Сильная простуда, A Nasty Cold

Рабский строй.
СМРАДов вой.
Быть собой —
НЕ с толпой.




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Животный строй психики ПОДАВЛЯЮЩЕГО большинства и перспективы Всемирного Загона

Гадко: падко дебильё
На Тотальное Враньё.
В целом, шансов никаких:
Строй животный — раб плюс псих
Превращается в скотину.
Уничтожат животину... 




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Чалишься на Зоне
Мировой Смурной.
Не мечтай о Воле...
В ней не стать собой...




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Равновесие между рациональностью и эмоциональностью

Коромысло: числа — слёзы_
_и_эмоции. Угрозы:
сухость_тупость — оскуденье
Силы Духа. Разложенье
там и там — ищи серёдку:
крен куда-то — сумасброд ты.




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"Сообщество поэтов",
Что для простых ответов.
— А сложные вопросы?
— Лишь на "любовь" запросы...




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Убогая картина
Устроит лишь кретина:
"Мир славный и могучий"...
Сплошь лживо-злоебучий...



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Тошнотная картина
Устроит лишь кретина:
"Мир славный и могучий"...
Обманный, злоебучий.
Кретин в мечтаньях круче
ТВАРЬЯ Могучей Кучи...




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Сильная простуда

Проблесковый маячок.
В скорой фельдшер-дурачок,
Врач-кретин. Кругом _говнид.
За придурком Гибель мчит —
Он поверил в _чушь: что сь мнит.
Отлежался, пропотел —
Чмо_с_Косою не удел.




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Проходят годы — ум изменяется;
Душа в Мерзоте как прежде мается.
Ну а Невзгоды лишь уплотняются —
В безумном мире ТВАРЬЁ старается. 




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На пробежку выхожу
И вокруг опять гляжу:
Невесёлая картина,
Что устроит лишь кретина.




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Waves of Creativity

Not heroism, but the art 
Of shaping life — that’s where we start. 
Then worry fades, the mind grows clear, 
And trivial things no longer steer.

Through steady toil, the efforts climb, 
Till suddenly — a peak sublime. 
Then comes the ebb, the strength runs dry, 
But learn the Wave, and you’ll know why.

You wait again for the crest to rise, 
The Ninth Wave bursting in surprise. 
The filth of pseudo-life slips away — 
Down into the trough you plunge once more.

And Melancholy bears its weight: 
An organic part of this estate, 
When Madness rules on every side, 
And staying sane’s a drowning tide.

You’re lucky — now you’ve learned to sail, 
Forgotten Earth’s foul stink and stale. 
Alone, not sailing with the herd, 
You brave the sea, untamed, unstirred.

No ties to what was “safe” before — 
A dream the beaten live and adore. 
And should you drown, it won’t be vain: 
You sailed with every ounce of strain.

Though Creativity’s fruits may burn, 
Rot in lies, or sink in turn, 
Though artists seem a little crazed, 
There’s Water yet for us to raise

Our spirits, play to our heart’s delight, 
And even drown, if drown we might. 
The Horror of the World, passing through, 
Shall find no way to live anew.



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Waves of Creativity

Not heroics, but the art 
Of shaping life — that’s where we start. 
Then worries fade, distractions cease, 
And life itself falls into peace.

Through constant toil, the efforts rise, 
Till suddenly — the summit skies! 
Then strength ebbs out, the spirit sinks, 
But those who know the Wave have links

To what comes next: the crest, the roar, 
The Ninth Wave crashing to the shore! 
Life’s pseudo-filth fades from the view — 
Then down you plunge, the trough comes due.

And Melancholy bears you down: 
That, too, belongs to this mad town. 
When Nonsense reigns on every side, 
It’s hard to keep your head above the tide.

How lucky — now you’ve learned to sail, 
Far from the land’s foul stink and jail! 
Alone, not drifting with the herd, 
You brave the waves, your own heart’s word.

No ties to “safety” left to keep — 
A dream the beaten sell to sleep. 
And should you drown, you’ve not sailed vain: 
You fought the sea with all your strain.

Though fruits of Art may burn and rot, 
Or sink in lies and be forgot; 
Though artists seem quite mad to some, 
Enough deep Water yet will come

For us to play, to leap, to ride, 
And meet the deep with arms spread wide. 
And through us, though we drown at last, 
The World’s great Horror shall not last.

It shall not live, nor multiply — 
Through us, its foul inheritance shall die.



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Two Alternatives

It’s not the crime that makes us stare, 
But how it’s done with skill and flair. 
When evil’s played to virtuoso height, 
The mob proclaims it Truth and Right.

Then “great achievements” earn their place 
In myths of glory, time can’t erase. 
Thus one regime succeeds the last, 
While monsters thrive beneath the cast.

They groom the image, pour on balm, 
And fascism returns, serene and calm. 
Its name may change, its banners too, 
Yet glue binds crowds into one crew.

With Art’s own roar and Propaganda’s lies, 
The same old order spreads and multiplies. 
The Search for Spirit fades from view; 
The herd gets substitutes, not what is true.

You are the Spirit, not the frame — 
Yet schools through ages play the same 
Old trick: implant a heresy, 
And breed obedient cattle, free

In name alone. Dehumanization, 
A scarlet thread through every nation, 
Runs thick and red through history’s spine — 
Hour after hour, by slow design.

The darkness wants more than a fool: 
A CowID stamped by madness’ rule. 
And few escape the rot today, 
With Lies packed tight inside their heads.

Fight fire with fire — a worldwide shock 
May wear the mask of one more crime. 
The meek-born idiot, trained to kneel, 
Need not be turned to beast by time.

The End of History — here, in sight: 
We watch it dawning in broad daylight. 
Cast off the clouds of Lies and Bane; 
Return to Spirit, break the chain.

The burrow no longer keeps you safe; 
The muzzle showed its iron face. 
Turn inward now, though young in Spirit — 
Expect no gifts from the world, nor merit.

Two roads lie open: Spirit’s rise, 
Or Annihilation in disguise. 
When Degradation breaks the scale, 
Find the core no storm can fail

To break — the axis deep inside, 
That even world-catastrophe can’t divide. 
It shall bring slavery to its end, 
And worldwide idiocy with it descend.

---

Ending option:

Two paths remain when all things fall:
The Spirit’s world — or none at all.
When Degradation reigns supreme,
Awake the core no storm can maim.

No global cataclysm can bend
The axis that we must defend.
It brings the age of bondage through
To judgment — and its fools there, too.


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The Animal Mind of the Overwhelming Herd and the Future of the Global Pen

How vile: the fools fall, hook and sinker, 
For lies that grow both vast and thicker. 
No hope, it seems, for those who crawl 
As slaves and beasts — the herd of all.

The beast within takes full control, 
And cattle is what’s left of soul. 
Then, penned at last, the creatures wait — 
To be destroyed by their own fate.



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History and the Present

Genghis Khan was no fool,
Fantasy won’t breed a sage.
You’re the dupe if myths rule
What you think you know of age.

Myths still multiply today:
“Yanks to Moon”? A daring flight?
Through “history” they lead astray,
Bend a bought-out mind outright.

“Real life” joins the same charade —
Think of CowID, forged and fake.
Mind and Spirit both betrayed;
Not even crosses help you wake.

“Faith” and pseudo-science spread,
Through the schools they storm ahead.
Every generation’s fated
To be “pandemic”-indoctrinated.

Mind BENEATH the Spirit — fine.
That’s the norm they’d have you keep.
Washed-out brains, the Inner Shine
Drowned in screens and books asleep.

Tiny crumbs of truth remain,
Buried deep beneath the lies.
Hard to break the mental chain
When through falsehood’s lens you size

All the world. Sharpen your sight,
Turn within, defend your flame!
Save the Light in this madhouse blight,
Though the world may call you insane.

You won’t walk the road with those
Whose souls lie comatose and still,
Who have squandered all they know,
Marching to the Digital Pen at will.

There the Spirit’s ground to dust,
There the Mind shrinks, warped and small,
Swept away in whirlwinds of
Delusion swallowing all.

In the Spirit’s sphere abide —
There the mad world cannot cling.
Though they lie, the Sun shines wide;
No false factories dim its wing.

Through the Light, the Great Collapse
May bring slavery’s cure at last.
History’s a web of traps,
Lies to hide the shameful past.



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The Misery of Fake Life and the Dream Factory

I'm sick of the screen —
That dumb, rotten shit!
It drags you obscene
To the depths of the pit!

Inside — hollow space.
A cattle pen's face.
The “real” world, no doubt,
Keeps dreams churning out.

They dream — and they lie.
To slaughterhouses they fly,
To hard labor, too —
For happiness due!

But death is their prize —
Their souls slowly die.
So watch the show!
Let the shit sink below!

The End’s drawing near —
The fool’s an expert here!
CowID made it plain.
When did YOU lose your brain?



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I go jogging, look around —
What a grim and grimy town!
Only some complete buffoon
Could have made this bleak cartoon!



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The Agony of a Counterfeit Life

You can’t endure this slow decay
In Hell, where souls are sold away.
You sacrifice your own, conform
To “normal” for the beastly swarm.

But if your Soul still hasn’t died,
If you’ve kept some reason deep inside,
If you’ve escaped their mindless bliss,
Then you’ve come far to reach all this.

You’re sick of it? Then walk on through!
Though worn and weary, see it through.
Don’t stop, or you’ll sink out of sight
In the world’s foul mire of blight.

Turn INWARD — there’s no other way.
The rest is heresy and decay.
Or Grinning Evil, dressed as treats,
Will crush your Mind and Soul beneath.



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The years roll on — the Mind transforms,
The Soul still writhes in filth and storms.
And hardships thicken, year by year,
While BEASTS go mad in a world of fear.



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Slave-state grind.
Media whine.
Be your own —
NOT their kind.



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The Balance of Reason and Emotion

Scales that sway: cold numbers, tears,
Logic, feelings, hopes, and fears.
Dryness dulls the Spirit’s flame,
Rot sets in on either frame.

Seek the middle, hold your ground —
Tip too far, and madness is found.



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A Nasty Cold

Blue lights flashing, sirens scream,
Medic moron on the scene.
Doctor dolt — the whole crew’s blind,
CowID rules every mind.

Death comes racing at the fool
Who believed the bullshit rule.
Sweated it out, slept instead —
Ducked the scythe, outsmarted Death!



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“A Poets’ Community”
For simple answers, plain and sweet.
“But questions deep?”
“Just love, on repeat!”



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A sorry sight, a fool’s delight:
“A world so grand, so strong, so bright!”
But peel the paint — what lies beneath?
A lying, evil, festering heath!



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A nauseating sight,
A fool’s delight:
“Behold a world so grand, so strong!”
A lying, vile, corrupting throng!

The fool dreams big, his hopes take flight,
While MIGHTY BEASTS rule with all their might.



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You’re locked inside the Zone,
This grim world’s prison cell.
Don’t dream of freedom, no —
You can’t be YOU out there as well.







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