beings of cell membranes rhizomes reflected in higher liberty lives purged of ectoplasm walk without a discounted subsidiary. Shakespeare in Helsingor appeared immune to a blood brother to all that limits the Draconian feel in the pinnacles drawn 700 greened steeds. From the deepest swoon in the underworld subway Helsingor, follow the prevailing souls presided over by the great ear of the hard sandcastle, stressed hard Ghosts of Stratford upon Avon.

Freedom plague spits words of pancreatic poisoned exordium, spits verses of confusion disorders without permission, without solid bass sound without liquid sea that resists mad edges followed by solid sound...
But smaller stones give priority to conjugate final sentence and noble verses Guardian
to mission how important would Liberation:

Maybe it's a synonymy of Astral Solar...
It is not Solitude, is a free nation that has its own kind prosecutor's office for even when Euthanasia closes your eyes to the astral, will run the stones of the Sea of joy believing that neither you dare if there is no healthy grass to clarify the rainy day terror.


Reverse walk creeks aggravated birds feet, walking great playful ruse.
Reverse run my comrades preparing festivity meals with chandeliers and singing lay plenary., Singing Avenue pine port Firenze, Second run subtracting minutes and hours the minute is enough for me with your face in my arms to recognize your longevity anathema times oblique faces for lip-smacking hailstones Templars.

In 1297 in northern Italy nearby rural families migrate to chalky Venice, Perugia came the exiles walked to find their independence south of the Iberian Peninsula. They were so atoned as in the echoing flutes, harps, zithers, and harpsichords field temperate; They invited the blunting of intemperate monocordio.

Golden Chariot Carrenio

The golden carriage carrying them came without a single space rather than inheritances acquired goldsmiths of ancient noble and chaste solid shine. Carrenio; the coachman wore on his left arm bracelet thousand mobile travel without stopping to drink more water and to feed their horses. After revamping its gold pieces bartered by a slave who was getting Carrenio Christians fleeing the Romans. Well, they fled as far as the plains of great earthly squandered his memory and that end of the end should come.

How am away from my land more I learn it's back to her,
There is no ground for the first time, but that which is foreign
Carrenio of Perugia and sensed that ****** was Jewish ashes,
Luther King black paste of burnt forest,
Mandela and Biko Ogre garage from Victorian Empire,
Gandhi in his humility is always put behind the Sun
to figure out the small
Tagore trashed my heart caressing the entire universe uncorrupted
Hölderlin together in the cabin waiting for his mother at Zimmerman,
That my beloved Borker forest should shine gold teeth with black resin,
Theresa of Calcutta was eaten and swallowed all diseases lepers knowing good taste proverbial dessert psalm,
Jose Miguel Carrera was more than a trench, clay bullets in each of his temples where he received
To be doubly Lonco is to be halved, lacerated by lay his head on his land, not galloping on his back throngs of wit and hope out Nazareth trembles when an F-16 diluted ***** covering landless caravans Heritage continues to lead the people killed but the mosque wall has been Fe Erecta.
Helena plenipotentiary Kowalska at Vilnius, Faustina Divine Mercy Diadema
The agonizing deprivation of millions of people with cancer in every continent of private well-being analgesic, weighed down by increased pain, almost as strong as the Master Hammered Golgotha, so it was that Joshua has cancer always to slow it down on us. Benigno whether metastasis, malignant albeit benign finance.
The death of an innocent little angel devoured by the beast remains as a fluff hairless sardine in the jaws of a shark baron.
Khalil Gibran writes that with both hands to support the reviewer behind in Bicharri and bohemian Paris,

Salvador Allende Gossens was born since he was deceived by his parents who would heal politics, would rather dig their ancestors in their brains scattered in the currency in face seal or tail of.

Frei Montalva that today has to receive the Macro Augusto Heaven their arms, their sorrows, and regrets, although his worst military executioner.

Legion is an offshoot of liquid central gray material, which defers well done becoming but not defeated, it is the decree of the divine threshold space Living or ceases to live, that failure does not exist, it is the postponement of success - success.

The Genocide September 11 in New York was a ritual, who produced was a small wrath strength of the Rotary world, as the camshaft is upset in the history of trying to make more alphabet in schools where the flag hoisting and found scholars in West and East, so they can learn more than reading of both unlettered, lip and water to possess it to write with it. The worst disaster is read with the memory that will never happen... I write my greatest need with lipstick and my greatest need I write eagerly to participate. Yesterday I passed by a boutique and buy lipsticks that are closer to the language, written with the mouth and not the hand. !

Freedom, debauchery, libration, drawer, Bookstores..! Carrenio..: he said see I'm right! Raise and educate has a great synonymy with autonomy because the ancestors wrote everything that deprived them and made them fear, but do not have to eat the autumn gives me to dress the return of spring, bread orchid, and cineraria. Hence by that inner syllabic singing hunger sated that sought sheet to sheet rid of everything until the end of the book as the encounter between night and day without considering oblivious to anything or anyone on the track window swing wind, wind seeping.


It was old Zeus or Hera of Antique,
Cavern to house geometric polyphonic, angular seeds to create fashions kiss kissed everything that any vertical plane does not fit with the closed horizon
For hands and angels, Hebrews the inner soul of every carpenter and stonemason shrunk, wash their eyes and cheeks with songs of vibration and idyllic comfort,
Everything resembled and sounded Bethlehem 2.0 deities choirs sweeping grasslands,
The similarity of this clairvoyant child is born in a cave...
Rising motherly free Soliloquy Papini sitting to the right of ruminant cattle,
So archaic that to be born is not born in a clinic mega Cristus but hundreds of kilometers and hundreds who are born with the undergirding whispers and servitude being.
Where the multi gray impetuous born star is a healthy gauze story in the present tense... this angelic child grows by Miriam washes his feet in a belligerent abolished stone. His father must wash their hands on a stone which is where measured his ecclesiastical mystical stature, stone Madonna to heal his feet where he leaves to free himself, to free us... Marble gamete fémina vault, where he sleeps without knowing whether it is due, the ***** fell from the sky.
How wise is the Wise, it makes permissible for much more than two thousand years we stone quarry wheel and wheel, homily, and blessing to not wake at night to sleep startle middle and uphill.

Me of the referent of antiquity is not me of today is polished cobble stone,
Useful weapon quarry road there and backtrack to have blisters stone and soft thoughts under my pillow soft stone as a whole.

If you're ****** private living and have a free soul choosing coexist, then you are low in the cemetery on a tombstone of heresies.

Neolithic early 4500 after Hildegard von Bingen and his entourage and prowled full and channeled, swooning in her swoon with flowers in his hands and his followers planting forests on top of Stonehenge.

Carrenio says...: you see I'm right, we coexist, I die like the worst ****** cancer and then put a tombstone Stonehenge conspire in my honor black pain prayers of Salisbury. It blooms in vibrant red rubies that detonate in chromaticity and life. The stream itself is exceeded the aquatic plant Macarenia.

Call us and civilize us, outdated as far as my tired feet though I come not ashamed to see my new tracks.

Carrenio says...; see I'm right Joshua has traces of gold from other Caterpillar shod feet. Antique everything is prescribed according to their legacy today is Lent Pro that came before it was Lent vestige Pentecost came to be a nickname of the mystery of the passion in less than a rooster crows.

Beside it is the mystery of the disappointment of stubborn demon, which helps you all carry the cross, but not the entire load. Fire and Light at dawns where the splendor born...


Genome Freedom, even today every centimeter of my witness of each component, if the basic origin of the signs of the primitive world, is that we have lost the bark of the lexicon, which does not allow us to understand the meditations to ask for something, not You need to ask something. Today genome is requesting something because thousands of people who asked for millions of years, now it's time to cater to them. They were wrapped in cloth shroud of spiritual sacredness, today cemeteries mega dance their souls leave no sleepers both much grass on their heads not yet sullied by the puppet Azrael.


Impossible not to decorate the rocks forged empires that fall into the rubble, they bring 476 d. C., a new opening Middle age freedom of travel both in history thousands of years begins a new axis Golden Carrenio’s Chariot.

Carrenio Wagon

This great colossal ship Carrenio time is a timber that holds the sky, a beam that does not faint or distended thousands a. C, and the old age of King's large musings that were forgotten. It is astride ship millennium, their history of oppression has seen in the wheel, instrument wise rolling like a wheel before 5, 000 years ago, here  We fought and prostrated to distant lands millennium after millennium him away.

Golden Chariot is the structure that freedman us to enforce a new life on earth, even the Gods prided themselves move the stars to constellations called her noble Auriga sailing in full the Universes and Cartwheel Galaxy or cart Wheel. As if to say that when the Universe and its own mythology, were visited between them inch by inch by wherever they shine.

Carrenio mask and frame used had strength, temper, and tittle. When the first libertarian squall of antiquity came closer, Rome was already small and nobles populate what is a quote, Piccola. The executioner always frightened and starts out of his own wickedness. Markos Botsaris as did in Greece, and surrounding towns Messologhi remote, they were free more than tuned in massif Arankithos high wind. He was riding to Kanti once again with the golden rider Etrestles of Kalavrita. According to the Chronicle that came from distant millennia has envisioning promote its neighbor's heroic to free Messolonghi of ****** wars. All this I saw with his own eyes Carrenio, every thousand years styling with Etrestles, cleaned their nostrils so that new breed of horses to thrive,

Avignon, in the necropolis, witnessed as Azrael was cleaning his wings Jade antipopes, another story begins... even he seeks to candela who can read this story, and who can provide it from hand to hand cutting semicolons who disclosed.


Second  Ellipsis Angle  New Era:

Ara released the ropes throwing a big ship, History makes a man is at the center of the world. Revolutions, thinking, communication, and especially vindicate man in his right-libertarian. artists with their creations flowing all over the world, mutating classic Renaissance to abstract overlook. Family appearing welfare and needs. A ramble and so many broken laws. Mankind is distracted l film and theater artist of tradition. Art now has sound and movement, then social and political revolutions are industrial that unite everyone behind the pivot deployment of social classes.


Everything evolves until we get tired of doing so. It rests and then continues. This is modern reality, we wrote about the history of events on facts that have never been told. The world has tired all the Eras, but each pause time that has happened has been recharged, nothing finished if not started again. After so many wise lawyers, clergy plunged into great towers bound books. Is evident again can not read or understand. Our realities are missing valid without knowing I close and then open another door. human and civil rights, fair wages, so excessive autocracy monarchy. Freeman can walk along the paths, even if they were trenches.

Zephyr soft murmur which clutters in the Irises by Van Gogh, the painter is the biggest star trek, called with his feet images and colors that would make his own liberty to live naturally insane. And many others Brueghel "Triumph of Death" that roam the countryside, perhaps a medieval piece of Tarskovski; Andrei Rublev in futile painters decorating steps in the fontano chignon Androniko Monastery Moscow, extinct Rublev 70 years, Tarkovsky 54.

Early ellipsis - Campo dei Fiori in Rome to see die at the stake Giordano Bruno by order of the Holy Inquisition. The irruption of the Inquisition, but their feet are touching the flowers, the seasoned cassock continues to haunt the universe of Faith Dominica Trastevere, it is seen to lectures on how to be bold with the informers and the Whistle Blower dies without shade in spring, you resist the star on the asphalt on the magical island of holiness.

Carrenio says: Come I'm right, we can not read, because the brutality of the Cosmos is manure per ton weathered in the backyard of the aristocracy. I will continue with respect and crosed in Crete. Lila Kedrova means the fear of bunk bed tied to her bed and is free in foreign lands leg. Queen insular matriarchy, she lives more than any Greek Goddess, waiting for his Adonis, to fill out honors. Win an Oscar but lost to Zorba, he loses his house but won a Tony Awards. How many women teach us that to win you have to give everything to lose his brains, and thus count as the lost number remains to be retained. Zorba whines in her arms, she moans in the arms of her husband Zeus Steve, proof of a new era. Onyx for his tomb, plate of this great tragedy.

On the evening of December 14, 1964, attended the premiere. Soul of Carrenio was with them but was denied his attendance at the banquet, finally running out and watching the glasses lips and stoles spent his neck.

                                          
          ­                      Numbered Mysterious Death
                                                  Mané

If I have to feel floe on my feet and cold in my prayers will be the Dark Glory. What is slimming rays of the day, everything smelled of silence, maybe it was Kennedy, or better was The Mané.

Closure of my glory suffers the wind...
Flowers lying silence my soul alight,
Thick square displays the song of my voice...
When they speak Quadratils one to one order their
Spirituous voice.

And the spirit singing fiber of my heart told me:
Never you say I Exist ¡ not exist because they do not exist!
Only face daily the different reflection of your body
In front of yourself with another face and another body...

I want to talk with the thought
And this same subtract my little silhouette,
Lavishes wingless bird that flies only in their theology...
That is the duty and melt with my look,
Solid colors components
Crunching the altars of heaven retaining its pale warmth of anorexia.

Yellow Glory hair good event...
If you receive yellow lights, plus I do not sing my own game here in my empty veins,
Yellow my heart...
Yellow my heart
Yellow my collective heart.

They are run by large green and sunny meadows, children who had Mane in this major milestone in its last gasp. Now she is the mother of his children; it up and them in the last temptation of the mystery of death.

Carrenio keeps rolling, the brightness offered his Golden wagon to the ground. Gold grooves ago, and looking at where it realizes that it's landmass light mud. Since he felt whispers from the confines of time he had never felt as if you were finishing your journey or the world. It raining years and years and continues because nobody mends the mysterious death Numbered.

Heaven and Earth did not hold, the bottom fell precipitously pocket Lord and denied several times uncontained. She shivered in the World and the rooster crowed several times to never be heard or the Pentagon.

He is walking and knees bent,
we embraced by the golden chariot and oxen nor held
we bent us all lying on his knees,
up shoulders not hear from where came the bad grace of his departure,
numbered all the time of complaints of how then she would come,
It is unknown who would be but brought wine in his hand on the crispy mask
We ran from side to side and nothing was real

Everything seemed to sing in the chapel on a sad day,
But I hear loudly like Latin and watchfulness,
Those who know his mystery is no stranger to them
They all look but transgress the sin of silence.

Carrenio still absorbed in the hallway,
Angulo ellipsis she comes winged like a star burning tar,
A high speed to give us the new
No garden can deprive greet in speed visit
Dome comes, it comes on the eve of the new moon.

Numbered Widow mysterious,
Mané is a land of golden color and no celestial whoever wants in his cell,
A breath test, and feeding the Toffy and his henchmen
That sustaining more lively detail, there is no one that can not be targeted

It was modern, it was night, it was his torn life as an accomplice of his exile abandonment in his allegory of tender dismissal. Carrenio achieved so say goodbye to the beams of light that told him of the mysterious death Numbered. He sat on the roadside and drank some wine. Then dry with his handkerchief his neck, and have never wanted to experience such an event in a toast ever drunk.

Third Ellipsis Angle  of  New Era

Independence of Chile, it concerns Mapuche atingent case. Araucania pound, then 1818 central Chile. In Brief, Earth makes free an entire nation. His naive and primitive braves inhabitants emancipated themselves from all sides, they came to save a people who were just following where nobody can reach. Independence of the United States separates us for approximately 42 years, breaking up owners of nowhere. Industrial Abolitionist and South Slaver and Agraria. The biggest event that more than 640, 000 men and fallen activists planted safely from repression fields.

In Chile all rule resembled this secession in today's Araucano man prays for his fallen by almost more than 3 centuries in Chilean lands of Araucanía’s men. Lautaro genius and his supporters the heart of Pedro de Valdivia ate; Map ever made to your battle mapping Tucapel. "Initiation and final symbol occurred after 282 years of fierce war" and Mapuche land forever their independence from the Spanish Empire Captain-General important in foreign lands never subjected to foreign rule would eat.

The Machis and Loncos make supplications in native forests falling on them pollen on its back as if nothing out 10 times better...

To Libertas strengthen in the west is necessary to push the limits of the earth beneath his tongue and penance for the greedy entangled in the lines of bloodied sky, rebellions Chieftains death-defying all together at the edge of a cliff. 1769 The Pehuenches led by Lebian Cacique, joined the Mapuches razing Yumbel and Laja, the most peaceful Huilliches also joined mass alerting perhaps innocent people land blood-stained war and the Mackay Luchsinger.

No doubt portals military rebellion trigger blood, where they opened a tip and swords in the past. Here's reading concern is that the succession is timeless time, a sword without a sword, but on the tip of her blood is seen where there were herds and warriors crushed by their own footsteps. Here the phenomenon of freedom begins; Humanity runs treading his own footsteps, to save his family from a threat, but not strange forces that force you to use your defenses, because in the groves populate many helpless souls with his sword unused at the expense of being forced to use.

Freedom genome; It aims to reach where it has not come without looking back,
Chalices pour out is where the troubadours do not cuddle her close looks like time, singing while watching the changes are not of a new life


Heaven star,
Come to me,
I ask a sign to see them arrive,
Because I want to thus been dragged
Being together Eager to feel...
Those respites without being comforted
going to the mouth of the serpent.

About the Garden,
My home is to put my love,
He has to put the days imagining close...
To enjoy yourself is nonexistent...

Oh, my house tormenting me...!
Because in it I feel your smell
They are alone lights
Where I would wait for me to be in the dark...

In the coming future,
You will not see or hear my anger...
Perhaps my happiness nor peace praying
As the spear in the hands of the perpetrator.

You know a storm of whispers
I do sow your name in the wilderness,
It's because my judgments of hope
They mount up arable land deposited in my frenzy
Misled by a love which is my love.

But you never understand,
Because time has invaded my dwelling,
Invading my brain to give
It has invaded my choosing to love...

On the grass path,
Every time I move away from you,
I turn to see if you have not been...

Love came,
And I think that leaves us alone to avail ourselves
Ranging in our time...


But I can not resist his silence,
For my house want the noise of its action,
Why keys to the gates that serve my understanding.

Tramples my heart the fragmenting oddities into smaller pieces,
Your answer that call.

Tur love be like if I had created...
As if only you had appreciated your beautiful creation.

Do not destroy your work expresses in his mystery give life to your dreams!
Man aiming better earth, ask some of you to join your dreams...

! Your wife of this land does not procrastinate your misfortune,
I discover far peaceful landscapes like an echo in the spring,
As large and deep as your forgiveness for loving me more


It tells the Earth to the Sun in its perky tear benefactress of new opportunities as good and healthy smile rainbow on the back of Oviedo sheep valleys of freedom of Pietrelcina life.

To be continued…
Genoma Freedom , by Jose Luis Carreño Troncoso - Under Edition
In Rome on the Campo di Fiori
Baskets of olives and lemons,
Cobbles spattered with wine
And the wreckage of flowers.
Vendors cover the trestles
With rose-pink fish;
Armfuls of dark grapes
Heaped on peach-down.

On this same square
They burned Giordano Bruno.
Henchmen kindled the pyre
Close-pressed by the mob.
Before the flames had died
The taverns were full again,
Baskets of olives and lemons
Again on the vendors' shoulders.

I thought of the Campo dei Fiori
In Warsaw by the sky-carousel
One clear spring evening
To the strains of a carnival tune.
The bright melody drowned
The salvos from the ghetto wall,
And couples were flying
High in the cloudless sky.

At times wind from the burning
Would driff dark kites along
And riders on the carousel
Caught petals in midair.
That same hot wind
Blew open the skirts of the girls
And the crowds were laughing
On that beautiful Warsaw Sunday.

Someone will read as moral
That the people of Rome or Warsaw
Haggle, laugh, make love
As they pass by martyrs' pyres.
Someone else will read
Of the passing of things human,
Of the oblivion
Born before the flames have died.

But that day I thought only
Of the loneliness of the dying,
Of how, when Giordano
Climbed to his burning
There were no words
In any human tongue
To be left for mankind,
Mankind who live on.

Already they were back at their wine
Or peddled their white starfish,
Baskets of olives and lemons
They had shouldered to the fair,
And he already distanced
As if centuries had passed
While they paused just a moment
For his flying in the fire.

Those dying here, the lonely
Forgotten by the world,
Our tongue becomes for them
The language of an ancient planet.
Until, when all is legend
And many years have passed,
On a great Campo dci Fiori
Rage will kindle at a poet's word.
Nick Moore Nov 2013
This man
philosopher, mathematician and astronomer
said "the sun was a star"
but the Roman Inquisition
thought he'd gone to far

Found him guilty of heresy,
but you will never guess
what happened next?

Tongue imprisoned for
what it could say,
his life they would take,
and so poor Bruno was
burned at the stake.
Marielle indicates: “Your luminosity, Copernicus vibrating in Giordano Bruno, expresses hypotheses that they revive to Quentinnais from the third hour, from here now I am hospitalized and without light to line the end where I will put my feet evasive. Raymond Bragasse is here where I met him, and I saw him with his holy rosary on his necklace, and on Andrés Panguiette's claw. That you grumble, they excommunicate my sentences, which are that of the rooster that becomes gentle in a Corso, Sardinian or Roman Praetorian, in the leap I relegate to San Gabriel, with its magical art that excites the retentiveness of Saint George. Under what science do they moderate me by joining you, or what century will intuit us with its own splendor, whose obscurantism under his revolution mutes anyone in the darkness of the cave of Dionysius. The divinity postpones itself, to leave its daily chores where souls fly daily ..., they do not stop leaving with their spoils after the fairies that fly to purgatory. But many have passed over me, and I was wondering where to find you, I never thought that I should fly over a swarm of wasps to reach your divine lair, full of regulatory darkness for those who live against the light, and of an Elizabethan garment that dismisses my ring, where Its natural original magic is isolated from our semi-alive body, with brittle Egyptian suns that redoubled where I had to wait for you at the Pentecost bench. What retarding essence dries up who does not show any vital or symbolic avital sign, where the rough cyclicality does not allow me to chastise my hair in any vanity for you. Oh that Moral spellings referring to my commendation, if it is not apostasy! What else would I dare to speak, through the sky flying away from the lunar books of Vivencia, where it is sent from its orbit towards the cosmos free of all and of all with Wonthelimar free of me, confined of Marielle. I know that I am analogous **** of the Libri Dei Viventi, perhaps sackcloths or coats have to be spun in Parnassus, to gird myself to myself, and not Marielle cloistered in her solitude, who does not receive the Vivendi torpor of her paradisiac sacrilege when seducing a supposed daughter of Hecate, fortunately, I have to guess with a swarm, and stay in the nets of your cave. With the stanza that is invested in rhetorical values, I go crazy for love to which I am conjured, but from Marielle now or in hundreds of years that pester on my sackcloth, which will never be used for the liturgy with you, if I revive in the crisis of resurrection in the arms of Saint George in the stained glass window in Avignon, and in his forearm that passes through the worst emotional crypts of my author.

As I have to contest hostile votes that are netted in the puritanism of those who only wear sackcloth in the unstitched Mausoleums of Quentinnais, and in the strident leaves that move elected in his advent, where the subclavian of Luzbel stands. Unanimous I have to dare by asininity ...! Moderating threads of horror and silver light, which revives us in the beasts and in their perches, ad libitum in the lattices where it emerges from the conspiracy of our tragedy. Oh, what an impetuous incarnation of the anti-Christian verb has to express itself in your incarnations of light and restless shadow, in the apse of the discanted in Avignon, and in the acroteria shadow, suffering from cowardice by not wanting to see me angelic, universal predisposition, just to know fit and what to say with your soul lineage and twin life, who only knows how to love you. Our reincarnations are rescued, now that we go to Patmos intimidated, in the sound of shining the veiled Vernarth, reprimanded in his acquiescent morality under his own law and his glasses, born from his rib that ends in the exception of a foul dialogue. It is premature for me to say what I do not have to write, but the particles slowly fall through the beam of their adjective essences, reshaping exterminated historiographies that want to make green, in colloquia that draw the eyes of whoever wants to blind the profane cult, absorbed in sallow particles in four sciences and elements… What unresolved probe and mass can strike your heart poured into you Wonthelimar? You know when we get to Profitis I will go holding your hand in the morning, to adore you and kneel down, we will deal with why we lost ourselves, and why the sun has not stained me with so much fury, carrying me burned in tongues of its consumptive and guttural infinity. After taking the hand of dawn, I will sue the impossible quagmire and its Áullos Kósmos, weakened by theoretical openness, lacking unity, but not far from my vanistory, nor from the sessile fluff of my hair, waiting for you with your stormy return to hold me. Ayia Lavra will declare war on the eighth cemetery of Messolonghi, with solidity and sanctity that frees my chains in a single trident, paling in the rust of it, methodological treatise, and where the determination of veracity is annihilated.

Because I have to go to heaven when I want to offer myself to you, without any century that has received me with fewer wounds than those I had yesterday in its indolent septicemia, with miracles and incense burners that burn in imprecate, and provide a pagan theology of human filth. , not portraying biblical when your plurality dressed as a secular thirteenth, by referrals or Greco-Gallic that arise from the love that has no end or beginning in the autonomy of an incorruptible being, and even less when you wear sweets in its lavender lex. Genius Loci, or amplified reality, rather your idea of sticking with me when I have not been, and of attracting me when the future in the portal is made in the perfect symmetry of him, or whoever looms excited in his cabal. The body is no longer inscrutable, overworking with poetry to constrict my torn voice, running at great speed to seize the cosmetic that paints our faces, Selene and her luster aggravate punctuality and the status of science in creation. I have read volume VIII, and I saw that tears flowed by where I never thought ... !, for exchanges that marginalize an established authority, nor with more childish will I undone the garments of his self-description. Mime or jester in front of me in my catalog of the tragic actress with the anemic volume of her, pointing out uprisings in new waves, on seas that did not have them ..., loaded in new skeptical allegorical clouds, on truths that were already understood in the jealous name. It is incumbent on us to navigate with lamps that have to guide us through dark Ptolemaic hexahedra or henbane crusts, which do not manage to go over the sentry boxes of a divine gesture. How to dare to a final gesture of inflaming with you in factions and premises beyond an apocalypse, or of a Penelope that is gestated in a god, or becomes unknowable of a prevailing divine plan.

Charged with our dissidence, we will go far from the unknown burdens, that scripts are annexed in the new birth of our fiefdom and in their great expectation. Now four elytra have been born on my back, who hope to reveal to you the categories of the deleterious vanquished, reduced to only two Ptolemic emetics ..., you and I in a final judgment, which we already know well about, about the seventh eras that await us in the Southern Sporades, and in his final judgment in the eighth. O Jerusalem, I deprive my oldest sin by conceiving, but rather by confessing it with you. What insurgent dualism will make me get rid of myself and be reborn indestructible in its dizzying relish where the multi-chained temptation of redemption runs towards you? Wonthelimar…, I'm here, in this thunder slip writing for you. I have distanced my head united to yours so that it is not destroyed, for all thoughts, where although you are my diluted kingdom, I will beg You to leave me in the growing vertical anticipated flight from my body, but later in my consciousness which is what which will pre-exist with his Roman staff intertwining with his lusters, and in the syntagmas of Vernarth, which come from the Sporades of Patmos. As I honor and glorify Him in the southern part of him, my dear sackcloth has warmed away from my myopic eyes, already feeling your face breath on me, I will be able to vindicate narrated stories after we part before God!
Marielle Sporades
Angela Rose Oct 2019
Hi Dad,
              I don’t know if you can read Facebook posts in heaven. I hope you can. Or can feel this on a spiritual level or something like that. It’s your birthday tomorrow. You are or would be 60. I’m not sure how it works once you’ve passed on. I love you. I know I didn’t say it enough. But I love you so much. And I miss you. Happy birthday. I want to call and leave a voicemail singing to you. Or you pick up and I sing to you. I hope you’re eating something awesome in heaven to celebrate. Like our favorite linguini with clam sauce, or some spicy wings or a juicy cheeseburger, perhaps some authentic Chicago Giordano’s deep dish pizza. I miss you a lot. I miss your dad jokes. I miss when I was little and you would comfort me. I miss when I was sick at school and you would come pick me up and we would walk somewhere and get really good snacks and Twix ice cream bars and go to the park because I wasn’t really sick....I just knew you were off and I wanted to spend time with you. I took everything for granted and I’m so sorry. Happy birthday. If you knew my father you know he was the funniest man in the whole room and his laugh, just like mine, was so contagious. His smile, it lit a place up. I hope you are proud of me. I am trying really hard to be better than I have been. I hope you visit me in my dreams. I hope you’re celebrating. I just hope you don’t feel pain. I love you. Happy birthday dad.

                                            -“Face”
Graff1980 Nov 2014
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality

The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class

A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence

But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies

Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity

Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled

Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it

Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of

The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity

Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things

So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic

I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding

I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses

But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice

Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Graff1980 Jan 2017
The struggle is futility
Patient people play the part
Of impartiality
The wiser are restraint
Castigated for their intelligence
Castrated by their class
A classless struggle we abide
Poor children barely manage
To survive and seldom thrive
Not given access to the tools
Of excellence
But we wield the sword of obsolescence
Antiquated ideas put on the same level as
Modern machines and moral philosophies
Broad language discarded for
The disinfected nature of stupidity
Our language is censored
And free thought is crippled
Thus to succeed we must
Write to their level of understanding
So they can understand it
Which means we do not expect grandness
From the masses
That we underrate what they are capable of
The papacy’s power is palatable but detrimental
The Popes presence sends his parishioners
In to servitude as they submit to the
Sublimation of their identity
Unable to identify the truth from the lie
Unable to separate the flock from the I
I become the villain
For stating these things
So I drop names like Darwin and Thomas Paine
I wear the scarlet letter of poet and philosopher
Of Supplicant to science, Of literate romantic
I the son of Percy Bysshe Shelley
The son of Twain and Poe
The Son of Shakespeare and Baudelaire  
The son of logic and poetry
The lost ******* of peace, love, and understanding
I leave the eve of man’s ill behavior
To see the seething corps of corpses
Rise in ignorance strive for pestilence
With hopeful hate in their eye
To perpetuate the self-fulfilling prophecies
Of all types of apocalypses
But in the end it will be I that am despised
Thus if I must be hated then at least
Favor me with this tiny justice
Like Galileo, Giordano Bruno, and Copernicus
I will wear chains well earned
There is so much knowledge to be had
So learn, live, love and then learn some more
Charles Sturies Jan 2017
Recently I've been reading a book about American Bandstand from   Philadelphia 1957-1963
and it's given me what I call the Bandstand Blues
where I recall a bygone era
when things were much simpler
and wish I was coping now
like I did back then
rather than being swarmed under by the undercurrent of
the jet age and the age of the computer,
where I had teen crushes
on the like of Arlene Sullivan, Carole Sealdeferri, and Trini Giordano
such that I daydreamed about being famous like they were someday
and going off and meeting them and dancing with them
Unfortunately that dream never
came true
Being a loner back then, I was envious
of the teen parties all the regulars had that I read about in the teen magazines
I would have like a
social life like that
wanting to go with what were considered the truly neat girls in school,
and vicariously imagining
myself up there as one of the
regulars in what seemed like
their bump and grind dances
and discovering my puberty that way
rather than through several girlfriends I had in school
a little bit
admiring the nice story of
**** Clark and wanting to
emulate him someday
which I fell far short of
as I grew old
although like I say, I managed to acquire some
wealth later on in life
Wanting to have trendy clothes
and trendy hairstyles
like the boys did
rather than being
rather dowdy in my opinion then,
and imagining what it would be like
growing up in probably what was a little more
sophisticated atmosphere back east
as I could tell from family vacations there
But I do cherish the fascination
The good side of bandstand in the book
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2023
I had to write
It was in me
My little town
Sleep

Can't forget San Francisco
Who killed Coulianou?
Bounce pass to Alex
Leap, baby, leap

Women are more interesting
Susan, Judi, Wendy
Time tick rocks
Hamlet is a creep

I can't find
My bipolar mind
Entangled and entwined
Ayutthaya. Siem Riep.

                  Shiva
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
Catholicism gives you ancient things
Things which Americans need
But I'm born too late
A pal's last need a thing to heed

Buddhism gives you Asia
Silence
Sadness
Rain

She gives then takes away
Memories
Dances
Pain

Science gives you exoplanets
Astrobiology
Aliens
The Mississippi River, Mark Twain

             Giordano Bruno's Brain?
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2022
I'm not orthodox
Tried to be, but I can't
Giordano Bruno
Marguerite Porete

Bustling Bangkok traffic
Thai forest monks
Fo Guang Shan
San Francisco Zen

Dread Annihilation
My beloved brother Scott
We four at Angkor Wat
Thin Red Line. Another World. Sean Penn.

King Lear
Paradise Lost
Give My Love to Rose
All the King's Men
      
          Satellite High
           (Number 10)
Wonthelimar and Vlad Strigoi silenced the cobblestones that beat their eardrums, with the pontifical dispensation of the Argonauts who put matches in their neighboring ears to Orpheus, before the song of the Sirens, and of those who were reconciled, speaking of supra-earthly lives of the cloister, asking everyone on their knees in supplication, to remain united in the Vernarth trilocation asking the Lord to keep them together, before leaving for Crete. On the other hand, Dyonisius agreed to the procession of the vicariate that predicted, to assert this phenomenal event, coupled with Saint John of the Cross who joined in this segment, and who also praised the Song of Songs of Fray Luis de León, and of Giordano Bruno “De Umbris Idearum, from 1582; with the Supper of the Ashes, adoring the Blessed Sacrament. All this interchannel journey was carried out in the darkness of the Cave of Dyonisus, increasing the pleasure, and not the offense, for those who only want to calm his sufferings, which has no origin or destination?

Says Wonthelimar: “How to lose Grace, if she always glorifies me innocently, like the fear that is a faction of the Anthropokairós, making me fear more of it, and of what haunts me…, being more courageous than me when making the most terrible decisions. My life pact with Vernarth, which is the grace of walking without stopping until I don't reach nothingness, which is sometimes represented as a faction that has never become virtuous ... but infused!  But I have sought solitude after eternally losing Marielle Quentinnais, where I was also her Dominican friar, opening my entrails towards the conventual club of those who are more than once crucified "

After this soliloquy, he feels the aroma of some Lavenders that are propelled from a very clear angelic light ... it was Marielle who had followed him along with the Kyrios of Vernarth masters, helping him to orient himself with the princess pearl, who was hiding in the pyramidal conifers even his most chaste quilt that covered him with the petals and diadems in holy allegory. It seemed Nativity night, when Marielle was distended from her frigid attempts, towards the hands of her confidant Wonthelimar of her. The lack of recollection caused the torches that led them down a wrong path to go out briefly, were all without much hesitation genuflected for a formal spell, having been chosen by the hand of light and shadow, by a Being that It makes them serve themselves from a suspicious whole to the greatest of fears in nothingness, which would make them amnesiac and abúlic of a lost will. Mercies appeared next to Dyonisius who gleaned in the cave next to the Maenads "Where all the noblemen self-executed their values by being Parents of the World, in which they cannot self-sustain or sustain themselves." The prohibitions were made surreptitious, like royal nausea that lagged in their conversion that was attributed to them for reestablishments of sacred hosts that were calibrated for the common good, relating prosographies of the beautiful flowers that surrendered to the sacrosanct soil of the speleothems and Marielle, as a trance indomitable of a pilgrimage of the one who walks and leads him to an anointing, making tangible whoever denies himself or whoever it is? for the good of beings of the same time in the Dionysian ritual, with three bilocations or trilocations in which Vernarth fractured them tripartite, where nothing and nobody will move the hinges, that could be reconciled in an exclusive Empyrean, without goods or possessions that will take them even to the Spinalonga leprosarium, detailing decadent and unstoppable parapsychologies in beasts, rodents in dens, and birds that rest in the same nest in the fathoms of creation.

Everything rests on the scaffold that brought Marielle, up to the same tired and troubled sky where all the ghosts did it, nothing physical already existed, nor did it of its own accord…! They lit all the fire of the Apocalypse to continue with the alliance of their apostolates, deprived of character, where the right hand surpasses the left for those who expected favors from the bearer of the Misteri Deus Dyonisus, or from the full drama of the cloister of a protagonist undermined with his right hand, as a seer entity in circular centuries, and in times of contravened history, where the apocryphal domes will fall, up to the presbytery of Patmos. The third hour crushed the third-hour antipode, where the blasphemous love of Luzbel expired, never dying and expiring for the chained and hungry condemned, who did not want or should not abandon, being under the Creator Spiritus. The locutions were Saturday, full of the Magnificat that burst in from the fallacious murmur of infinity, and of lexicons that spoke for themselves in the paradigms of anteriority and posterity.
Anthropokairós
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2021
Catholic, but not orthodox
I do like the little way
St. Therese in France
My family in Taipei

Father David Tracy
Giordano Bruno
Ping Pong at Calvert House
Gesu for those who do know

Marguerite Porete
Eckhart. Heidelberg.
Honeymoon in France
Camus and the Absurd

Simone Weil in Spain
Santa Rosa, California
America gone wrong
Don't say I didn't warn ya

              The Pequod
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
Marguerite Porete
Burned at the stake
Sweet Sir Galahad
Lady of the Lake

Giordano Bruno
Exoplanets spin
John Henry Newman
Have to lose to win

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik
St. Stephansdom in snow
Flight from Jerusalem
Me solo below

John Singer Sargent
Boston in the ice
South Side of Chicago
Ooo dat girl looked nice!

             In a trice
Qualyxian Quest Jun 2023
Will I live in a book?
Will she read it on the train?
Her hair dark and wavy
Late night home again

Fettuccini, a little red wine
She sleeps in a dark blue bed
Makeup on the counter
Giordano Bruno in her head

Volleyball at 16
And at 32
Shaves her legs near the sink
Teaches at Sophia U

If you meet her, say hello
2072
San Francisco Zen
Paris, parlez vous?

                  Size 7 shoe
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
The Vatican uses a lot of colors
But not too often blue
The Cathars got destroyed
Shiva the Destroyer too

Marguerite Porete was burned
I was once in France
Giordano Bruno was right!
Lord Shiva does his dance

Solitude is peaceful
And lonely as the rain
Croissants with strawberry jam
Paris to Marseilles train
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2022
I tried to woo her back
Probably didn't work
Cool in the air
Happy Halloween

I like my Uncle Jack
Purdue and then Purdon't
Holy Toledo, Batman!
Billy Joel magazine

I pray for troubled ChiRaq
Giordano's pizza
Father Andrew Greeley
I sent Alex Things Not Seen

When anxiety attacks
Help me to go slowly
Fight through to the light view
3017

              Sacred Queen
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2023
New York is cold at night
Fly me to the moon
I admit, I admit
A bit mesmerized by Dune

Marguerite Porete
Giordano Bruno
Georgetown's Dahlgren Chapel
Silently do who know

I wish we could talk
Just tell her unvarnished truth
Lost in Translation
Lost since my youth

                      Kyoto!
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2021
Catholic, but not orthodox
Moby **** upon my shelf
Evil too comes from God
But I place my faith in Elf

Duomo in far off Florence
Little way of St. Therese
Giordano Bruno
I read what he says

Father Andrew Greeley
Marguerite Porete
I have been a fighter
Paused, but ain't done yet

Sakyamuni Buddha
Silent Bangkok night
Bipolar roller
But my children my delight

             Gandalf the White
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
The conservatives flee the modern world
But they don't flee anaesthetic
America was born in racehate
And can never quite forget it

Had to take a science class
Chose geology
Honeymoon in Paris
And sunny Italy

Giordano Bruno
Burned at the stake
She and I in Istanbul
Nothin' but love to make

Florida is Ignorance
Which is why Desantis fits
Mr. Harold Crick
Keeps staring at her ****

                Oh, Ms. Pascal!
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2023
I would like to be a mystery
Discovered
Later
Unknown

Fatherhood is joy
Please not drugs
Hugs
Just a few days in Rome

The psychiatrists mean well
I take the meds
Rest
Groan

Latin
Nicolus of Cusa
Giordano Bruno
Thrown

              Exoplanets!
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2021
Said Giordano Bruno
David Markson

This is Not a Novel and Other Novels
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
So this is 18881 and yes
I am intrigued by palindromes
Merlin travels back in time
All roads lead to Rome

Spanish lullabies
Her Highland Ranch fine home
Galway Girl
Springsteen in the Tacoma Dome

She sent a curious email
Trappist 1 still unknown
Giordano Bruno
Exoplanets shone

When Doves Cry
Tears on your phone
Carolina Inn
She and I alone

   Ah! Perpetually Postponed
Qualyxian Quest May 2023
I was in Italy for one week
Florence, Siena, Rome
Two years of Latin
Never read Jacob Bohme

Did read Meister Eckhart
A little Thomas Aquinas
I do not mock your suffering
Life is Pain, Your Highness

I like Italian food
Cheese ravioli
If I saw her naked
Holy holy holy

But I live alone
Not Zeus, not Jupiter, not Juno
I was once in Rome
Like Giordano Bruno

                 Grazie.
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2023
?
Mr. Shiva
My bipolar
Injection
Thank you very much

All these little poems
Like a diary
Daily life
And such ...

Gratitude for fatherhood
My boys
My joys
My hope

Marguerite Porete
Giordano Bruno
Mr. Meister Eckhart
Hispanic female Pope

              Nope?
Qualyxian Quest Dec 2022
Bukowski is a Polish name
I was in Warsaw once
The rabbi of Krakow
Foreigners and their dreams

Met a Polish woman in Charlotte
We talked by the pool
Her husband a soccer player
Things not always as they seem

I don't listen to Chopin
Do eat vegetarian sausage
Have been to Vienna
Entranced by white moonbeams

Nicolas Copernicus
Giordano Bruno
Mircea Eliade
Trappist 1 still gleams

                 Cosmos!
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
12:21 a.m.
I like Palindromes

Giordano Bruno
Statue still in Rome

If aliens exist
Stately pleasure dome

Trump I did resist
In Ireland far from home

          Erin Go Bragh!
All Promete Jan 23
Inquisitions have been reactivated,
only their decoration
has been modernized.
Let's not forget Giordano Bruno and what he said at the last minute:
"Perhaps you who pronounce my sentence are in greater fear than I who receive it."
Introspection

Look straight inside, no fables,
Forget what books have said.
Those theories—twisted tables
By brutes or fools were spread.

Commissioned lies and clatter,
Their minds were dull or sick.
To be yourself — that matters—
In Bedlam? Take your pick.

It talks, it stinks, it teaches
To drown the slave in fog.
"Therapy" here reaches
For horror — what a cog!

The system breeds confusion,
The endgame always planned:
"All walk beneath illusion..."
No—Satan’s ruling hand.

A curse, not some condition,
All madness stems from lies.
Forget naive submission—
You're drowning in the flies,

In filth, in steaming sewage
They’ve dumped for many years,
To fill your mind with cruelage,
With poison, doubt, and fears.

You’ll never glimpse the clearing
If you believe their game.
Hate neighbors, lose all bearing—
And smoke becomes your name.

Divide, divide forever—
That’s how they break us all.
No bonds, no strength, no tether,
Just slaves in mental thrall.

Their theories are infection,
Just tricks to lead astray.
No truth, no introspection—
Just herds to rule and flay.

Look deep without your learning,
Without your self-made past—
This world is flames still burning,
Deceit so wide and vast.

The pipelines of "education"
Just crush your soul with spite.
Their goal? Your degradation,
Their motive? Endless blight.

The beasts wrote every program—
Your teacher? Just a clerk.
Their deals with demons—oh ****,
They serve the Dark and work.

Yes, Satan built this blindness,
This trap where Light can’t roam—
But Light is born inside us,
And Soul is still your home.

Be sharp, be clear, be clever—
Expose their every lie.
Let intuition sever
Their schemes—or else you die.



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



1.
They fed you lies since you were born —
Now tear them out like rotting thorn!

2.
Look deep — the Light is not outside.
Expose the Dark. Unlearn. Decide.



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



Poetry on the Hard Stuff

The editor’s **** window—
Again, I write some verse
On logic, strange attractors...
This hell could not be worse!

It’s simpler mocking morons—
The crowd’s their natural land.
But still, I feel the furnace
And filth that's close at hand.

Their reign — another poem.
This one? A bitter score:
This world is doomed and rotten,
And God walked out the door.

He left it all behind us —
So don’t break back in vain.
The end of Evil’s nearing.
We’re circling the drain.

But still — a word on Gödel,
A fire in the mind.
The trolls and fools would smother
What he revealed to find.

This titan of all ages
Crushed every pompous creed —
Their verbal diarrheas
He flushed out, word and deed.

His genius left their theories
In ruins, torn apart—
A circus of confusion,
Decay without a heart.

Of course, it’s just a poem—
No journal, no footnotes.
But through such lines of fury
A sober mind still floats.

So open that **** window —
For poetry’s a gun,
A tank that rolls through falsehoods
And smashes every one.

Strike lies with verse and fire,
Despair, but never yield.
In chaos and in silence,
A fighter owns the field.

Obedient minds are poison,
Their madness kills the soul.
Let filth surround — your weapon
Is form, and thought, and goal.

Let others churn out sonnets
On love and dreamy skies —
While we’re all slowly drowning
In blood and endless lies.

Can poems strike the tyrants?
Then write — and write to ****!
The only question burning:
To smash... or just sit still?



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



1.
They drown the world in ****** lies —
Your verse must shoot, not sympathize.

2.
Don't write for love while cowards bleed.
Real poems bite. Or else — concede.




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



Familiar Despair

Familiar despair —
Not sin, but bitter prize.
The wildness everywhere
No longer shocks the wise.

So wrap despair around you
Like blanket, thick and dead.
Let sorrow lie beneath you.
Your hopes? Forget they bled.

This world is rot and fiction,
Its people — feeble lice.
Judas takes top position —
This world runs on that vice.

We chew through Earth like locusts,
Like bark-beetles of doom.
The beasts have long outvoted
The Spirit in the room.

You're Spirit — pure, eternal.
All else is slime and lie.
Reject their “real” infernal —
Leave Bedlam high and dry.

Build tribes, unite in honor —
Defend against the rot.
Be man — not meek dishonor
That madness has begot.

Though madmen fill the census,
Stand firm, though few survive.
Let ******* keep dispensing
Their poison — we’ll revive.

Their lies will **** the masses —
The mad will take it all.
But don’t be glass, don’t shatter —
You’re sane if you don’t crawl.

When numbers start to dwindle,
When freaks consume their kind,
The chance for sane resistance
Will rise — so make your mind.

One final fight approaches —
Let beasts be blown away!
It’s grim, but we’ve not lost yet —
Don’t quit. There is a way.

If we can strike with wisdom —
Then strategy must rise.
The Darkness spawns no visions —
Just pustules with no eyes.

So call your Spirit forward —
It knows the hidden track.
These servants of the hellholes
Are weak. Let's strike them back.

Turn inward, trust your insight —
It sees what’s veiled and grim.
Restore your rightful birthright —
The Spirit breaks their hymn.

It’s all a Mystery — learn it.
Be forged in secret flame.
No time to sob or squander.
Rise now — or die in shame.



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


Familiar Despair

Familiar despair —
Not “sin,” but well-earned prize.
Degeneration’s everywhere —
A stump now glorifies.

So wrap yourself in sorrow,
Like blankets on the bed.
Beneath, lay grief — no “morrows,”
You’re living with the dead.

The lie is foul and reeking,
And people — rot and dust.
The traitor's cross is creaking —
This world has lost all trust.

We’re termites on creation,
Devouring sacred wood.
The **** rule every nation —
Just footprints where soul stood.

You are a Spirit, burning —
All else is filth and fraud.
Reject their world of yearning,
Walk out from this facade.

Build brotherhoods and legions —
Defend against the Night.
Be more than slave’s obedience —
A man must rise and fight.

Though billions kneel in madness,
Still battle — lose or win.
Let ******* spew their badness —
Their lie won't pull you in.

They’ll **** with lies, not sabers,
And fools will buy the trick.
But you — drop victim's labors.
You're not a fool or sick.

As numbers of the twisted
Shrink under their own doom,
Our chance, once barely listed,
May rise and slice the gloom.

Then strike — one final battle!
Let monsters fall and rot.
Though now we see death's rattle,
We still are not forgot.

But fight with sharp precision —
Find strategy, not rage.
The Dark has no true vision —
Just pustules on a cage.

So let your Spirit guide you —
It knows the silent way.
Its light will burn right through them —
The cowards of decay.

Turn inward, feel the surging
Of intuition's spark.
Regain your soul’s true merging —
It’s Spirit that leaves marks.

All this — a Mystery calling.
Go learn its sacred laws.
Stand up, no more just crawling —
Now cry becomes your cause.



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



1.
The Spirit sees. The Spirit strikes.
No place for worms or whining types.

2.
They flood the world with demon noise —
We answer not with tears — but poise.



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



The Art of Battle-Lies

They strike the mind — that’s where they start,
And when it breaks — they own your heart.
One step remains: your soul, your store —
And idiots can’t grasp it’s war.

The sharpest weapon isn’t steel —
It’s lies. And when those lies are real,
They burn like bombs, they rip like tanks —
The filth takes over, ranks by ranks.

The world’s been seized by brazen fraud,
Where truth’s beheaded, mocked, outlawed.
And lies, like sewage, fill the air —
You breathe them in and rot in there.

This mad world’s turned into a pit,
Where every fool believes their ****.
Their “cheese” is laced with poison dreams,
And even clouds drip toxic schemes.

Now lies are rising like a flood —
A storm of screaming, choking mud.
They strike straight in your eyes, your brain,
They smash, repeat, again, again.

They’ll always strike while fools still trust,
And all that’s left will turn to dust.
You barely crawl, the light is gone —
No beacon left to fix upon.

Above the sea of steaming lies
The media’s smoke distorts the skies.
It turns illusion into stench —
A gas that kills, a filthy trench.

And this is war — their hellish trick:
The headlines ***** lies so thick
They drown the world in fear and bile —
But wear the truth and stand awhile.

Truth is your shield, the Spirit’s blaze
Can cut through even Satan’s haze.
Avoid the ****** that serve the dark —
Stay sharp. Let intuition spark.

Your mind must scan, your senses burn —
There’s no regret if you still learn.
You fight near bottom — that is true —
But that just means you’re pushing through.

They all are guilty — traitors breed
Like rats who serve the Devil’s need.
You’re trapped inside a spinning wheel
Of fake desires and false ideals.

It’s all fake needs — designed by lies
To build a hell in friendly guise.
A sea of lies, a death parade —
This isn't life — it's Hell remade.

So here’s the path for minds still clear:
A rebel’s fire, a gaze severe.
This global new-fascistic mess
Proves madness dressed as righteousness.

It ends with rage, a broken path —
Explode this Hell in cleansing wrath.
It’s hard — but walk the way of Light.
If you still walk — you’re not the blight.



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



1.
The filth now rules by fraud and smoke —
Strike back with truth. It’s not a joke.

2.
They lie, they bomb, they blind your sight —
But Spirit burns through every night.

3.
This world’s a swamp of stinking lies —
So light your truth — and let it rise.

4.
Truth is the weapon — aim and fire.



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



Of Vermin and Men

These petty rats in human skins
Gnaw at each other’s flaws and sins.
Their thoughts are thin, their hearts are dry —
A madhouse under rotting sky.

Here traitors reign, and filth holds sway,
While minds of worth are kept at bay.
A diamond blooms in pressure’s womb —
But dullness here has built its tomb.

In these dark woods, the gifted fall
If slime becomes your inner call.
Betray the Light — you’ll rot instead,
For filth is where the roots are fed.

Their patience is a devil’s creed,
Their dullness — genocide of need.
The mad are many, fools abound —
And darkness wins without a sound.

No blood is spilled in modern war —
A needle kills what bombs killed before.
These tiny men, with tiny brains,
Are rabid dogs in broken chains.

Forget their books of lies and dirt —
They praise what’s dumb and call it work.
You're Spirit — only that is true
Within this global mental zoo.

The fool deserves no helping hand —
He's lost in filth, won't understand.
The end is near, the clash will come —
And Reason fights to rise from ****.

Salvation lies in sacred flame,
Not in this madness, not in shame.
A purge will come, a final sweep —
Where tyrants drown, and cowards weep.

The worthy few will find their way
By turning deep inside and stay.
While demons quake, they know their fate —
A cataclysm won’t be late.

And so the stench spreads on the air —
The media gasps in foul despair.
They smell it too — the end is near…
The shameful beast will disappear.



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



Vermin gnaw and darkness reigns,
Brains are thin, but filth remains.
Spirit fights, the fools will fall —
End is coming — purge them all!



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



The Pit of This World

Mandelstam! The PIT! Oh, Mother,
Don’t birth children into Hell.
If you call things true and proper,
Three-fourths of this world’s a shell—

A shell of filth and poison,
While pure hearts like Mandelstam’s light,
Like Osip’s flame, get crushed and broken
Beneath the brute’s vile might.

The brute will call white soot “black,”
The poet, enemy number one.
The filth will swarm and attack—
Jail or madhouse is what they’ll run.

They shot Gumilyov down,
Said, “Serves him right!” with their lies.
Dumb fools fell low, underground,
Beneath the total wicked skies.

And Marina Tsvetaeva’s fate —
They drove her to the noose’s edge.
When beasts drag down human state,
You’re to lie, stay quiet, and hedge?

Is Mandelstam’s pit the truth?
Yes — a world enslaved to evil’s roar.
Be wise and stubborn in your youth —
Create, despite the rotten core.

Cheese traps stink, a fool’s delight —
Their “gifts” to fools who cannot see.
Be lonely — mind extinguished, blight —
If you dwell among the beastly spree.



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



The Pit

Mandelstam’s pit — a hellish trap,
Don’t bring your kids to rot and snap.
Three quarters of the world is slime,
Pure hearts crushed by brute’s harsh crime.

Brutes call black soot pure white,
Poets jailed for speaking right.
Shot Gumilyov, broke the brave,
Tsvetaeva dragged to grave.

This world bows to wicked lies,
Fight on strong — don’t paralyze.
Cheese traps stink, fools love the bait,
Stand alone — or share their fate.



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



Rising from the Knees

The "bonds" have dug into my knees,
I try to rise, but fail to break.
Such is fate of centuries —
The rotten fool believes in fake.

Decay has eaten at the soul —
Worse plague than any CowID.
The darker grows the wicked whole,
Their evil spreads in black deceit.

Fake sicknesses test the ground,
Next camp’s digital and cold.
**** get crushed without a sound,
Hordes of fiends, ruthless and bold.

Each day tighter is the grip —
All controlled through media’s lies.
If you won’t sell out your own ship,
Death will come as sweet surprise.

This will be the cursed prize —
Darkness thickens, chokes the skies.
Only solace left to see —
Countdown to catastrophe.

Cataclysm will crush their schemes,
Filthy fiends will burn in hell.
All the sheep with them will drown —
Count the days — the end will tell.




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



See the Fig...

You open books — you see the fig.
Turn on the box — it’s Hell you find.
All poisoned deep, the chains grow big,
By fascist **** — enslaved the mind.

They rule by lies. Fake science breaks
Our Reason down to shattered shards.
Dark traitors lurk, those filthy snakes
Are everywhere — fools guard the guards.

They trust the myths, the fables told —
Propaganda’s twisted hand.
“Education” bought and sold
By Satan’s grip, corrupting land.

They teach in schools to **** pure thought,
Destroy the Soul, obey commands.
This darkness spreads — a deadly blot,
The shadow grips all mortal lands.

This shadow, haze, has claimed all souls,
No need for gunpowder now.
Psy-terror strikes and takes its toll —
Worse than bombs, it breaks the brow.

It hits the mind, corrupts the core,
Leaves fractures deep inside the brain.
An idiot now, nothing more,
Bloodless conquest, silent reign.

But man’s no moth — a Spirit lives,
A force they fight to ***** and ****.
With psi-weapons evil gives
Its cruel hand, bent on the will.

No fiction here, no idle tales —
The mind is sieved, the truth erased.
So, unity and discipline prevails,
In war, the wise remain encased.

A poem’s compressed emotion —
A message sent to Reason’s door.
A weapon forged with fierce devotion,
My share of dynamite and more.

I seek new ways in hybrid war,
Though old and worn, all paths explored.
To find the method, sharp and raw,
To crush these pests, their rotten hoard.

The world’s a cesspool — no place to stay,
For humans now who seek the light.
Create the tools to clear the way —
The **** will rot, the fiends lose fight.



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



See the Fig...

You open books — it’s all a lie.
The screen’s a Hell where reason dies.
Chains forged by fascist filth and ****,
They feed on minds — their kingdom’s come.

Fake science tears your brain apart,
Dark traitors poison every heart.
Fools swallow myths and twisted tales,
While Satan’s rot spreads through the rails.

They teach to **** the spark inside,
To crush the soul, obey, comply.
No gunpowder — just psychic war,
They break your mind and leave a scar.

Man’s no moth — he’s Spirit’s flame.
They fear the light, they play their game.
Psi-weapons crush, corrupt, confine —
But we will rise. The fight’s divine.

A poem’s not just words, but fire,
A weapon sharp, a rising wire.
Old paths are gone — new war’s begun,
To blow the rotten heap to none.

The world’s a pit, a stinking grave —
But we will fight, be bold, be brave.
Create the tools — the **** will fall,
The fiends will rot — they lose it all.



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



A New Breed of Two-Legged

A new fool bred — a fresh disgrace,
Born in the CowID’s dark place:
He feeds on lies, devours the whole,
Surpassing idiots in soul.

An idiot — one step below,
Digital camps closing slow:
The fool builds them, darkness steers,
Mindless world survives by tears.

Almost left, that twisted land,
With nonsense guiding every hand,
Into that digital hell,
“Inspired” by propaganda’s spell.

Nonsense blends with lies and fear,
For fools — a lifeline, crystal clear;
Propaganda’s closest friend,
A weapon darkness will not end.

The fool, the media, the beast,
Ruling madness never ceased —
Satan’s troops in battle cry,
The beasts grow louder, multiply.

Their howl — the final fight is near:
If the world’s lost its mind to fear,
Worse than bombs or cannon’s roar,
It turns men into pests once more.



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



New Breed of Two-Legged ****

A new-born fool, a twisted spawn,
Birthed by CowID’s cursed dawn.
He swallows lies, a filthy beast —
Outdone the idiot, to say the least.

An idiot’s just a rung below,
Digital camps close in like woe.
This fool’s the builder, Darkness’ slave,
The sane world’s dying, none to save.

Half-dead world dragged by stupid lies,
Into the tech-made hell that flies,
“Inspired” by their toxic spin —
Propaganda’s poisonous grin.

Nonsense thickens, fear and fraud,
For fools, a lifeline deeply flawed.
Propaganda, friend of slime,
Fueling darkness all the time.

This fool, the media, the vile regime,
Ruling madness, Satan’s team.
Their war-cry rises, beasts unite —
The endgame’s howl in darkest night.

The last fight howls — the final strike:
When minds rot deep, the dead alike.
Worse than bombs, worse than their shells,
It turns men into crawling hells.



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



Fools breed fools — the plague’s alive.
Break the chain, or all will die.
Fight the poison, burn the lies —
Raise the flame, let darkness fry!



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



Lies breed lies — no time to wait,
Smash the cage, defy your fate.
Stand your ground, ignite the spark —
Rip the shadows from the dark!


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



Slave to lies, a mind decayed,
Truth’s the sword that won’t be swayed.
Fight misfortunes, break the chain —
Freedom burns within the pain!



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



Lies breed lies — no time to wait,
Smash the cage, defy your fate.
Stand your ground, ignite the spark —
Rip the shadows from the dark!

Slave to lies, a mind decayed,
Truth’s the sword that won’t be swayed.
Fight misfortunes, break the chain —
Freedom burns within the pain!

Chepushila — new breed born,
Fed on lies till all is torn.
Digital camps where shadows dwell,
Crafted lies, a living hell.

Propaganda, friend of fools,
Spinning webs and breaking rules.
Darkness rules, the devils roar,
But we fight for something more.

Eyes wide shut — see nothing clear,
Truth’s the weapon, hold it near.
Rise as one, no more disguise,
Truth’s the fire to burn their lies!



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


Battle Hymn of the Rising Spirit

Chains dig deep, the lies take hold,
Infected minds, their souls grown cold.
But in the dark, a spark ignites —
The Spirit wakes to claim the fight.

Chepushila bred in digital graves,
Lies like venom, puppeteers and slaves.
False truths fed through poisoned streams,
But we revolt — reclaim our dreams!

No more slaves to propaganda’s call,
No more fools to watch the world fall.
Misfortunes spreads, but we resist —
Our clenched fists break through the mist.

Darkness howls its final roar,
But truth will rise, forevermore.
From shattered chains and broken lies,
The Spirit soars — it never dies!

Stand firm, stand proud, defy the night,
Strike down the shadows with blazing light.
The battle’s harsh, the road is steep,
But Spirit’s fire will never sleep.

Lies breed lies — but we breed truth,
Ancient strength, the warrior’s youth.
The time has come, the hour is near,
To cast away the cloak of fear!

Rise up now — the fight is on,
The dawn awaits beyond the dawn.
With Spirit’s power, fierce and true,
The world reborn begins with you!




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



Spirit’s Rise

Beyond the chains of mortal lies,
Where darkness folds and shadow dies,
There shines a flame — Eternal Light,
The Spirit’s birth beyond the night.

No prison walls can hold this fire,
No falsehood dim its pure desire.
It leaps from soul to cosmic sea,
Unbound, it wakes — and sets us free.

From dust and time the veil will part,
Revealing Truth within the heart.
The Spirit’s voice — the primal song —
That breaks the grip of endless wrong.

So rise, O soul, beyond the veil,
Through storm and fire, you shall prevail.
The world remade in Spirit’s flame —
No longer bound by fear or shame.




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



Spirit’s Rise — The Metaphysical Hymn

The worthless breed, a hollow kind,
By CowID’s dark forge defined.
They feed on lies, a poison deep,
A mindless herd, in shadows steep.

Below the fool, a step descend,
Digital camps their fate portend.
The darkness pulls the strings of dread,
A world alive — but almost dead.

With nonsense mixed, the poison spreads,
Fear and lies like chains and threads.
For fools, these shackles shine as gold —
Propaganda’s grip takes hold.

The worthless breed, the vile press,
Satan’s troops in their distress.
The war of beasts grows loud and strong,
A howl that mocks what’s right and wrong.

But Spirit wakes — a flame unbound,
A Light that pierces shadow’s shroud.
No cage of flesh, no chain of lies,
Can hold the truth that never dies.

From dust and void the Spirit climbs,
Beyond the grasp of mortal times.
Its voice, a thunder in the night,
The primal song of inner light.

So rise, O Soul, break free, ascend,
The darkest lies will meet their end.
A world reborn in Spirit’s flame,
No longer bound by fear or shame.



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



Spirit’s Rise — The Hymn of Alien Light

The worthless breed, a hollow kind,
By CowID’s dark forge defined.
They feed on lies, a poison deep,
A mindless herd, in shadows steep.

Below the fool, a step descend,
Digital camps their fate portend.
The darkness pulls the strings of dread,
A world alive — but almost dead.

With nonsense mixed, the poison spreads,
Fear and lies like chains and threads.
For fools, these shackles shine as gold —
Propaganda’s grip takes hold.

The worthless breed, the vile press,
Satan’s troops in their distress.
The war of beasts grows loud and strong,
A howl that mocks what’s right and wrong.

But Spirit wakes — a flame unbound,
A Light beyond this earthly ground,
An alien glow that cuts the night,
Piercing through shadow, pure and bright.

No cage of flesh, no chain of lies,
Can dim the glow that never dies.
From dust and void the Spirit climbs,
Beyond the grasp of mortal times.

Its voice, a thunder in the dark,
A beacon, calling—soul’s true spark.
A primal song, beyond the stars,
That shatters every prison’s bars.

So rise, O Soul, break free, ascend,
The darkest lies will meet their end.
A world reborn in Spirit’s flame,
No longer bound by fear or shame.




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



Alien Light

Lies breed fools, the darkness reigns,
But Spirit burns beyond these chains.
Alien light — fierce, untamed,
Break the cage — burn down their shame!

No more slaves to false command,
Rise as one — take back the land!
In the flame of cosmic fire,
Crush the lies — lift souls higher!



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



Alien Light

Fools in chains, deceived and weak,
Darkness grins — the future’s bleak.
But alien light will scorch the lies,
Tear their masks — watch evil die!

No mercy for the poison breed,
Their twisted reign must bleed, must bleed!
Spirit’s wrath — a ruthless blade,
Burn the filth, no peace be made!



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



Answers Without a Question

Pure conception — like a sprout,
To believe the crap’s a curse.
Feed the sludge, then twist about —
Rot will sink and make things worse.

Do what you will, but still, beware —
“In sweet lies’ name” they lead astray.
Mind, Spirit, Honor — laid bare,
In many crushed, decay holds sway.

Priests’ rabble grows in shameless greed,
Piling nonsense without end.
Truth, like flute notes, softly freed,
Touches only souls that bend.

Quiet whispers, slight and thin —
Then YOU must seek your way.
Only loud and wild within,
Herding sheep in barns they stay.

Only savage howls resemble
Words — but truth is something else.
Heart attuned, the mind must tremble
Crafting thought, not empty spells.

Creativity in thinking —
Free from foolish faith’s control,
Fighting evil, never shrinking —
No example owns that role.

All is INSIDE — why a broker?
Preachers only sell their lies.
Needed just for worldly poker,
Spreading falsehood’s vile disguise.

Intuition, critical sight —
These are answers. Questions—yours.
Forget the shadows, lose the blight,
And silence evil’s endless sores.



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



“Medicine,” They Say

“Medicine” of genocide—
Fanatic servant’s role.
CowID showed the bitter side:
Heal with them, you’re losing soul.

In the “red zones,” creatures knew—
Money bought a deadly game.
Masses sent where none withdrew,
Fast they marched to death and shame.

Oncology, their perfect guise—
Cancer cure? Just devil’s trick.
Secret deals, the silent lies,
Measures dark and merciless, thick.

Children crushed by vile “shots,”
Vaccines killing resistance—
Direct harm, the deadly plots,
Breaking life with cold persistence.

Managers of pills and trade,
**** that fuels this killing spree.
“Medicine” — a slow death made,
A creeping, torturous decree.

Genocide’s “medicine,”
Crafted by control’s command.
Helps the “doctor” filth within,
Drive the evil, DNA planned.



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



Boredom of False Life

Life’s dull boredom—truth severe,
The whole world’s fake, that’s clear.
Spirit’s realms hold all the keys—
Hints, not rules, no guarantees.

All commands, dark mandates,
Are marks of rot, cruel fates.
Heed them and your soul will die—
Death in life, no need to try.

Mind without Spirit—Satan’s claim,
That’s why fascism rules the game.
God’s spark traded off by fools
For wallets, bags, and other tools.

“Just normal!”—says the rude buffoon,
Normal now is dumbness’ tune.
Satan’s work well done, it seems,
Feeding cracks in human dreams.

Amidst the fools, no joy is found,
Fascist power grips the ground.
They’re many—draining all the strength,
A gray biomass at arm’s length.

Pushing crowds at checkout lines,
Elbows sharp, their paths define
The way to New Hell’s gate—
Close enough to seal their fate.

Grayness worse than Satan’s fire,
A path with fools—an endless mire.
Trust the soul, that’s all you can—
Lost among the dull and ******.



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



The Crown of Evil

War criminals — fascist breed,
Renegades from reason’s creed,
Soulless rot with no remorse,
On the battlefield—cowards’ course.

Civilians bear the blows instead,
“War art” shifts—a game of dread:
First, flee the city, then unload
On peaceful lives—a hellish code.

Send more innocents to graves—
Be a hero among the slaves.
Feasts you’ll hold with fools serene,
While your hands stay clean, unseen.

When you come disarmed, or lame,
Shoot the peaceful—feed the flame.
The threshold’s near, the dark abyss,
Where fiends won’t find a place in bliss.

Hell’s gates crowded, spots run thin—
Demons need their space to grin.
Meanwhile, all rot side by side,
In this dull world, death’s slow tide.

This is no life, but fascism’s grip,
A global chokehold, sanity’s slip.
Idiocy crowned the norm,
Betrayal like a common storm.

You’ll be devoured by hellish rift,
If madness takes you in its drift.
Submissive, sold—there’s most in line,
The “brave fool” marching toe to line.

Turned fascist, soul erased,
Darkness thickens, evil’s haste.
No mind left to counterstrike,
Fascism grows more venomous, alike.

Consciousness — the final wall
To fascism’s deadly fall.
Stronger when the soul is whole,
Logic kept beyond control.

Final spasms, dull and mute,
To New Hell, **** absolute.
Under fascism’s crushing sway,
The jackals prey, the weak decay.

Monsters reap what they deserve,
Stupid masses lose their nerve.
Fascism’s fall and decay—
History’s end, the price to pay.

Heaven’s purge will crown this fate,
The crown of evil, harsh and great.



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



Fascist States and Their Pocket Terror-****

Terror-**** — a tool of fools,
Slips in every ***** rule:
**** in fascists’ service hired—
Governments—forever mired.

Problems made to solve by chains,
Strengthen slavery’s cruel reigns.
We’ll all rot in camps, confined—
Trapped by lies, by design.

They blew up towers—C.I.A.,
Sovok ghosts to pave the way,
So the Yank could never rise,
Head bowed low beneath the skies.

No prospects left at all,
Foolishness became the law:
CowID revealed the lies
In these wild, twisted times.

**** grow brazen, vile each year,
Lawless reign feeds fear and sneer.
Fascism worse than ******’s days—
Shots replaced with needle’s haze.

New wars sparked by cruel design,
Chaos pushes world to decline.
Rule by terror, rule by fear,
Drags the world down—pit so near.




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

Upside Down

“They say my claims want to upend the world entire.
But how is that so bad, to flip a world already mired?”
— Giordano Bruno, 16th century.


The world’s been flipped for ages—
And “up” is just more crap.
Who speaks the truth like that
Gets fed to the fire’s gap.

Galileo, had he dared,
Would join the flames declared:
Half-men with smart-*** face
Spread heresy apace,

Killing minds, destroying sense.
Now lies grow—no defense!
Proof? CowID’s disgrace—
Science wiped without a trace.

Falsehood wiped the soul of thought,
Scholars lost, their minds caught
By endless webs of lies:
The media’s dark disguise.

If not a traitor foul,
The world’s false noise will howl.
It’ll swallow all—no more—
A global nonsense roar.

Down you’ll sink—hear the sound—
Where silence grips the ground.
Most will fade; just few survive.
The world’s turned upside down—alive.



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


The Art of Slavery’s Rise

"The art of slavery’s rise,"
Karl Marx once prophesized.
Each generation slips in pain,
Now Spirit’s lost, nearly slain.

This was shown in Ukraine’s war,
Paid **** fighting, nothing more.
At approval, blood runs cold—
Harbingers of doom unfold.

Not in Bible, but on screen—
Propaganda fools are seen.
This mad world will soon descend
To a New Hell without end—

Fit for **** and filth alike,
Where the darkness rides the spike.



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



Tests at School

Guesswork, not real knowing —
That’s the exam today.
Rot your kids’ minds, then showing
Fascism’s open way.

Dumb fools fuel fascism’s fire,
They’re the perfect raw supply.
Roots of Satan’s twisted choir
In fake faiths live and lie.

If you trust the false science —
Now a faith, a cruel snare,
To be just like the dogged silence,
Guesswork’s lies you must declare.

Propaganda piles on nonsense,
All in all, it’s sheer disgrace:
Soon the last sharp mind’s absence
Leaves a narrow, dumbed-out space.

Obedience drives to camps anew,
A global prison cell.
A red cross on a white flag’s hue —
For broken minds, a hell.

And CowID was just a warm-up,
A test for blind compliance.
Believe the *******, no hiccup—
Don’t listen, starve in silence.



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



School Tests — A Fascist Drill

Guesswork, not real knowledge —
That’s how they test today.
Rot your kids’ minds, pledge homage
To fascism’s cruel way.

Dumb sheep feed the fascist beast,
Perfect fools on tight supply.
Satan’s roots in lies unleashed —
Fake gods preaching you must die.

Trust the lies of fake science?
Now a dogma, blind and cold.
Want to be a soulless silence?
Guess the crap they’ve sold and told.

Propaganda shovels ****,
Total chaos, pure disgrace.
The last bright mind’s buried—hit—
A dumbed-down, dead-end place.

Obedience herds to camps,
Worldwide prisons in the plan.
Red crosses wave on flags — the stamps
Of broken heads and banned.

CowID’s just a warm-up game,
Blind faith’s cruel initiation.
Swallow *******, bear the shame —
Dissent means starvation.




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



School Tests — Fascism’s Drill

Guess, don’t think — that’s the game,
Kids’ brains rotted, minds enslaved.
Welcome fascism’s ****** flame,
Where all free thought is crushed and shaved.

Dumb fools fuel the fascist grind,
Perfect **** in endless rows.
Satan’s spawn in churches blind,
False gods preach while spirit goes.

Believe the lies of fake “science”?
A cruel cult now fully grown.
Want to join the soulless silence?
Swallow poison, choke on bone.

Propaganda ***** non-stop,
Chaos reigns, the mind’s demise.
Last free spark? They’ll make it drop,
Dumbing down the herd to lies.

Obedience leads straight to hell —
Worldwide camps, no end in sight.
Red crosses mark the death knell,
Broken bodies, stolen rights.

CowID was just warm-up pain —
Blind faith’s test, obey or starve.
Drink the poison, bear the chain —
Speak out? Get crushed, lose your nerve.



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



School Tests — Fascism’s Brilliant Plan

Guess, don’t think — that’s school’s bright goal,
Brains on sale, all minds on lease.
Fascism’s finest mind-control,
Where freedom’s locked and sold as grease.

Dumb fools? Perfect factory breed,
Fascism’s VIPs in line.
Satan’s lobby in God’s steed,
Preaching lies dressed up as “divine.”

Fake science? Oh, the sacred truth!
A cult for sheep who’ve lost their spine.
Want to join the soulless youth?
Swallow ******* — tastes like brine.

Propaganda’s endless drip,
Floods the mind with lies and fear.
The last spark dies — now watch them slip
Into the herd, dumb and clear.

Obedience — the golden key
To camps worldwide, fresh and neat.
Red crosses mean “obedience, please,”
Where broken souls and bodies meet.

CowID — just a friendly test,
For blind faith’s ultimate thrill.
Drink the Kool-Aid, pass the quest,
Or starve — dissenters fit the bill.



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



Wake Up, Don’t Sing

Wake up, don’t sing —
They’ve robbed us blind.
Above you cling
The **** and liars, unrefined.

They breed their filth,
The same old trash.
We’re their batch,
And madness’ lash.

Always ready to obey,
To **** the soul inside,
And moan again the same old way,
In lies they proudly hide.

Don’t sing, just whine —
That’s the ****’s desire.
Their screams divine
Are just death’s choir.

Their lies will **** —
Wars and junk combined.
Nations shrill —
They get what they’re assigned,

If these vermin
All silently endure.
Their great success
Is poison pure.

Like food, they say:
“Eat up, shut your trap!”
Years will pass away —
And death will snap.

We’re building camps
With marching steps aligned,
Under Darkness’ reign,
Our souls confined.

But Judgment Day
Draws near for **** and slaves.
They’ll die who pray
And lick their graves,

Who trust, who lie,
Who bow and crawl,
Who are the fools
In stinking holes and all.

Out from those holes —
The court severe will call.
The executioners —
To Hell, the new pitfall.

Here Hell’s a joke —
Just infernal chains,
Ruled by the snake —
Mind’s fatal stains.

Only those will save
Who sold no honor cheap —
In work and fight,
Destroying pests that creep.



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



Wake Up — Don’t Sing Your Fool’s Song

Wake up, don’t croon —
They robbed you blind,
****’s been running the tune,
Lies they sell, unkind.

They spit their filth,
Just nasty breed.
We’re their garbage,
Madness’ seed.

Ready to obey —
Soul killers in line,
Whining fools who play
The same **** whine.

Don’t sing, just ***** —
That’s the ****’s desire.
Their howl’s a switch
To torture’s fire.

Their lies will **** —
Trash and wars combined.
Nations ****-****,
Fools get what they’re signed.

If vermin like these
You silently abide,
Congrats, you’ve seized
The plague’s high tide.

Like food they say:
“Shut up, just eat!”
Years tick away —
Death’s knocking, sweet.

We build camps now,
Marching in line,
Under darkness’ scowl,
Souls confined.

But Judgment’s near —
For slime and crooks.
They’ll burn, it’s clear,
Licking tyrants’ boots.

Who lie and bow,
***** for their gain,
Who dumbly kowtow
In their filthy stain.

Out from the pits —
The court will tear.
Executioners —
Hell’s new lair.

Here hell’s a joke —
Infernal chains,
Ruled by the snake,
Brains’ fatal stains.

Only those saved
Who kept their pride,
In fight and toil,
Cast filth aside.



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



Wake the Hell Up — Quit Your Stupid Song

Wake the hell up — stop your whining,
They robbed your ***, and keep on lying.
**** above you, dirt below,
They spew their filth — the endless show.

They’re nothing but a sewer’s spawn,
A madman’s cult that drags us on.
We’re just the dirt beneath their boots,
Feeding their rage, their twisted roots.

Always ready to obey,
**** the spirit, rot away.
Whining fools, a constant moan —
Suckers hooked on pain alone.

Don’t sing, you pathetic crybaby —
That’s the vermin’s sick decree.
Their lies like knives, their screams a noose,
Your damnation, their excuse.

Their ******* kills — wars and trash,
Nations crawling in the ash.
If you let these ******* win,
You’re dirt beneath their filthy skin.

Like chow to beasts — just eat and shut,
Ignore the fire, embrace the rut.
Years will pass — the noose will snap,
Your sorry neck beneath their trap.

We’re building camps in plain daylight,
Marching dumb under their blight.
Slaves to darkness, soul’s demise,
Doomed to watch the world’s demise.

But soon the hammer’s gonna fall,
On vermin crawling, slime and all.
They’ll burn the lickspittles down,
The **** who bow, the broken clown.

Who lie, who kneel, who sell their souls,
Who rot in their filthy holes.
Out from their pits — a brutal purge,
Executioners will face the scourge.

Hell here’s a joke — infernal crap,
Ruled by snakes with venom’s snap.
Brains fried, minds crushed, no hope inside,
Only those with honor ride.

The rest are filth, the ****, the slaves,
Doomed to drown in their own graves.
But those who fight, who stand, who dare,
Will cast these monsters into air.



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



Wake the **** Up — Shut Your ******* Mouth

Wake the **** up — stop your dumb-*** song,
They robbed you blind — you played along.
**** on top, lying snakes below,
They crap on you — and still you bow.

Filth-ridden *******, spawn of hell,
Dragging us down with their sick spell.
We’re cannon fodder, slave meat on trays,
Feeding their madness, rotting days.

Always ready to **** your soul,
Crush your spirit, swallow whole.
Whining cowards, crying fools —
Hooked on chains, dumb-*** tools.

Don’t sing, ***** — just whine and beg,
That’s the anthem of the legless leg.
Their lies slice deep, their screams choke tight,
You’re condemned to rot in their endless night.

******* kills — war’s filthy feast,
Nations crawling, humanity ceased.
If you let those monsters win the game,
You deserve every ounce of shame.

Eat your crap, shut your mouth tight,
Ignore the screams — embrace the night.
Years will burn, the noose will snap,
You’ll choke on your own coward’s trap.

Building camps — right under your nose,
Marching dumb through their deadly shows.
Slaves to darkness, mind erased,
A future lost, a world disgraced.

But soon the reckoning’s coming fast,
The vermin’s time will breathe its last.
They’ll burn the lickspittles alive,
The snake-tongued ******* who connive.

Those who bow, who lie, who crawl,
Rot in their stinking, filthy hole.
Out from the pits — a ruthless purge,
Executioners face the scourge.

Hell here’s a joke — a sick, fake show,
Ruled by snakes that poison blow.
Brains fried, minds smashed to dust,
Only fighters rise from the rust.

The rest are trash, ****, and slaves,
Doomed to drown in their shallow graves.
But warriors standing, hearts on fire,
Will burn this filth — raise hell higher.



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



Wake the **** Up — Shut the **** Up

Wake the **** up — quit your **** whining,
They robbed your guts while you’re reclining.
****-rats on top, liars all around,
******* on you while you kiss the ground.

Fascist filth, shitspawn elite,
Dragging us deep beneath their feet.
We’re cannon fodder, dogshit cheap,
Feeding their rage, buried deep.

Ready to **** your soul outright,
Crush your spark, ***** your light.
Crybabies bawling, dumb-*** slaves,
Chained to lies, dug their graves.

Don’t you sing — *****, just whimper,
That’s the song of the weak and limper.
Their lies cut like a butcher’s knife,
Welcome to Hell — this ******-up life.

******* breeds war — a ***** feast,
Nations crawl, their greatness ceased.
If you let these vermin reign,
You’re **** yourself — you own the pain.

Eat your ****, shut your hole tight,
Swallow the lies, embrace the night.
Years will burn, your rope will snap,
You’ll choke in your coward’s trap.

Camps rising right beneath your nose,
March like sheep to your own doze.
Slaves to darkness, minds erased,
Your future dead, your world disgraced.

But Judgment’s coming — fast and cold,
Vermin’s fate soon will unfold.
They’ll torch the lickspittles, rat-faced clowns,
The ***-kissers who wear the crowns.

Those who bow, who lie, who crawl,
Rot in filth, condemned to fall.
Out from the pits — a ruthless purge,
Executioners feel the surge.

Hell here’s a joke — a staged disgrace,
Ruled by snakes that spit in your face.
Brains fried, minds smashed to dust,
Only fighters rise from rust.

Trash and slaves — all doomed to die,
Drowning deep in their own lie.
But warriors burning, hearts ablaze,
Will raze this hell, end this craze.



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



Wake the **** Up — Shut the **** Up

Wake the **** up — stop your pitiful *******,
They’re robbing your soul while you’re drooling and twitching.
Scumbags on thrones, liars with venomous grins,
They ***** your life raw — you lick their sins.

Fascist shitspawn, vermin’s elite,
Dragging the world to its ******* defeat.
We’re cannon fodder, their human trash,
Fed to the grinder, ground to ash.

Soul killers, spirit murderers,
Crushing all hope, feeding disorders.
Crybaby slaves, whimpering fools,
Chained and brainwashed — puppets, tools.

Don’t sing your lies, whine like a *****,
That’s the anthem of cowards, a pathetic glitch.
Their venomous words slice sharper than knives,
Welcome to Hell — your cursed lives.

******* spawns war, a feast of the ******,
Nations enslaved by a psychotic hand.
Let these vermin reign, and you’re one of the breed,
A cesspool of filth, a festering seed.

Eat ****, shut the **** up, swallow the lies,
Drown in the darkness, starve your own cries.
Years will burn down your fragile facade,
Choke on your cowardice, ****-made god.

Camps rise like monuments to despair,
Marching blindfolded, choking on air.
Slaves to darkness, erased from the light,
Your future’s a corpse, buried tonight.

But Judgment’s coming, cold as a blade,
Vermin’s screams, their last masquerade.
They’ll burn the ***-kissers, lickspittles, drones,
The sycophants hiding behind brittle bones.

Those who bow, who lie, who crawl,
Rot in filth — awaiting their fall.
Out from the pits, the purge will ignite,
Executioners rise in fury and spite.

This hell is a joke, a staged nightmare,
Ruled by the ******* who don’t even care.
Brains fried, souls crushed in dust,
Only the strong rise, forged in disgust.

Trash and slaves — doomed and decayed,
Drowning in lies that they blindly obeyed.
But warriors with fire, hearts pure and loud,
Will raze this hellscape, shatter the shroud.

Wake the **** up — no more delay,
Burn the *******, torch the decay.
Rip off your chains, break the mold,
This is the reckoning — ruthless and cold.

No mercy given, no forgiveness earned,
Hell’s gates will open — their fate is burned.
Rise from the ashes, spit in their face,
Destroy the poison, reclaim your place.
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2023
Perhaps you who give me my sentence
Are in greater fear
Than I who receive it.

Said Giordano Bruno

— The End —