1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th

The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!

Wonder were in the days of King David,
He wondered a man with a maiden,
A ship in the fleet,
And the eagle in the sky,
But another wonder persists,
Beyond king David to my time,
This is a man on libido,
With ***** ***** at joint thighs,
What’s wrong with a man?
When his ***** is *****,
Whether an engineer or a duffer,
A genius or a stooge,
When ***** is is at noon
Where are the brains?
Why always the brawn,

When you ***** that short ****,
Walking out of your normal way,
Disappearing into the back street,
To some nondescript corridors,
Your hunger for misfortune gets saluted,
By the street patrons in weird corridors,
A gifted *******, brown in complexion,
Her back glorified with man-made buttocks,
Erasing from your eyes her age,
Your mothers age minus white hair,
Then you slavishly bargain not to win,
Now a dizzied creature of fetish of ***,
Your ***** wildly ***** like pagoda apex
No, herself very calm on melancholy of ***,
Shrewdly she accepts to give you a wonderful ****,
At a minuscule fee to your senses; two hundred shillings

You coffle up to the ****** tether,
In senseless dance to the turbulent tune
A tintinnabulation in your ears
Impeachable tyranny of the *****,
You go into a room with her,
A workshop of ******* and *******,
You can call it a brothel,
But I and Marx we call it bagno,
God prevails and she throws a ****** at you
Pulling away her leopard stripped *******,
Letting you see eagle tattoo of on white thighs,
Confused electricity drips in your head,
Then you become a beggar of the year,
Effusively begging for live *** with
Without ****** use lest you zest not,
Lest you don’t harvest maximally,
With your dinosaur’s testicles,
She cunningly accepts your request,
In her full knowledge of your kamikaze,
Villains commit when dying for no course,
She gives it an OK, but at a small fee
You go on to pay as if possessed,
By the devil of paying for nonsense,
And then you **** her ******* live,
Before gracing your joy with live ****,
She feels nothing in entire of her body,
For her vaginal purse is spacious,
Like the side pockets of your trouser,
You achieve early ****** to *******,
She moans lightly like a teased Carmel,
She pushes you away with a sober vim,
You collapse aside in   a dull thud
Like a dead bird from ruffian roof,
Your ***** now flappy
Not reflecting a shuttle in crypt,
In volcanacity of the past minute,
Then you look at her with bent eyes,
You see her sporadic white hairs,
On forehead and between her thighs,
She is looking stupid but not foolish,
She breaks into fits of wild coughing,
Accidentally dropping *** palliative drugs,
The horrendous ARV’s
You now hang around there agape
Niggardly chewing full size of misfortune,
In your voracious mandibles,

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world...  Moby ****, Herman Melville


Call me
Ishmael.

I hail
from
the clan
of Adam.

I am the
beloved
child
of Hagar;
unbowed son
of an upright
Ibrahim.

I am
the older
half brother
of Musa,
cousin to
Isa and
father to
Muhammad.

I work
in a bakery
that
overlooks
the roiling
waters of
the Nile.

It’s
owned
by an
Egyptian
General,
managed
by a
platoon
of his
hand picked
lieutenants.

I fire the
ovens,
roll the
dough
and pack
the loaves.

We bake
all day
but it seems
we cannot
quench
the hunger
that grips
our people.

My
brother
Musa
says
I bake
the bread
of tyrants
and serve it
to a people
starving for
freedom.

Musa
likes to say
if we wish
to feast at
the banquet
of liberty
we must
refuse
to eat
the bread
of fear.

In winter
our hunger
blends with
the misery
of living
in frigid
apartments.

My
dilapidated flat
in Darb Al-Ahmar
is one of a
thousand owned
by Cairo’s
most notorious
police chief.

The roofs leak,
the plumbing
is broken,
no heat in winter,
in summer
it’s a sweltering
furnace.

My home
is the
handiwork of a
cold blooded
landlord’s
indifference
to the freezing
rooms they
force us
to live in.

In their eyes,
our sole purpose
in life is to feather
their nest.

They demand
that the rent be paid
on the first of every month
and will make our life miserable
if we’re one day late
or a half a pound short.

Do they
actually
think
that we
live
only
to assure
the
warmth
and comfort
for them
and their
children?

In winter
they freeze
us into
inaction;
while
during the
summer,
swirling
ceiling fans
fail to relieve the
oppressive heat
of fire they
breathe down
our necks.

The batons
of the police
freely swing to
crack a head if
we fail to bow to
their authority
or grease
the extortionists
palms with
tributes to their
*******.

They never
shake down
their friends
that drive
the fancy
silver
Mercedes.

The big guys
roll wherever
they want.  

They
roll over
anything
they
choose.

They take
up parking
spaces in our lives;
leaving less room
for us to park
our tiny scooters.

I’m certain
the name
on their
drivers license
says privilege
and impunity.

Yet
somehow
we
always
get stuck
picking up
the tab
for
their
tolls.

Some slavishly
put coins
in parking meters
for them and get
compensated for it
by being offered
the opportunity
to wash their cars.

I’m glad
that I get
to bake
bread.

I was talking
to my friend
Isa at the
coffee shop,
he said,
“We needn't
live in a constant
state of
want and fear.”

A young man
sitting at
the next table
was a zealous
believer from
The Muslim
Brotherhood.

His name is
Muhammad,
he hands me
The Holy Quran.

My dear
Muslim
brother
exhorts
me to
submit.

He says that is
the way to a
fearless life;
free of any
need,
save
Allah’s
salvation.

My  
Muslim
brother
is firm
in his
belief
that
all
the answers
to
all
my problems
and
all
the answers
to
all
Egypt's problems
were
breathed on to
the pages of
The Holy Quran
with
The Prophet Muhammad’s
-(may peace be upon him)-
own breath;
his tongue
inscribing
the holy pages
in Arabic
squeezed
out by the
loving
embrace
of the
Angel
Gabriel.

Mubarak also boasts that
he too has all the answers to
alleviate the ills that plague us.

He’s
been ruling us
for forty years;
while the
Holy Quran
has been
with us
forever.

Our  
impatience
grows
as we yearn
for these promises
to be filled.

Mubarak swears  
he knows what is best
for the children
of Egypt.

Mubarak insists
that the way to
freedom from
want and fear
is submission to
his perpetual rule.

I get uneasy when
someone suggests
an infallibility.

I accept the
supreme dominion
and divine knowledge
of the Quran and Hadiths
but I’m not too sure
that the Imams,
politicians and
generals who
swore by its
truth really
understand
it themselves.

I am left
to question
if any of them
even see me?  

I am more of a
person then a
Muslim;
and
sometimes
I wonder
if even
Allah
has forgotten
the peril of
Ibrahim’s
children.

I wonder have
I disappeared
from Allah’s
unblinking eye
as well?

Sometimes
I look into
the mirror
to see if
I am real.

I am relieved
to see my image.

I have not
become invisible
to myself.

I am
emboldened
to know
that I am a
real person
of flesh and bones
with a mind
full of conviction
refreshed
with the blood
of a warm beating
heart.

I remind myself
I am a man,
not a faceless
subject
to be ruled.

I am an individual
not just another
submissive being
under the control
of a pious Imam.

I am Ishmael.

I recognize the fire of
life in my own eyes.

I can see the scars
of my decisions,
that my life has
etched upon my face.

I am not invisible.

I am not a casualty
of the twists of history
or the events of fate.

I take
responsibility
for me.

I am not a fish
swimming within
a giant school
trapped in an
ocean current
propelled
to a
predetermined
destination
of a well
laid net.

I am a man.

Let it be known
that I claim
responsibility
for my manhood
and I will
command
respect from
those who now
lord over me.

Like my father
Ibrahim, they
will recognize
me as an
unbowed
upright man.

They will
call me
Ishmael.

As I stand
I will raise my voice.

I will not remain
voiceless.

I am one voice
of many
who like me
have not
been heard.

We were once
grovelling dogs
that have been
transformed
into free range wolves,
set free from its cage,
we now form in packs
howling for justice.

We
will raise
our voice
in concert
so all
may hear.

We
will
make
them
listen.

They will
know who
I am.

Call me Ishmael.

Music Selection:
Muddy Waters
Mannish Boy

Oakland
2/9/12
jbm

~
I work in the clouds
Building a world out of hype
I could be a beekeeper
A prison guard
Reverse pop idol
Extinguishers, all

Hackers ferry contemporaries
Around the diseased city
Merchants of transference
Polymorphing
Paths and angles
Pieces of eight

They could be brutal war fantasies
White noise translations of the snow
Cathedral nights in the deli
Ghost recordings from an opera house
Each with its own price tag

All the pretty girls
Thick with mascara
Go to plasticity
Drink chloroform
100 aspects of subterranea
So long as they come home
With a credit problem

Money devotion
It's what transferred us
Into numbered silhouettes
Slavishly pouring our blood into the sea
~

the Egyptians of ancient times
worked in the sun for few dimes

they slavishly carted square blocks
to ***** temples and pyramid docks  

as the sun streamed down
upon their heads
the workers in stone
wanted their sun god dead

they offered orisons
to Ra telling him he'd gone too far
by sending forth an over abundance
of hot solar bars

so the laborers of ancient Egypt
took refuge from Ra's heat
in the pharaoh's cool crypt

I devote my higher mind to the ardent
Pursuit of the summit, leaving
Verse to chance and its laws,
For when the thought is lofty and noble,
The sentence will naturally seek it,
And rhythm slavishly serve it.

Channelling Nostradamus from the sixteenth century
Did you see what you just wrote
Or did you just dream what we see?
When your prophecies come true
I'll say, You only had one view
So good luck to you and your future note
One shan't believe from an invisible visionary

When I wish upon a **** star
It makes me appreciate who we are
Everything that she'll be requiring
I'll think about you and make it inspiring

The ******* ***** always seems to wear lingerie
That always looks, just a little ******
But never ever, do they slavishly try
To imitate their true identity or culture
Not like those Kardashian dogs, that dress up
Always trying to stylise society, for a very large fee
Speaking of canines, where's that poodle named Paris
She had some real talent, didn't she?

When I wish upon a **** star
It makes me appreciate who we are
Everything that she'll be requiring
I'll think about you and make it inspiring

I wish upon a **** star of mine
Whilst screaming up to ones heaven
Most pussycats lives, end in about nine
But my time was all over, within almost seven
Maybe I really could, make it all alone
On this place god calls, my extraordinary rendition?
Or shall I live this false life, as some sort of robotic clone
Not truly knowing oneself, therefore, failing my own audition?

When I wish upon a **** star
It makes me appreciate who we are
Everything that she'll be requiring
I'll think about you and make it inspiring

Well, just get back on that bronco horse, named Toff
Dust off that hat, once worn by certain gent
For they will forever try and attempt to buck you off
You the rider, of this very serious event
So, forget about the fame and good times
and the overhyped lives of most Hollywood stars
Live within your means and save your silver dimes
In your half empty or half full, glass money jars

When I wish upon a **** star
It makes me appreciate who we are
Everything that she'll be requiring
I'll think about you and make it inspiring

When I wish upon a **** star
My dreams start to become truth by far.

Hi Gibson, of Algonquins table. i want to accept that your comments are elderly and full of  scholastic charm. I have been appreciative to you in each and every situation. I still promise that i will listen to you in the future.I have looked at your photography it shows you are an elder. in this perspective an intellectual elder and an elder in the global community without regard to race and geography. you are the age of my father and thus i am bound to respect you as my father.However, i am intellectually emboldened by both logic,reason,ethics and wisdom of the times to differ with you on a few factors in relation to my story poem humanity of Jesus Christ.First you over focused on my grammatical and typing mistakes in relation to English language  and also on the issue of whether Nazareth was in the colony or it was a colony.By this selfish focus you failled to remember that my inference of Nazareth as a  colony was simply my employing of a poetic tool of synechdoche.I can use one to refer to all or all to refer to one.Just like the same synechdochal experience we have in the bible where Jesus was referred to as son of David , son of man, son of God, and so forth.My in ability to use  written English which can impress you should be  seen as an intellectual anachronism. I am not a chauvinist of English language. I have my own native language which is more mature than English. i don't have any motivation to treat a deficient language like English with any earnest. Secondly i wanted you to see the point of Jesus physical deformity, afilliative relationship with Mary Magdalene and the experience of his mother in the bombazine. you have not seen this.When his brothers slavishly laboured for  Joseph of Aremathea and Yude his last brother slapped him you have deliberately refused to see.
There is another problem i want to point out,i was responding to Theodore not you , but you came out in full combat armed to your teeth with drones of your academic superlativity. Here you are wrong. You lacked the virtue of intellectual humility. Why are you always joining Theodore and his foot soldiers to attack other participants on this table ? or you want me to forgive you by concluding that all Americans have a burden of proving to be Americans and hence this tempo of cliffhanger civilization ?
The references you have mentioned in your riposte lack the element of universality. Most of them are published in north America.These preceded by a current world quagmire that usually in every social , political and intellectual situations North Americans fail to have behave publicly by wanting every thing to look American . And even their social researches have always been skewed by a bias that the results must ring an American tone.You have not quoted any work written in french language,Russian language, Germany language nor Arabic  only not mention Yiddish. You have displayed an avoidable limitation.Kindly research again into humanity of Jesus Christ for the benefit of those who depend on you intellectually.

Thanks

Alexander k  Opicho
Eldoret,Kenya

I sit by sorrow's streams
Amidst wistful longing
Your first soft kiss that lingered
will forever haunt my dreams

How sad it seems
to be so slavishly in love
weary even of life,
such sorrowful extremes,

but I hear remnants of our song
and pine for your possession
to live without you is my bane
life has dealt a bitter wrong

lost in the loneliness
this bereft heart grieves
solace now I seek, in
whiskey's lullaby to forgetfulness

ALesiach © 07/27/2019

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])

Languages are elastic realities of ages
Going beyond political and historical chauvinism
That selfishly blends into exclusive nations
The European languages we slavishly speak
In diversity of the world is a ****** testimony,
Ostensible Afro-American cultural civilization
Are mere protégés of transplanted tongues
In forlorn position of knowledge
That derides cultural Darwinism
Unto this last that Language
is born and grow from the native soil,
Nurtured by facts of history in timbre of altruism
Where misfortune of history ***** my stature
Planting unknown and unnamed language
In my ****** soil of pristine times
My conscience not yet passively accepting
The changing misfortunes of the transplanted English
As they are at current times
The negations of vicious cultural Darwinist
Condemning me a victim of tonguistry.

Slavishly touting laudatory
Remarks that
Run counter to his belief
Could not let a journalist
A moment's relief!

"The incumbent
Has flickered
Darkness piercing light
Now as things are bright
None stop
We have to condemn the past
To catapult the present
On the infallible mast!"

Conveying messages
Without beef,
Also forced to turn
Eyes, to reality, deaf,
He is smote by
Excruciating grief
Freedom of expression
Turned brief!

To spare himself
A stomach pang
He has to allow
Political thugs,
In the guise of
Media bosses
That form a
Government's favour
Ingratiating gang,
His mouth to gag!

Intimidated by them
Into self censorship
The facility of his pen
He could not keep!

Ironically,
A mainstream press,
With a toothless face,
Rather conveys
An autocrat or,
To be precise,
A clinically dead
Government in place!//

forget perfect
my friends
as we manifest
our aspirations
it's about the journey
not the score card

i don't understand
slavish worship
of big data
like it was
a big mama
of truth? streuth!
more data won't
help discernment

this is not science
and way less than perfect
yet slavishly we
attend our screens
providing metadata more
hash tag what for?

Churned out from the factory
the fractured of
society
what ******' hope is
there left for me?

I want a stewards inquiry.

They'll take them
young
at the point of
a gun  
make them sign on
the dotted line
and time after time has run away
they'll say,
it's too late now for second thoughts.

In The Lord Chief Justice courts
an appeal is filed by
the pregnant women with the
awkward smiles,

but it's far too late to remonstrate
or join a group and demonstrate.

The fracture turns
as the factory burns and the fireman dressed in red
are all at the local football match,
though some are still in bed

and I know that hope has upped and gone,
I'd have done the same, but I took too long and on the wrongs and rights of those flesh coloured tights
the Lord Chief Justice rules.

Take your children
fill in forms
put them in the factory
bed them down in dorms.

Breed them
Feed them
we will need them to
churn out more men

Society salutes you.

But we take them young,
under the hammer at the
point of a gun

auction lots the lot of them.

I am slavishly aware of the value of life and the need for fresh air
unfortunately
so are they

they'll keep us grey
oxygen starved
the beauty we see has
already been halved
and soon to be quartered
and we're being slaughtered

down at the knackers yard
living's incredibly hard
even with a union card

we try
some succeed
but
only because the
factory
decrees it.

Torn winter sight,
Cartoon loneliness,
Speaking slavishly,
Under the breath.

Trying to lose,
the way,
by gaining,
a path,

Set forth quasi-fold,
Sorted under magnetism,
The cloudy silver sigh,
Serpent hissed,
Past the foyer,

Cast aside belonging,
Become silent,
And have it come to past.

And were it not for the sun
would there be dream?
Would cloud cry upon the day?
I would find, you and I, slavishly cuddled ‘round dragon breath
and every sight would be for sore eyes, lest they be blind.
Every man would be a beggar.
Children cackle in the dark.
Women, free of childbirth, are instead consumed by the world.
Without the sun there is no age.
We are what we haven’t chosen to be.
This is what I see when you’re not with me.
Emptiness separating reality from understanding.
And I call to you.
And I call to you.
And I scream for you!
And I boil alive in the broth, my own anger...
Whatever I can cook up to feed the hunger that you inspire.
But
a peace shatters the storm.
A shaft of light jousts the gloom like heavenly charioteer.
What else could it be?
It is you, so long as you shine for me.

My girl.

You are in the midst
of goddesses
upon a pedestal.

Chiseled stone holds
you firm atop
it's foundation.

Yet, we mere mortals
must hold committed
to the hands of time.

We damaged each other.

My guilt, your guilt
keep me slavishly
tied to my goddess.

You are on a pedestal.

Standard behaviour from the Russians. Obliteration by sheer numbers and force. 190,000 troops on Ukraine's border, now forging their way into the pristine land of their cousins.
Shall be interesting to see their tactics, Russians were never good at improvising, Slavishly taking their orders from the war room, those old Generals who fought long ago in Afghanistan and perhaps joined the action in the Chechen affair, both, of which, ended in ignominious withdrawal by the Soviet Union.
Putin's forces have never been encouraged to think for themselves, never encouraged to initiate. The leaders always suspicious of delegating authority. The lesser commanders will not assume responsibility. All decisions will come from the war room. This is the Russian way. Commit the cannon fodder, obliterate by sheer numbers. Stalin did it, now Putin is taking up the chalice.

Under the pretext of "Peacekeeping forces". Putin won't stop at the Dneiper river, he wants the whole country, he wants the vast wheatfields and the mineral wealth. He wants, what he regards as his entitlement, that which used to be a vassal part of the old USSR.

So far, the response from NATO has been weak. The USA, war weary from Vietnam and Afghanistan, wants no part of the action. Token sanctions and a dithering resonation from old Joe show little resolve there. Boris Johnson, who needs an injection of popularity after his Covid indiscretions, is at least broadcasting belligerence to the Russian invaders and is following up by sending advanced weaponry and advisors to an embattled Ukraine.

Broadly the world is sitting on the fence, muttering outrage and wringing the hands. Putin appears to have taken their measure well.

M.
25 Feb 2022

The sooty frequent of the machinations of the Skotádi or Darkness were systematized with Vernarth genuflecting before the Mashiach, poking himself in the Verses that are of draconian dipsomania and Manumission “Here is that spirit that haunts us by showing itself the smooth eruv of the Kathartírio; right here leaving their feet and heads that have been given to the Lord ..., here I have been anointed by him to also bring conversion and merciful news together with my Lord Apostle Saint John who has guarded me, who has removed the bandages from my hallucinated eyes, being trans mortal among the captives and galley slaves that with their chains have broken your tympanum, my beloved Mashiach, like a whale of whales stranded by your bleeding saliva! What greater power is over me bringing my mother's hand that inhibits my fever of trans mortality, and that makes a heartbeat even after my soul is not essential! Messiah, I am the one who has been in all the concentration camps, I have seen hands torn by the fierceness of human felines, and by the noble pacts that open with their stilettos to the Christians who follow your word ..., I know they will dwell in the afflicted wasteland where the nations rule each other with their gold fangs, and with silver earrings ..., dwelling in the opacity of the burned-out farmhouses in their afflicted famine, only waiting for thousands of transgenerational generations, from which the verse of Liberation will make them exempt from satisfying your appetite, even in the angelus or in the sticky wheat that is forced from the jaws of the Skotádi and the Katarthírio, where forgiveness will be to see and eat what it will cost us a lifetime to pay off what we could not condescend from the burning Mezzo acquire!

In this way it will be channeled under your majestic cloudscape and the surrendered sea of the sacraments in all those who did not make it at birth ..., and neither did they dazzle the depressed sower who will be redeemed from Zion. Everything is an undeclared transgression, but if he lashes twice in the gall of what he is capable of turning away from Suffering, and from the prediction that he declares himself to be pardoned free from the Truth that hides from his woes in adversity, and that continues to struggle under thousands of years for the Kathartírio ..., What is our Purgation that is more than an organism of Superior Light, sleeping and surreptitious in the calluses of those who contaminate their sacred walk for thousands of years through the desert ..., only arranged for those who will find it! indivisibly stigmatized! Do not ****** the Reception Vessel from me, because it is in it are the souls of my foundations that encrypt and underline more than my untied hands in the entire enunciation of its declaration and only in its inverted nomenclature of language. I can only say through my feet, that they are yours my Lord ..., alone and little that nothing coexists ..., it will be more than what I will not know how to say with all my respect, so what has to transform me will channel me into dissimilarities and before my dreams as a pairing of burning crematories on the extended flares that will not end.

Patmia is with her face and derision unmasked, noticing the abysmal restlessness of the alelí, with its imperfect aggravated treachery in what is incapable of persevering when the twilight becomes suppressive in the master key of the burnished ethón, whose most diluted timid will be only the roar of his turpentines that cry out for the Cristus that crystallizes, and dematerializes in chromatic colors that are unpainted from the splendid Sun translucent in the water of the Jordan. What difference will there be in the othones or screens that support their contrasts, if one day there will even be a lack of water for the baptismal of Ein Karem. I will be from a deranged domain where floodgates of hydrous fullness will not open, that fills real nature with the desires to supply what passion does from the top over the Jordan and this in the passion of Keter, as adoration and idolatry of incorporeal Water. Everything pleads about harmonies that are distressed, not holding the rod that measures runaway time in front of the inexorable Thuellai. And what is the knotty thinking, mute in its purposes that are of the sacred lexicon? But my Beloved Confréres let us bind the flavor of the elder root, and of its old painful as beards in the feather that will become feathery springs where its flow will germinate with the compromised berry of dew and vine, totally scattered in the frontal green of the Hexagonal Baptistery of the Shepherds in Ein Karem. Pluri-springs and their eyebrows, they will guttural squalls in the ovaries of their pericarp, but not from the same elderberry that will sprout in eternal life from its irradiated berries, where nothing and nobody will omit its brownish petiole and its late Zoroaster that carries it in his chins as ornaments in the merciful compassionate, before the punishing weak and his bite for everything in whom he does not resent him!

I will cross out the lines of my hands and I will return to where the Shemesh blowing from the Shofar ..., fitting only in my unleashed thoughts ..., with sneers of derision on the plain of a barrel and its berries to save us. In the world, they will fall like wicked towards others who will blame them! I do not know if the vice of hiding traumatizes me behind the tropes that ride dark or carry me over their darkness, and my very image that sacrifices it, or will it be of those who get fed up knowing that there was nothing from me to save ..., only the transformation that is made of the Jordan where they will never again be seen in the river ...! That he dozed next to Peter…, undulating like a cobra and feeling himself say white sin? Nothing is a substitute in the reception that never stops opening floodgates, perhaps expanding in the executive axes of the Apokálypsis, or of a Behina Dalet receiving multisectoral in what is not its equivalent ..., nor in the hatching of its identical disparate, and that nothing and no one will know by any Written or Wisdom rule to be transformed from his oral to his back! A verse will run shaken from the relaxed worldliness, compressing itself with graceful touches in the charities of the Shofar, and of the long sounds of perverted anguish without wavering in what is temporarily suspended, either in clauses overturned before the eyes of anyone, and those who are cowed from the fears that they never knew how to overcome from their own.

The Deus Himation bubbles, surpassing the warmth of what is and is not surnamed in what is a sweaty proverb, even in the solitude of all the patrimonial that has weakened from its plinton, grafting itself on the directive designs that work slavishly to their own compromise. laborious and healthy maternal, complacent of the sap that goes to the following of the mischievous sigueríos or Lost Seas of Capernaum, only washing in the heel where it will never be healed. Nothing more generous than to pursue indulgences in rivers that end of those that are pacified even more at night, when they still seem to flow towards the Shamaim or Heaven of imperishable prayer, as if they were crashing from some runaway and sticky wagons at dawn, but yes grim in the lump of a champion where nothing has ever to be compromised in the glosses of his worst injury!

To be more like the machines
and gadgets that surround us,
the newest incarnation of gods
spun from nightmare threads
of loss and starvation
then slavishly served.

To have a memory
like a video camera,
to never be lost
like a GPS map,
to be an efficient little worker
steady as a robot arm,
to crush enemy bones
as relentlessly as a bulldozer,
to weather insults
as dispassionately
as your virtual assistant,
and be as immortal
as photos in cyberspace,
forever smooth cheeked,
outlasting any marble statue.

Not forgetting
birthdays and car keys,
stumbling down dead end
hotel hallways,
limping on a sprained ankle,
calling in sick or hungover
bedridden with shaking,
nose broken by a drunken
bar brawl head ****,
or crushed by that woman
just rolling her eyes,
and walking away.

And not this
trembling skeleton draped
in withering flesh clicking,
ticking like a broken clock,
springs uncoiling,
winding down.

We scramble and race,
controlling and perfecting
and finally break ourselves
against the steel idols
of our own creation,
like John Henry
hammering his drill.

Mindless hate
Fueling,
The spectacle
Ruling
The idol lies
Hypnotized,
Slavishly drooling
Like homeschooling
******
In repressed
Insecure
And alone,
Unexpressed
Will turn into
A war
For your loyalty
Soil,
Your toil,
Your vote
For the royalty’s
Dynasty’s
Building a moat
And awoke
Is unwelcome
Just go back to sleep
As they reap your American dreams
Counting sheep

As September daze will soon arrive
recollections from a
psychologically checkered  past
loom large recalling  
tragic storied days of mein kampf.

Circa early nineteen seventies:
As a mere slip of a shy lad,
(who knew nothing
about powder milk biscuits),
I experienced unfettered amorousness
toward an equally introverted lass
(conjured courtesy my imagination),
though both of us
barely out of our boyhood
and girlhood respectively
unfettered infatuation naturally
found me wedded to Anna Rexia.

Unhealthy relationship between us
left the writer of these words
with ****** dysmorphic  
skeletal elements of harried style,
swiftly tailored over
mine ensuing tweener years,
which pronounced after effect(s)
still linger approximately five decades
after existential crisis indelibly pierced,
scored and tattooed permanent
anatomical and  physiological characteristics
within windmills of my mind
namely delicately impressed psyche
communicated this August 30th, 2022.

Imagine yours truly post pubescence;
(no matter ye never met me)
all that life in front of one young buck
argh... precious time squandered;
I blithely would surrender
entire corporel being
lock, stock, and barrel,
whereby mine fractured mindscape abustle
with rattle and hum of compulsions
most time consuming innocuous rituals
slavishly buzzfeeding pet peeves.

Anorexia nervosa ranked
as thee moost detrimental
upon cusp of prepubescence;
I metaphorically teetered
and tottered on the brink
of deep analogous
Russian Siberian exile.

While awaiting piano lesson
(circa early 1970's)
collapsed unto the floor
Barbara McCall, née Youngblood
helplessly watched her student (me)
he flailed, garbled, hobbled...
succumbed into heart of darkness
softly wailing "I cannot live anymore"
or some such grievous plaintive utterance.

Long befuddled long dazed journey into night
began to hound my doggone noggin
while in the throes of puberty
voices dictated me to forego
first one meal, two, then all hunger pangs
eventually stymied, squelched, and silenced.

Dumbfounded family members
(father, mother, and deux sisters)
baffled, and thought
precious progeny and brother respectively
possibly involved with drugs
(an easier fix in retrospect),
versus shattered psyche (mine)
analogous to Humpty Dumpty mishap
only far more serious.

Even curious peers queried me
during lunchtime understandably asking,
whether non intake of food
nsync and/or linkedin
with particular religion,
which inquisitiveness answered
with shrug of shoulders,

cuz reason without rhyme
i.e. existential crisis
impossible mission to communicate
at that moment, whereby
all ears and eyes turned toward me
I wanted to crawl into
a black hole and disappear.

I felt absolutely zero joie de vivre
(no surprise stating the obvious)
essentially loathed being alive
when fellow students grilled me
(unspoken tongue in cheek retort
cheeses crust inaudibly uttered).

A short while prior
before anorexia nervosa got free rein
to ride amuck
analogous to red
(angry) bulls running roughshod
think utmost helter skelter
my mother acquired degree
as licensed practical nurse
courtesy local vocational trade school.

She crafted nutritious concoctions,
yet interestingly enough
did not watch me like a hawk
rather left her sole skinny son
with task to consume sizable quantity
without dereliction to pour
said healthy drink down toilet.

I quickly established routine sipping elixir
whereby yours truly filled
little plastic measuring cup
then painstakingly nursed
said tumbler size capful
down gullet - good to the last drop,
which inexorably time consuming process
found hardly any spare hours
for any other (necessary
or otherwise) function.

Eventually solid food intake
integrated with pureed secret ingredients,
yet even the painful prospect receiving
iron inoculations into bony buttucks
(punitive punishment gladly accepted)
without curbing appetite for self destruction,
which as an aside mother dearest
never disclosed constituent parts
comprising blended conglomerate
when, some few decades later,
she went to her grave.

Because of the pre ponderance of handguns and their ease of
availability in America....and because of the theatrics embedded in
the imagination of the population by 60 years of 1st Blood,  *****
Harry and High Noon....and lastly, because of the newly expressed
rhetoric of ultimate violence against any opposition by people in high places....

The mantra of political assassination hangs like a shroud over the nation.

There is always going to be the loose cannon who lusts for notoriety, who lusts for revenge, who hates to the degree that he or she will court a violent end to achieve their ****** ambition.

Politicians are the prime target, loud and vocatious, exposed to the
masses frequently, always violently expressing the primal things which trigger the thin line of discord to rupture with the shot from a gun, with the momentary gleam of manic satisfaction, with the spasm of agony as the ****** of justice fires the round which ends the assailants life.

It is a grand performance which has been replayed through history. A performance, these days, played repeatedly over the media, every portrayal in every available angle, every agonised expression of the players recorded, every spray of blood. The more graphic and grandiose, the better....and it is devoured, slavishly, rapaciously, by much of the nation's spectator population.

Disgustingly, Trump has made huge capital from the near miss of last week. He has enlisted the roar of approval of the MAGA crowd in his expression of ****** defiance whilst being rushed away by the Secret Service. He has maneuvered the mass sympathy of the adoring thousands at the crass pantomime which was the Republican National Convention. He has even invoked the assistance of Divine intervention and the suggestion that God has, indeed, decreed that he shall be the next President of the United States of America.

From afar, it all looks like a huge and ghastly fabrication. A
manipulation of tragedy to achieve a political aim. A blatant betrayal of values of human decency  and a crass desiccation of the  values embodied in the magnificence of your nation's history and the grace symbolized in the proud Stars and Stripes flowing forth, yonder in the breeze, from the white flagstaff.

[email protected]

Traveled
For miles
To get to you
Rescue you
Lucky enough
To behold the whole
Mess of you
Dressed in a sorrow
I struggle to emulate
Here in this
All too inaccurate
Capsulate
Gravitate
Slavishly
Back to your side
But belong to
Along with you
Down for the ride

Prigs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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



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



The Deadlings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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



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



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



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



Weeding Out the Truth — The "Left" in Science

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Flow is No Good

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Wheel of Ages

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Fists and Pills

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



To the False Scientist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



To the False Scientist — Brutal Truth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Into the Void

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Reflecting World Decay in Verse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Land of Losharya, Planet of Trash

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Land of Losharya, Planet of Crap

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



The Stench of Earth’s Breeding Pit

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Bell’s Theorem

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Mind’s Forshmak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Mind’s Forshmak — A Poisoned Slop

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Time of Change

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Writings and Priests

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Flagging Wolves with Paper Chains

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Life Worth Just Broken Coins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Melancholy and Creation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



Time to Die

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



In the Dungeon of Darkness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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



Modern Ku Klux ****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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


Modern Ku Klux ****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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



The Modern Ku Klux ****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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



The Modern Ku Klux ****

I. The Rot and The Poison

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

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

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


II. The Fall of Tyrants

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

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


III. The Ruin and The Rise

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

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


IV. The Fiery Reckoning

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

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


V. The Storm of Justice

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

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


VI. The Rise of the Few

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

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


VII. The End of Tyranny

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

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


VIII. The Final Battle

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

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


IX. The New Dawn

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

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



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



The Modern Ku Klux ****


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

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



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



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

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



The Modern Ku Klux ****, the song


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sun blazes hotter, world burns to ash!
Idiots line up, ready to crash!
No mercy given, no time to hide!
Fight or fall — do or die!