Анти-стресс, Anti-Stress

Ушёл в подполье слов и ритма.
Нет партии — один. А битва
С огромным полчищем уродов —
Продажных тварей-сумасбродов.

А впрочем сколько их, мне похуй —
Молчать, склоняться очень плохо
Как для ума, так для Психеи.
Вот рифма кстати — БЕЙ СИЛЬНЕЕ!..




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Витамины
Для кретина:
Не помогут —
Дури много.
Прозябание убого...



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Апокалипсис

Кошмар закончился —
Приходит Смерть:
Дух — пшик, Ум кончился =>
И дрогнет Твердь.



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Перед смертью

"Кошмар закончился" —
Старик сказал:
Всю жизДнь противился,
И не пропал.

В объятья Смерти пал...




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Клоуны-политики и пни-"народ"

Клоуны сломаны.
Пни околдованы
Ложью, "основами" —
"Скрепами" новыми".



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Горе от ума
Посреди Дерьма
Хуже чем сума,
Горше чем тюрьма.



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Пошлость и мгновение Смерти

Пролетаю мимо кассы
Как фанера над Парижем.
Дыры, трещины в каркасе,
Оттого полёт всё ниже.
Упаду и разобьюся —
Может хоть на миг очнуся,
А пока под ветром гнуся...




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Анти-стресс

Давление на почки —
Вот пиво и грибочки.
Но пролетели ночки =>
И не ДОШЁЛ ДО ТОЧКИ.



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Бюрократия и скрытая надстройка над ней

По инстанциям мытарства —
То не вход во ТВАРЕЙ царство:
Не видать главнейших ТВАРЕЙ
Во Всемирной Лживой Мари.
Правят миром через СМРАДы
Полулюди, супер-гады.
А политик СМРАДов клоун,
Компроматом крепко скован.




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Anti-Stress

Pressure on the kidneys —
Beer and mushrooms: wicked!
But nights flew by so fast —
He never reached the last!



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Apocalypse

The nightmare ends —
Then Death draws near:
The Spirit fades, the Mind is dead —
And Earth itself shall fear.



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Bureaucracy — and the Hidden Power Above It

Through offices and red tape — what a maze!
Yet this is not the gate to their domain:
The greatest FIENDS remain beyond our gaze
In the Worldwide Web of Lies and Pain.

They rule the world through SMRADs from the shade —
Half-human monsters, super-scum and vile;
While politicians play the SMRADs' charade,
By compromising dirt chained all the while.



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Vitamins

For a fool —
They won't do.
Too much nonsense
Running through.

Pitiful existence —
Just persistence.



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Woe from the Mind

In a world of grime,
Worse than the madman's mind,
Bitterer than a prison cell,
Where fools are doing fine.



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Woe from the Mind

Amidst the grime,
Worse than a crime,
Bitter than hell,
And worse than a cell.



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The Disappearance of Free Cheese

The flag flies high.
“An outside foe!”
What a lie —
The herds all know:

“Own” oppresses,
“Own” destroys,
CowID dresses
Fear as noise.

Many perish,
Many fall,
Fed on lies —
That’s all they’re worth.

War is praised,
Or down below,
The herd is driven,
Row by row.

Arbitrary power grows,
While the mind just fades away;
Spirit’s crumbs —
A brief decay —
Left to rot
In the cattle yard.

This is not
A world, but Hell —
A filthy pen,
A living cell.

Their one great aim:
To kill the mind,
To make the spirit
Rot behind

Bars of lies,
In one vast stall
Where the herd
Can never crawl.

This is Hell —
Not peace, not bliss.

So tell me, now:

WHERE IS THE CHEESE?!



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Political Clowns and People-Stumps

The clowns are broken down,
The stumps are spellbound —
By lies and “sacred” lore,
By “values” never before.



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Political Clowns and People-Stumps

The clowns are broken,
The stumps are bewitched,
By lies they’ve been soaking,
By “values” well-glitched.



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Non-Attachment to a Pseudo-Life

When you sum up your life’s long score,
Spare the “single tear” — no more.
All those “successes” are but dreams,
Old pioneers and faded schemes.

Nothing but lies: false creeds and lore,
Propaganda — nothing more.
Shake the dust of decay away,
All the hooks that make you stay.

One thing remains — the Sense within:
You’re a stranger in this din.
Do not mistake decay for life;
Turn toward the Spirit, free from strife.

A poem is words that catch and bind;
Poets stand where nonsense winds.
A chosen few are not yet drowned
In the bottomless abyss around.

If words are all the poet’s stakes,
Let them mark the paths he takes.
Let your failures, not your fame,
Lead you through the gaps of Shame.

Through the holes in collective Bred,
Where all are lulled and poorly led.
Seek no footprints left behind —
They vanish from the deadened mind.

Switch your intuition on;
Welcome doubt and critical thought.
Claim the Inner Right alone:
Your road goes upward — straight toward Home.

Therefore your path is only Flight —
Not a march to “Truth” in sight.
An idiot will never know:
He burns through “ideas” as he goes,

While in Hell he waits, content,
For “happiness” by fools invented.



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Before Death

“The nightmare’s over,”
The old man said.
“All my life I fought it —
And was not dead.”

Then Death embraced him —
And all was said.



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Before Death

“The nightmare’s done,”
The old man said.
“All my life I fought —
Yet lived instead.”

Then into Death’s embrace
He quietly fled.



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Vulgarity and the Moment of Death

I fly right past the ticket booth,
Like plywood soaring over Paris;
My frame is cracked, my wings have holes —
No wonder now my flight grows perilous.

I’ll crash and shatter — who can tell?
Perhaps I’ll wake, at least, from Hell.
But for now I bend and sway
Beneath the storm and drift away…



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Underground in Words and Rhythm

I’ve gone underground in word and rhyme —
No party here, just me and time.
One against a monstrous horde,
Corrupt mad fools, bought and bored.

But how many? I don’t give a damn —
To bow and keep mute? No, not I, man!
It’s poison to the mind and soul
To kneel beneath their dull control.

And here’s a rhyme that fits just right:
HIT HARDER! STRIKE WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!







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