~ Aurora Borealis

Under the arch of a starry sky
With a temperature well below zero
I touched your soul with my warm hands
Like an round aura, you reflected the universe
Of our love...

A labyrinth of roads that lead
In stardust, your thoughts whirl as
Small particles, and with pure reflection
My Aurora Borealis you're so beautiful, robust
And longing…

I take you into my warm cabin
Where we drink hot chocolate
The icicles are in your unshaven beard
I find you charming with your red hands
I'll warm you up…

The cold wind makes cracking our wooden hut
And along the windows shrilled the sound
In contrast with our warm fireplace
The crackling of the wood is divine
I look at you…

My Aurora Borealis, you are so handsome
With your thick winter coat still on,
As purple and green sparks reach our
Living room, where your dark hair glistens
I kiss you…

It will never be really dark
In days of love, where light shines
And see your reflection sparkle
Where I could rest by your presence
I am with you…


~ Elisa Laura


© 2012 E. L.

BENEATH the flat and paper sky
The sun, a demon's eye,
Glowed through the air, that mask of glass;
All wand'ring sounds that pass

Seemed out of tune, as if the light
Were fiddle-strings pulled tight.
The market-square with spire and bell
Clanged out the hour in Hell;

The busy chatter of the heat
Shrilled like a parakeet;
And shuddering at the noonday light
The dust lay dead and white

As powder on a mummy's face,
Or fawned with simian grace
Round booths with many a hard bright toy
And wooden brittle joy:

The cap and bells of Time the Clown
That, jangling, whistled down
Young cherubs hidden in the guise
Of every bird that flies;

And star-bright masks for youth to wear,
Lest any dream that fare
--Bright pilgrim--past our ken, should see
Hints of Reality.

Upon the sharp-set grass, shrill-green,
Tall trees like rattles lean,
And jangle sharp and dissily;
But when night falls they sign

Till Pierrot moon steals slyly in,
His face more white than sin,
Black-masked, and with cool touch lays bare
Each cherry, plum, and pear.

Then underneath the veiled eyes
Of houses, darkness lies--
Tall houses; like a hopeless prayer
They cleave the sly dumb air.

Blind are those houses, paper-thin
Old shadows hid therein,
With sly and crazy movements creep
Like marionettes, and weep.

Tall windows show Infinity;
And, hard reality,
The candles weep and pry and dance
Like lives mocked at by Chance.

The rooms are vast as Sleep within;
When once I ventured in,
Chill Silence, like a surging sea,
Slowly enveloped me.

A yellow jacket
Pulsed while scaling candied ham
Then braced, sawed a piece
Away it swayed amongst oaks
Cicadas shrilled loud and hot

Creased felines crossing lines,
Pressing claws into dust.
Western hemisphere,
Reviving the pilgrimage.

Bubbles and logs
Satiate their under garments.
Enhancing hair follicles
Resembling shards and spurs.

At a woodsy bar,
A tabby liberated the fangs
He rented last holiday.
The bartender shook with perplexity.

Reacting simultaneously-
A minor character, Little Leon.
The dusty town called him
Leon, for he was alone.

Little Leon got taller
In a basement full
Of water. The dusty town
Was an adjustment.

The tabby and Little Leon
Faced off for recognition.
Leon wretchedly charged
The floor boards with sopping ends.

Crayon versus colored pencil;
They chose their weapons
Anxiously.  It was
Bring your son to work day.

The bent bartender
Spared his child’s eyes.
“I’m not your little boy,”
The child shrilled at him.

“I don’t want trains,
Or fake guns meant for play.
I miss my mom,
And dresses on Sunday.”

Cats on a pilgrimage,
Rarely stop from
Slurping a drink. Pity refilled
Cups, as tails twitched in trial.

The tabby and Leon
Came to a halt, seeing as
Punishment was engraved atop
The bartender’s grungy mitts.

The clowder gathered,
As the Tabby scolded the man
Behind the bar. “Remember where
you leave your beverage.”

And that was that.

Leon’s internal complexity,
Being left with only himself,
Dissipated. There are others
Who feel more alone.

Tabby picked up his crayon.
His spurs clanked
And spun, as his guided
His feline friends out the front.

Tumbleweed skidded
Outside the bar.
The bartender finally saw
That his son was not a son.

princess blood cult
throne of tethers
rumor's of frazzle drip murders
and blood spatters
on a bed of grinning hooks

X
marks the *******
she bled they fed
in love in bed

torn dress and flutter ******
form her squandered torso
as bare feet dangled
while skies shrieked knotted eyes
watching her get it hard

wet **** drunk
she tumbled
in this little black house of madness
****** her in a sack of sins
while **** buckarooed  
in a wood shed paradise

welcoming death by sexicide
she backstroked head over heels
exposed
flirting in the graveyard hacked and black

beckoning orchards that
caressed her by squirming *****

she adored the mole that snuggled her
while thighs shuddered with anticipation
hurricane tongued
she licked grinning *****
for pudenda's pillow
shimmed black light disco daggers
down her lips
to ****
to thighs
to drooling
raw lips

her ****
like a shucked oyster

whimpering disciple
of enticing wounds
bloom in gloom
she tasted like taffy panicked *******

erotomaniac
from head
to lips
to feet
chanting squeals
of infernal opera
in the throws of blood *******
and weeping barbarous 
stammer
beezel blaba blaba
Beelzebub

her body stained labyrinth floors
in soiled cathedrals of desire
while growing phantasm babies
he whispered death music
in grottos of legs over head
that made her hotter than
boiled fish eyes

chopped her in two
she  squirmed
shivering inkblots of madness
cu cu cu cu cu cu
*******

swing the scythe
and
get the knife
she shrilled

pump the ****
split the bone
smudge the lips
spit and blood
moon eyes turn blood gauze
and heads swivels hula

the **** yields
a spooled mouth contortion

her *** crack
a smile of accomplishment
and tormented ballet feet
stretched tickle toes
for heavens edge

she panted rolling away dark air
in an uneasy creeping
and widened thighs
she lost her head
like a chopped carrot
for the miracle of oblivion

you could hear the last thump
falling as silence falls

she spread like bat a wing umbrella

It rained again last night
The flooded trenches alive with rats
Behind us pigs from destroyed farms
Feast on the bodies of French long dead
Shell fire ceaseless
Machine guns sing, men die
Yes men die
Just a mile away, a gentle *****
Leads to Pachendale ridge
Just a gentle walk in peacetime
With slow meandering streams
I am long since dead, destroyed by
Shot and shell
I gave my life for you my love
For you, for you not for my country that I fell
Out lads out and the whistles shrilled
Out lad out 'this your time to be killed
Robots of old, numbed, scrambled minds
We left the safety of this place
Into the holocaust of *******
To be mangled and destroyed by burning
Shot and shell
Keep going boys, keep going
There's just a mile to cross
But a mile of mud and devils hell
And for every yard a man was lost
Cleanly killed by the bullets bite!!!!
If he was lucky yes
But more likely to drown in mud and blood
As the gory shell hole ****** him down

Ypres 1915

I saw not the moon

She loved me never

Lumpen rock

I saw not.

The moon and how
High out of song
She shrilled-

The lying moon

In the dark of night wind shrilled
he had to let go of the terror of which he was filled
soon came sun, ready to steal the spotlight
she danced and beamed, she was a delight
and wind accepted this defeat, he let his fear be stilled

late Sunday afternoon
we walked on the edge of
the cricket shrilled
emerald pond

heavenward, the chimney wood smoke
curled in the near distant air,
we talked in softness
so nothing felt disturbed
just the moving of our bodies,
lovers mirrored
on a Sunday afternoon

PorcelainTears [Anna-Maria]
December 19, 2020

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                       At Noon, After Mowing

I sat in the shade and mended a hose
A water hose whose fittings had parted ways
And on the grass some mockingbirds and jays
Argued and shrilled – but why? Nobody knows

I cut away the plastic (hecho en China)
And fitted brass (hecho en Mexico)
For repairs that is the best way to go
To make a hose secure – what could be finer?

And what could be finer than to sit a while
In the dreaming shade? Yes, that’s my style!

I had a dream
Unbeknownst to me.

As I dreamt the school day ended
The bell shrilled
Beckons to freedom
Ready to head home
Laid my backup next to me
Settle in ready to depart
Until they called

"Karen we need a pic or it didn't happen"
Try to say "No, no I'm camera shy"
"Not to worry it just our white shoes in a circle, no one will ever know"

And so the camera did blink
Trap the moment for all eternity

Just as soon I did regret it
For my bus went on its path
En route as is its routine
And it sure did not wait for one or me

Although I did try
My feet thud along the pavement
Hands outreach
Yelling for it to stop
With no success

All my hopes and dream leaving me all safely inside that zipped cozy backpack of mine

Which just keeps getting further away from me its true destiny. The destination of my arms

And so in my tracks I did stop
Disappointment overwhelming me
What to do
What to do?

Call for help
Pray family comes through

Call anyone that comes to mind
Only one did pick up
Such a surprise that it was my tío Oblin 
But that doesn't change the fact of how huge the blessing was as I pray for help to come

As he arrive a friend in need, needs a ride.  
"Can she come? As she also lost" I say
Tío Oblin replies with a nod and so we go

We wait at quick stop to his house
Me filled with worry asking for relief
Amanda sensed my distress

In a hushed tone
"Just between us"
As she passed me her blunt
Take two puffs

Gotta hide the smoke
"Roll the windows down, tío Oblin can't know doesn't trust the stuff"
She laughed, soft
But roll the windows down she did

Had a plan- beat the bus, get my bag
Tío Oblin said "There might be a chance"

Going too fast
But still not fast enough
Must take a shortcut
Over the river
As the car lifted over water

For sure thought we were done
My life will end among family and a friend
Gravity is gonna sink the car down
We will drown

"Not to worry our velocity keeps us safe we're going to fast to even think of sinking in"

Can't be help I had my doubts
But on we went

All my cares went away once my friend handed me the blunt once again
And this time I didn't say no

Then I woke
In a new dream
Driving back home
Then I see
Familiar coat of grey
My cat
Who stray far from home
In a school yard with none a care
Though I didn't care for how far he's gone
The peace I had when i picked him calm me down back to home we did drive
All safe for we were exactly where we needed to be.

give forth loud shrilled cry
is done by pigs and by bulls
inform police, squeal

“A *** of Earl Grey, Twinings, of course;
loose tea, not those contemptible teabags.
And I have decided on, the three-tiered
melody of afternoon dainties,
the array with the slivered salmon,
with a side serving of lemon,
halved and thinly sliced, mind you.
One is never awarded with
an adequate amount of lemon
with one’s salmon,
and do remove the rinds
and those irritating pips.
Furthermore, do inform chef,
no foreign muck, Scottish salmon
and to make sure it is unsmoked,
smoked salmon and lemon, uncivilized!
Unheard of, I tell you.
And God forbid if served on anything other than silver,
l shall scream.
Do you hear me?”
“I do, madam.” Replied the waiter.
“Good, off with you then,
tout suite, tout suite.” She snapped,
whilst lighting a slender, slim-tipped Davidoff,
seized between her burgundy coated lips.
Her effort successful and when realized,
exhaled, pouted and extinguished the lambent stem
with a deft puff; aware, cautious and determined
in keeping ash-free her legendary silk dress,
often the focus of many an afternoon tea gathering.
Such gatherings, once the highlight of one’s day.
A quotidian ritual, herself, a most ardent sipper,
and considered by many, the grandeur
of such social occasions.
Who, when called upon, no matter what,
always delivered with zest milled exuberance
and the accorded pleasantries,
to solve, enhance or decorate
any situation, as needs must and wants demand
and as always, handled with class,
decorum and quaint properness.
Leaving all and sundry
who sought her assistance
for pleasure or otherwise
midst the silverware, bone china,
pastries and scones,
in jolly good spirits.
A most admirable quality
as was her loquaciousness,
never, not even for a moment, dull,
in keeping with her outlandish dress sense,
prowess in the bedchamber
and her legendary rumour-mongering.
As for her resolve, not unlike
her blue-tinted perm,
ever steadfast, no matter the prevailing winds.

Sadly, unforeseen circumstances intruded
and that most splendid of traditions
was abandoned some months past.
Until today, that is, it being such a beautiful day,
she decided to resume
that, which she, so very much enjoyed
prior to the, aforementioned interference.
A spur of the moment decision,
as was her way,
leaving her with no time
to offer invitations to her flock.
She would have to wing it alone.

As etiquette dictates and she,
its most obedient servant,
was observed, turned out,
in compliance with the
dress code for an afternoon’s excursion
into the elegant pleasures
of tea-sipping and dainty-nibbling,
though a tad over ostentatiously so.
A collage of pearls, pendants,
plumes and a pretty-in-pink parasol
accessorising her meagre physical enticements
into stately pomposity,
topped off with a generous plastering of maquillage,
befitting Madame de Pompadour herself,
and all this, in a rich silk dress,
embroidered with a flourish of
Chinese peonies, precariously flaunted
on a finely glossed pair of
puce red three-inch high stilettoes
with a three-figure price tag.
She was to be splendidly complemented upon
if one were to stray into her
perfumed drenched purlieu,
where she was displayed,
sitting blushingly plump
at an ero marquina marble
topped table, dressed for two.
A hoary, blue-tinted socialite
amongst a ghastly scattering
of low browed, ill-mannered diners
and to her abhorrent dismay,
a seating of dusky-hued foreigners.
“How utterly awful!”
She, griping to the empty chair.
Seventy-four years of airs and graces,
waited upon, pampered and now, afternoon tea
on the veranda of her favourite hotel.
Were it not for the hoi polloi,
bliss would have been opulently seamless.

“To return after a few months’ hiatus
and now this, this lot,
what is the world coming to?
Whoever allowed the common herd entry, is beyond me.
Must ruffle the flock and make known
to management, one’s profound displeasure.”
She, vexing to herself.
Until then, defended her table,
armed only with intentional disregard
to all outside her haughty dominion.
Stood her ground in highbrowed conspicuity,
Davidoff plumes
and mutterings of disgust,
focusing mainly on the dusky interlopers.
Who obviously necessitated no appreciation
or had any comprehension
whatsoever as to the formalities or graces
associated with the stately
modus operandi of afternoon tea.
“Tut-tut-tut.”
She tut-tutted to herself.
Continuing, in silence, her detest
whilst awaiting one’s treats.

“I’ll play mother.” She demanded,
when the waiter arrived,
slapping his hand away from the teapot,
an unsavoury trespass,
somewhat dusky, himself.
She, alone, would pour the tea
and did so with composure
albeit lacking grace,
a consequence of age.
Four lumps of sugar
plink-plonked from a pair
of silver-plated tweezers
and with a raised pinky
poured from a silver-plated jug
a trickle of milk,
liking her tea, hot,
very hot
and stirred clockwise
with her right hand
whilst holding a pair of
handheld spectacles in her left,
through which, scrutinized
the three-tiered display
of afternoon niceties,
as usual, in frowned silence
until satisfied that everything was,
as instructed and to her pleasure.
Contented, “Capital!“ She exclaimed,
followed with a snarling dismissal of the waiter,
“Off with you then!”
“Of course, madam.” He replied,
as would a lamb obey a wolf.

Her first choice of deliciousness
was a delicately layered pastry,
politely picked from the lowest tier.
As was her custom, always dined
from the bottom, up.
The top tier usually the sweetest,
dessert, as it were.
Herself, having a sweet tooth
as evident in her triple chin,
puffed jowls
and strained corset.
Biting off a morsel, during which,
holding a napkin beneath her three chins,
to keep crumb-free her legendary silk dress.
Her burgundy-bloated lips never parting
as she patiently chewed, allowing the flavours
to release their delectable secrets.
The chef’s skills overwhelming her taste buds
with a palette of scrumptious mysteries.
She paused, oohed and
declared with shrilled enthusiasm,
“Oh, this is absolutely delic…”
when realising, her husband,
that unforeseen circumstance
now four months into rot,
downed in a hunting accident
when the boar fought back,
and there, facing her, she found herself
talking to an empty chair
on the veranda of their favourite hotel
whilst the acursed boar remained at large.

Her Ceaser, his Throne, their Empire.
“Absit omen!” Beseeched her pathetic hopes,
inwardly knowing, fantasy would not oblige.
An ineffable feeling of loneliness befell her.
As if plucked from one’s pleasure by
the memory of another, now dead and buried.
Chewing for solace but to no avail,
the delicate pastry losing its flavours
as the peculiarities of loss
welled over the tiered array of make-believe.
Striving, as inconspicuously as possible,
to stave off the embarrassment of grieving in public.
However, such was the intensity of her distress,
her efforts were futile,
eventually succumbing
to the uncontrollable tears of grief.
Unbecoming her demeanour,
she faltered, the imperial dye
laundered away in the wash of sorrow,
etiquette violated.
Alone, a lady of no companion,
crying like a lost child desperate for affection.
A weeping remnant
of a once glittering society.
Its Ceaser: her beloved,
who now,
but a gored corpse.

Her inappropriately timed outpourings,
gloat-fodder for the present peasantry,
whose gawking intrusions made it
so unbearably degrading,
especially here, on the veranda of her favourite hotel,
where afternoon tea was a truly delicious occasion.
Such an appropriate ritual
complementing a most gracious way of life,
and now, for commoners, dusky foreigners and servants
to bear witness to the, often hailed,
much loved, doyenne of decadence,
usurped by grief,
destroyed in humiliation
and not a friend when one needed most.
Her pompous maquillage smudged to insignificance
by the salty residues of a weeping heart.
At a table dressed for two
sat a miserable creature, forsaken,
banished to the cold-hearted states of loneliness,
displayed in naked vulnerability
and a stained silk dress.
And to think, the rumours will be unbearable.

“There, there; it’s okay.” Whispered the waiter,
rushing to her aid, placing his arm gently around her shoulders
and she, leaning into his chest,
inconsolable; crying, pleading,
“Don’t leave me, please, don’t leave me.”
“There, there; it’s okay.” He whispered,
as he tried to calm the arrogant racist *****
pining relentlessly for her arrogant racist cur,
as would a lamb lick the wounds of a fallen wolf.

The Road to Global Void

We haul water in a sieve,
Hide our “money” in a shell.
We’re the finest fools that live —
Centuries we've squashed the Self.

We teach children to consume,
Trust the monsters — let them in.
And to dodge our looming doom,
We must lie — first out, then in.

Truth’s been buried far too deep,
Mind castrated, barely thinks.
Hard to tell what truths we keep —
Frankly, no one gives a... blink.

Truth disturbs our fragile sleep,
So we toss it out instead.
All around — a trance so deep,
Asking questions? Use your head!

Hardest ones bring hardest hits —
So we work, then eat and nap.
Thinking hurts — so silence fits
Better with the mental gap.

Even mind became a sieve,
What it held — has drained away.
To the Global Void we drift,
Few short years — and no delay.

Digital the cage is built,
But we’re chewing still, unfazed.
Chewing nonsense, full of guilt,
As the world dissolves in haze.



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




Into the Void we proudly crawl —
No truth, no thought, just feed and fall.



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




With hollow heads and mouths ajar,
We march to Void — and call it "smart".



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




Truth is banned, and thought is crime —
Chew your chains, you're doing fine.



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




Brain’s a sieve, the soul is sold —
Welcome to the Void you told.



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




Truth is poison. Thought’s a crime.
We rot in sync. Right on time.



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



The Only Cure

The "impossible" comes true —
While the "possible" is ****.
That confuses mindless crews,
GMO-brained hypocrites.

And they ruined what was pure
For a slice of "happy" pie.
But that "happiness" is poor —
Just inflated ego’s lie.

Only Creative Fire
Reaches what no hands can grasp.
— Will it bring the joy you hire?
— Just more bait for shears to clasp.

And they shear the sheep with grace —
"Masters," "gurus," conmen bold.
Piles of crap in one bookcase
For the "super-beings" sold.

Self-reflection. Pure creation —
Here’s the only honest way.
Ditch "divine" hallucinations
And the lies that make you pray.

Look within — that’s where it shines,
Not in cults or mystic frauds.
Truth through art will **** the lies,
Fuel your soul to walk through odds.

And that Distance, far ahead,
You will find by inner light.
While the world goes mad instead —
Sick with greed and poisoned might.

A new world shines for those who go.
All the rest? Into the pit.
Signs are clear: the rot will blow.
Cataclysms come — to split.



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




Create or rot. The choice is clear —
Truth burns fake "light" and guru fear.



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




No gods, no guides — just look inside.
Create — or join the deathly tide.


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




Introspect. Create. Destroy
Every "truth" they sell for joy.



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




Your “truth” is rot. Your “gurus” lie.
Create — or crawl away and die.



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




No inner fire? Then stay the prey.
The filth gets cleansed — one purge away.



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




Pray to frauds and chase your fate —
Hell is full. Create — or wait.



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



The End-****

“Divine retribution”?
That's ancient lore.
Now it's pollution,
Filth at the core.

Truth gets dismembered
By soulless beasts,
While frauds are remembered —
The cult of thieves and priests.

**** is the standard,
Thieves rule the hive.
We’ve sunk past bottom —
Hell is alive.

“Punishment”? Really?
Too soft a name
For what surrounds us —
A sewer-flame.

From birth, they rot us,
Mind turned to dust.
Tools of the thoughtless
To herd and rust.

And if you fight it,
You're “mad” or “wrong”.
“Freedom”? — just gaslight
Dressed up in song.

There is no people —
Not when the soul
Rots in the steeple.
That’s the black hole.

No more pretending.
It's far too late.
The system's ending.
The **** is fate.



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




The soul is gone. The lie’s the law.
What’s coming now? ****. Voilà.



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




No truth. No light. Just rot and debt.
The end is here. Enjoy ****.



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




You cheered the fall. You fed the fraud.
Now drown in **** — the wrath of God.



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



Hypercomplex Connections

Nature shoves it in your face —
Those hyperlinked and ghostly ties.
But lies have locked the human race
In loops where even thought now dies.

Brains degrade below amoebas,
Though we call ourselves "the peak".
While microbes show us cosmic schemas —
A chance to glimpse the truth we seek.

That test — where matter's sealed away
Still alters life without a touch —
Could launch real science into play…
But monsters fear such facts too much.

Should such "obscene" things reach the mob,
They’d wreck materialist control.
Worse than bombs — the facts that rob
The World Fascism of its goal.

And facts like these are not so few —
They point to mind and soul as key.
Man could become a god — it’s true…
But slaves must rot in entropy.

Ugly theories rule the herd,
While thought is crushed and dreams decay.
To think is sin. To ask — absurd.
Let’s build one Global Madhouse, eh?

And CowID proved the very start
Of this descent into the pit.
The maggots won’t release your heart
Unless we rise — or all gets split.

For lies now **** like bombs with brains,
And twist all speech into a noose.
They amplify the toxin-rains —
And turn the truth itself… to puce.



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




Nature’s lies choke every mind —
Truth’s a threat the fools can’t find.



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




Science crushed by fear and greed —
Slaves rot blind, consumed by need.



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




CowID cracked the sane’s last gate —
Madhouse waits — it’s all too late.



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



Difference in Propagandists

“We don’t sow, we don’t plow,
But proud we stand, and how!” —
A Soviet joke, but true in part,
Propaganda’s poisoned art.


We’re not proud — just spew the lie,
Drowning in the ******* high.
Later comes the bitter cost,
Now the cash has blinded most.

We lick ******* just as well,
As Soviets once cast their spell.
Closer now these butts remain,
On them we stake our endless gains.

Media rules — the **** rejoice,
All obey, no rebel voice.
But few dissenters still remain —
Their fight is weak, a dying flame.

So let’s cover with a copper ***
The filthy lies the “new plagues” brought.
Start a war of endless lies,
Truth will drown — no compromise.

We know the End is drawing near,
Lower all mankind in fear.
With the newest, nastiest spin,
We'll drag the world down deep in sin.



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




Propaganda’s lies choke the mind —
Puppets bow, no truth to find.



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




We lick the boots that hold the whip —
Doom’s parade, a sinking ship.



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




New plagues spread on lies and hate —
End is near, we feed the fate.



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



Shitfall, or the Widespread Poisoning of Reason

Mentor — sphincter of the shitfall,
Dumped by **** with no regret.
Hard to shake it off at all,
If your mind’s a broken net.

So many coated, crawling things,
Poisoned by the books they’ve read.
From them crawl the wicked stings,
Spreading venom, striking dread.

Ideas hit like bombs, but soft —
Quicker than an armed attack,
Reason poisoned, cast aloft,
Fools just laugh — can’t fight it back.

The whole world’s under siege today,
No marches break the toxic spell.
Awareness grows, but bit by bit,
Unity’s the only hell.

These are recipes for truth —
Trash all offers from the dark,
Smash the **** that breeds uncouth,
Stop the filth that leaves its mark.

Stinking propaganda reigns,
A diarrhea gang’s foul breath.
Trust the fiends — become the stains,
Smeared in filth, a walking death.



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




**** rains down, minds rot away —
Trust the ****, you’re filth, no sway.



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




Poison spreads through every vein —
Fight the filth or drown in pain.



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



The Sawmill, or School and Its Programs

The sawmill’s set to grind the mind,
Cutting talent, dull and blind.
Are these programs made by brutes?
Or by soulless, broken suits?

Their goal — they hide behind “care,”
But chaos spreads through thin air.
A scattered mess of pointless lies,
Grows more blatant in our eyes.

The world’s in “care” — CowID’s proof,
The verdict loud, the truth aloof.
Maggots set the test in place:
The mind’s a madhouse, lost in space.

Exceptions rare — but not this verse.
The spokes of Samsara’s curse
Are fools and psychos, weak and base,
Who bow to fiends and lose their place.

This theme is theirs, the beasts who bow,
Few sane remain — and none know how.
The sawmill’s fruits — these dumbed-down crowds,
While mothers send their kids in shrouds.

To **** the mind, school leads the way,
The same old game, day after day.



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




The school’s a sawmill, minds get sliced—
Killing thought, the future priced.



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




Brains cut down by rotten schemes—
Dumbed to slaves and broken dreams.



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




They grind the youth, the soul’s denied—
Samsara’s spokes in brainwashed stride.



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



The Haze

The Haze — hell’s monsters know full well
How to keep the slave in chains:
Fears and lies, their endless spell,
Claiming fate controls our pains.

Artificial woes — their prime
Method to control the dumb.
Drop you in the rotten slime —
Lies enough to overcome.

To herd the fools, the ages run,
Send all kids to schools to breed
Dumb cattle, dumbed one by one,
Propaganda and dull deed.

But if the Haze should fade away
By a quarter’s light and grace,
This hell would crumble, melt, decay —
And vanish without a trace.

Yet to reach that quarter’s dawn,
From babe to marshal they must grow.
Still must shake this hellish spawn —
Strike hard to break the toxic flow.

A jolt, a shock, might weaken haze,
In some hearts a spark can light.
And that spark might break the maze,
Help the near ones see the night.

How to shake? Counter-prop,
Communities for real.
Though monsters gather, make a mob —
People outnumber fiends for real.



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




Haze enslaves with fear and lies —
Break the chains or doom will rise.



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




Monsters rule with twisted art —
People’s strength will break their heart.



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



Propagandists, Zombies, ******* at the Trough and Negative Selection

Rubber contraceptives
Spew nonsense on the screen.
Fools believe these palliatives —
No escape from zombie scene.

Crushed beneath the gray biomass,
Reason’s remnants fade away.
All the ******* count their cash,
Holding this foul world at bay.

Politicians, petty clerks,
Schoolteachers, cops in shame,
Minds are holes, their skills are quirks —
Not men, but excrement’s name.

Exceptions rare as shooting stars,
Random in this cursed crop.
Selection’s negative, scars
Mark every generation’s flop.

Monsters rule, the fiends conspire,
Hiding deep behind the stage.
Giving orders to expire —
“Downward spiral” sets the page.

Contraceptives, *******, drones,
Obedient, zombified slaves —
Their judgment hour will be known,
Despite the fiends’ dark waves.

Not history’s court will try,
But gods will rise to cast the line.
Their verdicts fierce, no room for lie —
No cheat will stand the test of time.



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




Zombies, ******* guard the trough —
Fiends run deep, but truth is tough.



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




No escape from lies they spin —
Judgment’s coming — end of sin.



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




Fiends in shadows pull the strings —
Gods will judge these puppet kings.



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



Time of Change

Change means lies and brutal cheats,
Dumbness, fear, and empty heads.
Demons ruled, now their pawns and beats —
Around us, fascism spreads.

The devils ruled this world before,
But gathered lackeys — fat and warm —
Resting midst their tea and more,
While plotting schemes to harm.

Not enough to launch the war,
CowID’s just one vile tool.
The **** will lie forevermore —
Their deceit is cruel.

Fools believe the ****’s commands,
Doing all to get their treat.
Snap your fingers — they’ll obey hands,
Ready to attack, repeat.

Devils told the **** to build
A Digital Camp’s grim gate.
Rushing fast, the noise is shrilled,
Dogs bark loud — it’s all too late.

Look close — those dogs are many,
Noose no longer needed here.
Bites are shallow, yet uncanny —
Slow decay draws near.

Slowly body, then the mind,
Will be broken, torn apart.
Change means those dogs are assigned
To tear our souls and hearts.

Don’t submit — betrayal’s grave,
The Reaper’s Master won’t forgive.

Nonsense: comes an old hag,
Scarier than all before.
If your life’s a sieve and drag,
She’ll shred you to the core.



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




Change is dogs that bite and drag —
Reaper’s scythe will cut the rag.



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




Demons ruled, now pawns attack —
Time to fight or fade to black.



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




Lies and fear spread all around —
Stand your ground or be unbound.



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



Writings and Priests

Catechism of lies — a crisis
Brews for souls in holy guise.
Reaching hell instead of heaven,
Fools’ own hell, self-made prison.

Those who trust get filtered tales,
Only “worthy” truths prevail.
Piece by piece, they break and twist,
Madness served on logic’s list.

Feeding faith in fat old priests,
Mediators? No, at least
They’re not gods but greedy liars,
Spreading chains and dark desires.

Satanism cloaked in dogma,
Buddhism lags, but still a coma.
Chains on soul far worse than skin,
Fascism creeps deep within.

Infiltrates the mind and heart,
Masked as love, a poisoned dart.
False plagues shown — only a few
Not beasts — but **** through and through.

Schools, priests, propaganda’s grip,
Serve the will of power’s whip.
Blindly slaves bow to their rule,
Freedom’s path now choked and cruel.

Seek your path — inside, alone.
Doubt, explore — make it your own.
If you find heresy or pain,
Blame the journey, not the gain.

Few will find the shining sparks,
Diamonds born from spirit’s dark.
They will blaze with mind and soul —
Miracle to make you whole.



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




Priests lie thick, the mind’s betrayed —
Seek within, or be their shade.



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




Chains of faith, a dark disguise —
Break the spell, unmask the lies.



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




Few will find the diamond’s light —
Fight the darkness, claim your right.



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



Flagging Wolves with Paperwork

Document flow —
Nonsense by the ton.
Often more than real work’s show,
If you’re a crafty one.

You can fool the ******* who
Plot to squeeze you dry —
Taxes now the sentence due,
No escape, no lie.

Tax larvae watch the flock’s moves,
Born to feed the fiends.
If you’re smart, it’s torture proves —
Your life’s a game of means.

See it clear — your work’s in vain,
Only films grow rich and bright.
In real life, it’s endless pain —
Darkness, ****, no light.

Best case? Raiders swoop and claim,
Many deals and dreams they steal.
Profit gone — it’s just a game,
Lost along with zeal.

Such is business in harsh times,
No salvation in the fold.
Fools trust hope’s deceiving chimes,
Less watch — and woes unfold.

Know the sack, the prison’s face,
Learn the lesson — not the mind.

If your mind’s beneath your soul,
Only then your years are gold.
Spend them wise, let spirit guide —
Then you’ll never be the fiend outside.

Not being fiend — an art, a fight:
Grow your mind, but serve the Light.



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




Buried deep in paperwork’s snare —
Fight the trap or stay the scare.



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




Taxing wolves with paper flags —
Break their chains or live as drags.




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




Mind beneath the Spirit’s light —
Only then you win the fight.



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



Life Worth Not a Broken Penny

“Jump from the balcony” —
Does that thought appear?
No greater harm than that,
Life’s price is cheap and clear.

Life itself is broken...
Here’s the bitter truth:
Fear and lies have shattered
The soul of ruthless youth.

The ******* love submission,
Serve the Darkness blind.
Media aids their mission —
Drowning all mankind.

If you’re not glad, they’ll call you
A villain, a disgrace.
But aim your spirit upward —
Don’t live trapped in this place!

Prepare your mind for Spirit’s height,
Though fools push you down.
New fascism’s creeping night
Spreads dumbness all around.

The rabble swarms and lingers —
Smart ones hide by day.
Minds falter in the darkness —
Signal lost, astray.

But not from balcony leaps —
That’s cataclysm’s doom.
Spirit realms await your keeps,
Or dumbness’ tomb.

To fly or fall — your choice, your fight.
The ******* march, your last stand’s near.

Only in struggle will your soul
Be saved from hell’s cold sear.

Listen only to your soul —
Or else you disappear...



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




Jump not down, but rise instead —
Fight for soul or face the dead.



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




******* come, the last fight’s near —
Only soul can conquer fear.



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




Life’s cheap now — but spirit’s worth
Can save you from this broken Earth.



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



Who Won’t Obey, Won’t Eat

The Party said, “You must obey!” —
The Komsomol replied, “Yes, sir!”
For fools, a joy, a grand display —
Submit, or starve, that’s their stir.

If you won’t wear the yoke and chain,
Quick, join the ranks of dissidents.
To the masses, you’re a bane,
To the Party, foe’s your stance.

Few dissenters meant one thing:
Too many fools still roam free.
Now the time of presidents’ king,
Submissive ****’s decree.

The fiends showed all their nasty face,
And brought about the CowID.
In the Land of Lies’ disgrace,
Shame itself refused to be.

They say, “Get jabbed, like olden days,”
To keep from selling out your soul.
Fight the evil’s wicked ways —
This war is real, it takes its toll.

Reason’s battleground’s everywhere,
Fiends prevail with sneers and might.
For the ****, people’s just their fare,
And their lies feed endless fright.

They lie to spread the fearful tide,
A war of shadows, death’s advance.
Shake off this world of dust and pride —
It’s sinking fast, no second chance.

Listen close to your own soul —
Everything else is stuffed with lies.
As always, rotten’s called the whole,
Goodness hidden in disguise.

They open Overton’s gates anew —
A window wide to doom and dread.
Tons of lies bring close our rue —
The end is near, as prophets said.



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




Obey or starve — the Party’s call,
Dissent means doom, you lose it all.



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




Lies pour down, the end draws near —
Fight or fade in growing fear.



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




Soul’s your guide through darkest night —
Stand and fight or lose the light.



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



Melancholy and Creation

To banish sorrow — futile task:
You must master, not unmask,
The weight of gloom, the silent stress,
And serve creation — no regress.

Melancholy’s natural bound
When shackled deep in chains around.
So break the lies, the filthy grime —
Use sorrow as your verse’s prime.

If you’re a writer, many ways
To shade the meaning through the haze,
While lines still hold, avoid the fall
Into the void of empty thrall.

For painters, harder still the plight —
Čiurlionis caught the light.
Today you drown in world’s decline —
A lyre may better shape the line.

With music, troubles run much deep,
For fools prefer the pop to keep.
While wise minds seek the films profound,
The mainstream drowns in cash-bound sound.

Cinema’s the last resort —
Monsters craft the mainline sort.
Without the coin, all turns to rot,
In poverty, all dreams forgot.

Gather sorrow, burst in flame,
Overcome disgrace and shame.
In these last days, rage will blaze,
Endure a little, end this phase.

For cataclysm will define:
No more tricks, no sly design.
Give your last to sorrow’s keep,
Leaving hell with steps light, deep.

Sorrow squared, even cubed,
A symbol harsh, though not subdued.
Better harsh symbolism’s face
Than craven fools who sell disgrace.

***** a monument to grief,
When hell is left behind, relief.
In distant spheres of spirit’s flight,
May joy await beyond the night.

But here in hell, just filth and spite —
Melancholy is our fight.



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




Sorrow fuels the artist’s fight —
Burn the darkness, find the light.



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




In hell’s grip, only rage can save —
Break the chains, refuse the grave.



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




Build your monument to pain —
From the ashes, rise again.



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



Time to Die

It’s time — the hole squeezes tight,
Not SOS, but “save our blight!”
The world’s accursed — dumb slaves bowed
Before the Evil, crushed and cowed.

No chance to rise amidst the Lies,
Total they reign — in media’s ties.
Born in chains from earliest days,
Ruled by **** in wicked ways.

Targets set for fiendish beasts,
They act for profit, never ceased.
Overton’s windows, bars abound,
Everywhere, traps tightly wound.

Relentless fiends impose their reign,
For those who feel, the world’s in pain.
The hole’s no place for minds that think,
Amongst the fools, the edges shrink.

The hole — a home, a prison’s lair,
Where slavery’s bleak and foul despair,
Where crudeness, nonsense rule as norm,
And Spirit’s swallowed by hell’s storm.

Cataclysm will choke the breath,
But souls preserved through chaos’ death
Will leave their holes and rise above,
To Spirit’s spheres, to light and love.



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




The hole tightens, time to die —
Save your soul or fade and lie.




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




Slaves bowed down to evil’s call —
Rise or perish in the fall.



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




Cataclysm ends the game —
Only souls survive the flame.



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



In the Dungeons of Darkness

“Would you be so kind to ponder:
What good would be if evil vanished?
How would Earth look, all light laid bare,
If shadows fled from everywhere?

For shadows come from things and men —
The shade of sword, the tree, the hen.
Would you tear Earth’s life away
Just to bathe in naked day?”

Mikhail Bulgakov once said —
“Master and Margarita” read.

Gray is measure without end.
Darkness through that gray will bend.
Enough to chase the shifting shades —
Only Light can break these shades.

Nonsense all that shadow’s cause,
That Light kneels to shadow’s laws.
Such equivocations bind —
They ruin reason, blind the mind.

“Dialectics” drag the throng
Down to madness, weak and wrong.
God’s spark won’t depend on fuel —
If in Heights, all’s light and rule.

Heights within the inner space,
Tyranny pushes disgrace.
Purest Freedom crushed and killed,
By the lies the dark has spilled.

Foolishness and foul decay —
Fate of generations’ sway.
What can save? Awareness true —
Or be lambs led to the slaughter too?

Ten percent must see the dark —
Evil fears that glowing spark.
If you don’t fight — all’s lost,
Pay the price, no matter cost.

Awareness, enlightenment —
Battle’s light, the true ascent.
Hell’s chains break if many rise,
Alone, just death’s cruel surprise.

Cataclysm will level all —
Soon enough, the final fall.
Beauty born from empty page —
From the end of evil’s rage.

Beauty is pure Light, no shade,
Those who kneel cannot persuade.
Little shadow? You’re just **** —
Spirit’s heights where shadows numb.

Spiritual realms exist —
Light their base, their sacred gist.
Only Light — from where shadows come?
Shadows dwell in Gehenna’s home.



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




Shadows bind, but Light breaks free —
Only fight brings liberty.



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




Darkness grips the fool who kneels —
Rise as one, the Spirit heals.



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




Ten percent awake — the key —
Evil’s end, our destiny.



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



No Prospects

Time has tested — no prospects found:
The mob oppressed, no end around,
And nonsense rules with iron fist —
A world consumed by ceaseless mist.

From childhood shoved, the lies take hold,
A blunt, harsh tool for fiends so cold,
To spread their evil far and wide,
Where good and truth are pushed aside.

Few minds remain — the sensitive rare,
Earth’s hell revealed by CowID’s glare.
Most hide in holes, amass their shame,
Await the dark that none can tame.

Dragged from their dens and driven out —
To camps where night devours the doubt.
What dawn? A slaughter as before,
Lies lash like whips; chaos galore.

Now world prepares a “newer way,”
Bleeding hope with fear’s cruel sway,
Their plans enforced by fiends’ command —
But sheep won’t reach the promised land.

Cataclysms strike on time,
To quench the chaos, bring decline.
And souls are lost if courage fails,
If you submit to vile tales.

Salvation lies in daring fight —
Defying fiends, reclaim the light.



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




No hope, no light, the mob’s disgrace —
Fight fiends, don’t bow, reclaim your place!



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




Lies enslave, but courage frees —
Battle darkness, break the lees!




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




Sheep may fall, but souls must rise —
War on fiends beneath the skies!



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



The Terrible Tale of the Global Asylum

A new reality —
A “new normality.”
Madness’ breath has long been known,
In this dark world we’ve been thrown.

Like a frightful fairy tale,
Worse and worse, the horrors sail.
All must hear, expose the dumb —
The deeper lies, the louder drum.

It showed itself in CowID’s days:
More nonsense stokes the fiend’s malaise.
The vilest lies, the foulest cheat,
Feed fear that drags souls off their feet.

A thorn that ****** in memory’s core,
A pain that haunts forevermore.
Main threats arise — the clown, the “doc,”
Both twisting minds around the clock.

The clown will scare, the “doctor” feeds
The madness that the world then needs.
The mad world cannot say “No!”
To lies that steal its final glow.

The clown delivers rotten doom:
“Believe and bow — embrace your tomb!”
Cling tight to lies you’ve grown to love,
As puppets dance beneath above.

The politician-clown will herd,
Scare you more, then end absurd —
Disposal waits for all who stray,
In this grim global cabaret.



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




Clown commands — obey, submit,
Lies and fear, your soul they hit!



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




Madness rules, no way to fight —
Bow or perish in the night!



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




Puppets dance, the clown’s grim call —
Stand or fall, or lose it all!



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



The Little Calamity

“Graze, ye peaceful, meek and mild!
Honor’s call won’t wake your child.
Why should herds have gifts of free?
Slaughter or shear them — legacy.
From their kin, a yoke is passed,
With rattles and the whip amassed.”
— Pushkin, 1823


Life means nothing, nowhere leads,
When mind’s wide space just fiction feeds.
All else devours fiends and lies,
Through censorship that blinds our eyes.

Decay of Spirit, honor lost,
By propaganda’s cruel cost,
Through schools, through colleges confined,
Where lawlessness is redefined.

If higher aims you seek to find,
Amid the masses, so unkind,
Few souls will echo that true call,
‘Mid herds too vast, yet doomed to fall.

Yet darkness thickened, pressed to end,
The CowID test did then portend:
Reason slain — the numbers low —
Few think, most wander blind and slow.

Evil creeps to total void,
While nonsense reigns, all hope destroyed.
No prospects lie beyond the gloom,
A storm approaches — fate’s dark room.

But looms a small but fateful chance —
A Calamity that will advance
To purge the chaos, lawless rule,
And free the mind from that cruel duel.

Only spirits true shall rise,
Those grazing ‘neath clearer skies.
New Hell awaits the patient blind,
Where honor, spirit, lost, confined.



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




CowID’s test — the herd’s decay,
But spirit warriors won’t give way!



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




Madness reigns, but soul will fight,
Calamity brings dawn from night!



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




Few will rise, break chains of lies,
Herds will fall — the spirit flies!




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



The Spiritual Path

“Birth is not the start; death not the end.
Boundless Being has no bend.
No beginning to its line,
Existence beyond space and time.”
— Zhuangzi, 4th century B.C.


Space, time, life, and death entwined,
More complex than priests or science find.
Trust your heart, your mind obey—
So falsehood’s veil is cast away.

Sense the lie, the cheat, the sham,
Dispel the heresy with calm.
The world asleep, unfinished god—
The “learned man” a wretched fraud.

He seeks the spark divine in you,
To **** it dry, replace with rue.
A myth of blood, all tainted greed—
A new deceit by fiendish breed.

Beyond all time, beyond all cause,
Your Spirit’s center holds the laws.
Space? A fool’s confused array,
A rotten heap that wastes away.

Expand your mind, seek direct sight,
Logic’s limit hides from light—
Like chasing smoke through holes in sieve,
Logic serves the mind to live.

Say “No!” to filth that fiends create,
And inward turn to contemplate.
Answers found inside your cell—
Fear will vanish, break its spell.

For those who yield to fear’s embrace,
Are lost to lies that paint false grace.
“Salvation circles” each fools’ claim—
Social plagues by any name.

Throw out all “ideas” — they serve
The fiends who plot with cruel nerve.
Reject all theories—foul decay,
Tales that lead the soul astray.

To Infinity they’re blind,
Like fools who study dung they find.
The Path is hard; there is no rest—
Else wild darkness claims your quest.

Reject the shameful world of lies,
The Horned Fiend’s deceitful guise.
Space, time, life, death—on this you’ll see,
Or doomed a fool to Hell you'll be...



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



Spiritual Path — The Hard Truth

Birth ain’t start, death ain’t the end,
Boundless Being — no pretend.
Trash your lies, obey your heart,
Tear the fiends and falsehoods apart.

Logic’s smoke through holes in sieve,
Spirit’s fire’s why we live.
Fear? Obey? Then you are lost —
Truth demands a savage cost.

Throw their “ideas” to the flame,
Fight the fiends who play their game.
No easy path — or darkness wins,
Choose your fight, or Hell begins!



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



Fascism in the Land of Lies

The bigshot’s bronze — a ruthless tyrant,
Diamond sharp, a sly defiant,
Worth his weight in gold, he starts
The trouble brewing in our hearts.

By fiends’ relentless pushing force,
The lying media charts the course —
They’ll “explain,” lead fools to toil,
To slaughter, camps, and endless spoil.

If you’re not vermin, you’re erased,
The **** remains, a wretched waste.
A new Führer drags the crowd,
To Hell’s abyss, he leads them loud.

It started in some grimy bar,
******’s march to soul and scar.
Not flesh but soul’s the prey they seek,
Fiends rush fast, the spark to leak.

The double-faced Führer now,
Shepherds dumb sheep to the plow.
Everywhere war’s shameful stain,
CowID’s legacy of pain.

But times run out for tyrants’ reign,
The world’s gone deep into the drain.
A digital camp, a sick mind’s lair,
Built by monsters, thick with snare.

They play democracy’s farce,
Lulling reason, dimming sparks.
They build fast — but won’t complete,
The sun will bring their swift defeat.

Nature fights these mad demands,
The sun shines bright across the lands.
Countdown starts — the days unwind,
Hiding deep, the fools confined.

The verdict harsh will soon descend:
To Hell all fools — no chance to mend.
But those who stood, who did not kneel,
Will find salvation — spirit real.



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



Fascism’s Endgame

Bronze tyrants spark the flame,
Lies and terror fuel the game.
Fools march blind to camps and pain —
Hell awaits their endless shame.

Double-faced Führer herds the sheep,
War’s foul stench runs wide and deep.
But sun will burn their cursed keep —
Nature wakes; no madman’s leap.

Fools will fall, their time is done.
Only few will see the sun.
Stand or kneel — the battle’s run.
Spirit fights; the dark undone.



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



Fools of the Wheel

Boy, you point your finger high —
Priest says: "God rules the sky."
Endure — deceits abound,
This poor world’s lost and bound.

Only lies can hold the place
Of “stability” and grace.
Primitive lies, oh God —
Learn to laugh, boy, at the fraud.

Madness reigns, or you’ll break down,
Lose your mind in this ****** town.
But here’s the catch, the cruel deceit:
“Normal” means lies on repeat.

Few chances to stand apart,
In a world that’s lost its heart.
These “all” in decay’s embrace —
Just squirrels running in a race.

Squirrels caught in sickness’ grip,
Addicted to the endless trip —
To forget the Wheel they spin,
Strained and trapped, can’t live within.

Want to LIVE? Then seek the way
Out beyond this fool’s display.
Only rot and nonsense dwell
In the Wheel of Samsara’s hell.

Enemy spins the rim with spite —
CowID’s test revealed the blight.
The wheel broke loose — it’s falling fast,
Cataclysm will end at last

A world that teaches how to break
Your neighbor — Satan’s cruel stake.
Through Overton’s windows wide
Cannibals creep, with lies as guide.

A megaton of toxic lies —
Wheel, roll on! Toward your demise!



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



Moments of Enlightenment

I remember that wondrous moment,
When I dared commit a “transgression” —
Forsook my fears, my false submission,
Rejected lies without concession.

To fools, it seemed I’d merely drifted,
But loneliness became my friend;
Creation’s spark, my soul’s great blessing,
A prize that never seems to end.

Moments of “serene passion” fleeting,
Then endless floods of frustration,
Washing hope in ruthless torrents,
Yet fueling my rebellion.

Like a hermit, turning inward boldly,
One true value guides my way:
No fleeting moments, only yearning —
To grasp the depths where truths still stay.

We dwell within that darkest bottom,
Those wondrous flashes — mind’s deprivation,
A common sign to serve the seeker,
Forget false hopes, discard temptation.

What you’ll find? The truth is hidden.
But at least you’ll die with honesty —
That final act’s what’s truly golden,
Not blind submission to hypocrisy.

How you die — that’s what matters most.
The sold-out blockhead fails to grasp
The soul’s salvation, twisted reason,
In crooked minds that endless clash.

Mind beneath the Spirit’s guidance —
That’s the norm, the sacred law.
But Hell devours that holy pathway,
Leaving few whose minds don’t fall.

The madhouse grows worldwide,
A camp constructed, brutal, grim —
A red cross on a white flag slashing
Civilization to its limb.

But they won’t finish — fate will break them,
Final cataclysm will rise,
A wrathful reckoning for evil,
For genocide and devil’s lies.



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



Flash of Truth

I broke the chains — fear thrown away,
Lies shattered — dared to stray.
Fools see drift, but I stand strong,
Lonely path — creation’s song.

Moments blaze then wash away,
Hope destroyed, but mind won’t sway.
Spirit guides, mind obeys —
Few survive these darkened days.

Hell’s gate cracks — the end draws near,
Wrath for evil’s reign sincere.
Final strike for lies and pain,
Madness crushed — true light will reign.



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The Question of Responsibility

Distortions of existence —
Not mere life's resistance.
Darkness, Death knock at the door,
Only fools believe in more.

All around — just crooked tales,
Spewed by lies in massive scales:
This they call the “media” —
Ruled by fiends of hysteria.

The Horned Fiend, no doubt at all,
But who’s to blame when fools will fall?
Idiots feed the darkness’ game,
Media fuels the flame.

To sell your soul to fiends with cries,
“Just like others, conform or die!”
No sin worse in history’s pen —
The curse of all the foolish men.

That’s why no life’s left to build,
Amid the lies, the truth is killed.
They build the Digital Camp’s domain
For empty minds and hearts of stain.

The soulless throng — for them, just death.
The homeland, world — now fleeting breath.
Not a shooter, but the mark,
If you kneel before the dark.

No choice exists — resist the lies,
Fight the filth till daylight dies.
To dwell in muck is not to live —
Stand strong, resist, and dare to give.



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Simple Feelings of Alienation in a Wretched Hellish World

Since childhood, you have clearly felt:
Not right! Not so! And all for naught! —
This world’s a wretched load of crap,
A soul’s disgrace, a mind’s collapse.

But plunge yourself into the rush,
(The hell of mere survival’s crush) —
You’ll soon forget that simple truth —
By now, in many ways, you’re bruised.

Your soul shrinks tight, your mind’s undone,
Shattered, torn, and coming undone,
For here the dullards set the rule —
Soulless fools, the world’s cruel tool.

A fiend controls it from the shade,
Hidden from the fool’s weak gaze.
**** drags the world down to the pit,
With practiced commands — “Attack! Commit!”

That fiend will tell you who’s the foe,
This monster’s trick to keep control.
Fools march to slaughter, toil in vain,
Bound to despair, wrapped tight in pain.

Only few refuse the march —
Remembering the simple arch.
Rejecting lies the fiends have spun,
Escaping hell’s oppressive run.

Return to roots — to simple ways,
Though paradoxical this phase.
Like bearing crosses, hard the road,
While fools around you fight and goad.

Simplicity will save your soul —
A balm that makes the broken whole.
And beauty will return once more,
Though brief — before the final war.

For dogs receive their last command,
And then comes Armageddon’s hand.
If from your youth you’ve clung to filth,
Meet your end with steadfast will.