Self-Censorship on Stupid, Slave-like, So-called Literary Sites
"Chief Moderator"—
Once was the censors' might...
Self-provocator?!
No cash? That’s pure shameful plight!
"Self-isolation,"
It was all the same:
A mind's castration,
Simply—no cash, no fame.
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The Beast
The earthly beast is strange indeed—
Wounds in the mind, the soul in need,
But to fall so LOW, to sink so deep,
One must learn well from Hell’s own keep.
And if that’s true, they’re not to blame,
These twisted forms, in spite of shame—
Their judgment will come, though not today:
When they’re compared to Hell's own face, they’ll pay.
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Hollow Feasts of Hollow Lives
They pop the corks and cheer out loud,
A "grand success" they celebrate.
But what they hail, so vain and proud,
Is worthless even to elate.
Success is when the soul ignites,
And mind is honed to shape its spark.
If praise and gold define your heights,
You’ve missed the truth and groped in dark:
What is God’s Fire? What is Creation?
What’s art? Why does this Earth endure
A swarm of wasted generations,
Drowned in deceit and darkness pure?
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Inertia of Thought
Inertia traps the mind in chains,
A road that leads to Nowhere plain.
The soul decays, yet time remains—
The rot unfolds through years of pain.
So warning signs are cast aside,
Ignored until too late to see—
And then you stand, arms open wide,
To welcome in your enemy.
But intuition holds the key
To break that wheel and tear apart—
One ancient path, eternally,
To save the soul from sinking dark.
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Propaganda
The sewage flows into your home—
Dark propaganda, strong and vile.
Believe their lies? You’ll stand alone,
A scapegoat led to slaughter’s aisle.
No war declared, yet battles rage,
Your mind and soul—their battleground.
Struck once, you join the fools engaged,
As more must fall without a sound.
The cycle’s done. And soon will gloat
That cunning fiend with twisted grin,
Counting souls he’s lured and caught—
His tally shows the ones who sinned.
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Chaos, or the Roulette of Hollow Life
Zero.
Grey glow.
You place your bets on red and black,
So swift, so sure—no turning back.
Yet while you bet, they bet on you—
The beasts won’t stop, they’ll push you through.
For them, the game is crushing fools,
Who guard their skins but live by rules
Of chains unseen. No fate to tell—
This rigged roulette is chaos—hell.
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Trashy Films and Nonsense Shows
They churn out plots with lazy hand,
Cheap scripts are made with ease—
No talent needed to expand
A flood of smut to please.
The screens are filled with filth unchecked,
The web is drowning too.
Yet filth is tame—now pure neglect
Lets madness take its due.
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The Fog of a Rotten World
A poisoned fog engulfs the land,
Its fumes of lies pollute the air.
It veils the goal, so far, so grand,
While wretches lead you to despair.
Your goal is clear—just think, just see,
If still your soul can feel the light.
But wretches serve the Enemy,
For coin they push, for coin they fight.
The fog grows thicker every day,
Dispersed by madness, not by thought.
And soon we’ll all just rot away—
The "last one standing" rots the least.
js/342
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The Knight in Shining Armor
Behold the knight in armor bright—
A jester’s show, a hollow sight.
His "armor" is success and fame,
Each step—a milestone in the game.
A game of lies, a life for sale,
Where souls are lost beyond the pale.
Corrupted deep, they grieve no more—
But only crave to rise and score.
For "glory" blind, for wealth they run,
Their greed devours everyone.
No honor left—just hunger raw,
For power, gold, and hollow law.
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To Heal and Extinguish...
We stamp the seals, we quench the lime,
We drown out minds in waves of lies.
A cunning fiend, who bides his time,
Wears a mask of sane disguise.
We heal the wounds, we numb the pain,
We "cure" the mind in CowID's name.
Our fate is set, the script’s the same—
Once, they "healed" us under "AIDS".
We’ll trust, obey, and play along,
We’ll kill our minds for fleeting gain.
Till all is priced, till right is wrong,
And all drop dead—no soul remains.
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This World
A crippled world, where Freedom’s name
Is torn to shreds—just empty sound.
And every struggle, every shame,
A tool to break the herd and hound.
The weak obey, they laugh, they crawl,
So blind, so dull—a wretched breed.
Here Satan wears a godlike shawl,
And none but madmen dare be freed.
Yet madness here is called the norm,
So if you see, you stand alone.
This world is swallowed by the storm
Of filth and shame upon the throne.
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In Hell
I’ve had enough—too much to take,
A world so vile, so cheap, so fake.
Among the horned, we search for grace—
Hold on a bit, just keep your place.
This feast of Evil soon will cease,
But dare relax—you’ll lose your peace.
One slip, one step—you’ll pay the price,
And wake in Hell… but fresh and nice.
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Brewing the Potion of Change
We brew the potion of deceit,
To smear the world in tainted sleet.
Through us, it falls—enslaved, confined—
We give away the trap we find.
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Zombies and Fools
Zombies and fools write poems still,
But soon will come the poet's ill—
The death of verse, with vulgar screams,
Drowned in the flood of filthy dreams.
Why, you ask? Among this tide,
True poets hide, their voices died—
Like searching through the endless mess,
For truth that’s lost in emptiness.
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Aging Children and "Adult Games"
Playing grown-up’s easy, see—
Just grow up, and you’ll be free!
So many adults, they lie with grace—
A third of old folks live in disgrace.
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He Drives Out the Devils
He drives the devils far away,
The Light of Truth, it clears the way.
Yet among men, a half-turned fiend—
That’s why the lies are all we’ve seen.
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How does an hour turn to two?
In sluggish form, in twisted view—
To listen close to what’s inside,
And then the beast is pacified.
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Experiments with Form
Experiments with form are vain,
When meaning’s lost or starts to wane.
You pound the water in a sieve—
And watch the last of sense just give.
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The Boogeyman (The Recluse)
Is the Boogeyman a curse or salt
To all of Nature’s mighty fault?
To fools, let go—let them decay,
They waste their nights, they waste their days,
In greed they thrive, in mind they fight,
Caught in a war with no end in sight.
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The Blabbermouths
The blabbermouths, with stomps and claps,
They shuffle through their lives, perhaps.
Though full of fools and empty strife,
From their mouths—just slime and lies.
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No Shame
To stoop to lows and mingle with grime—
The road to "success," in its twisted climb.
And for the Devil, it’s just a game—
A laugh, a jest, a burning flame.
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Hell's Regatta
Fears and worries strike the mind,
Lies: the fools are left behind.
The world, once calm and free of spite,
Is bound, now lost, in endless night.
Dear sir, who’ll captain through this tide—
A hell-bound race, no place to hide?
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"Enemy of the People"
"Enemy of the people," they claim,
When Nature takes what’s due through you.
You listen close—yet they, in shame,
Will never forgive what’s pure and true.
Decay’s the part that they embrace,
The fools are countless, lost in space.
By being yourself, you stand in their way,
As they bow down to Evil’s sway.
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Overcrowded Hell
Manstein, the marshal, rides with speed,
On tank to Hell, with ruthless greed.
What now to do with fascist scum?
It’s time to clone for Hell’s strong glum.
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Vivisection College
The college of vivisection’s creed—
It showed that CowID’s all we need.
From this "sect" a doctor’s made,
His mind, now crushed, in ignorance laid.
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The Burning... of Hell
The sun beats down with growing might,
And burns this Hell with scorching light.
It feels more free, more clear the air,
If you're not vile, a soul laid bare.
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The Inevitable End of the World
To reach this point!—the path of hate,
Where fascism seals a grimish fate.
But if the tide of fools will rise,
Then let us sweep it all aside.
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Balalaika
I tune the balalaika sweet,
To play a tune so soft, complete.
I’ll hide no truth, I’ll show no care—
Just share the nonsense, unaware.
The balalaika means no more
Than empty sound, a hollow roar.
Most play along with foolish cheer—
A triumph of the mindless here.
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Mountain Fantasy
The wind blows cold across the peaks,
While in the valleys, heat and reeks.
How did we fall to fools so deep?
A peak’s in reach, but still, we weep.
The outlook’s grim since we were born,
Dumbness spreads, a blight, a scorn.
Through generations, fools arise—
In ignorance, the beasts devise.
They rule the world, and for long years,
With twisted truths and hidden fears.
Lies command the fools who bend,
The servants of the Devil’s end.
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Literary Heroes and Modern Strays
The Musketeers, with swords in hand,
Will duel with words, make their stand.
A blade, a verdict to defend,
While modern fools just twist and bend.
They swallow lies, they bow, they kneel,
To govern through the fake, the real.
To CowID, will the world concede?
To write a novel? "Nothing" is the deed.
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Dew, a wasp,
And a fly nearby,
Almost grace,
A joy to the eye—
Without the fly...
But pests still breed,
Like slaves, they grow,
With speed and greed.
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The Belief of the Zombies
White and fluffy,
Putler, they trust,
Zombies believe
In terrorists, in "AIDS," in CowID, unjust.
Neighbors have changed,
Now Nazism reigns.
The devils delight,
Spreading fascist chains.
It only gets worse,
With death’s toxic breath—
In the media, false culture,
Zombies dwell in madness, beneath.
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Poltergeist, or the Original Sin of Lies
A poltergeist’s no error,
Not a flaw in how we see,
A noisy reader of our thoughts,
You’re trapped if lies are key.
Many facts—they study them,
But only fools take heed.
False science kills the seeds of truth,
That in the mind should breed.
Clerics twist the meaning,
Of what’s real, with lies they spin—
The primal sin is clear to see:
Spreading lies to all within.
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A World Without War is a World Without Lies
A world without war is a world without lies.
Fools’ blabber feeds the beasts’ demise.
They drive them to the slaughter’s gate.
Stay true to yourself, don’t imitate.
Find your own way, don’t wait for a guide—
If it’s all chewed up for you, don’t decide.
The wicked serpent will twist your mind,
Poison disguised as balm, so blind.
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The Miracle
A miracle: when feelings bind the mind—
It’s almost like a taste of heaven’s find.
But wild emotions lead to disarray,
As beasts of chaos push the mind astray.
They shut the reason, turn the gears of spite,
And with that madness, darkness takes its flight.
In that wild storm, the "people" lose their way—
Believing lies, they blindly fall and sway.
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Walking Bombs with Timed Mechanisms
Timed mechanisms inside,
Built by fascism’s cruel design—
Daily cares that bind the mind,
For fools who bow and fall in line.
You rise at dawn without a bell,
Like wounded prey, a ticking spell—
Something’s ticking, don't you see?
Soon you’ll be a force for cruelty.
If you don’t break from blind submission,
The trivial chaos, senseless mission,
And anxious fears that guide the reign—
Desires are ruled by fear and pain.
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Lies from Every Iron, or "Information" and Other Services
From fascist filth, I rise in pain,
I bow and switch the iron on.
With lies, I pull the world in chains,
A shameful realm of "services" gone wrong!
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The Miracle of Nonsense
A miracle of nonsense, hear—
It dulls the mind, makes things unclear.
Who came for souls amidst the filth,
In a world so full of endless guilt?
Satan. With his hollow lies,
He tortures souls with no disguise.
Fools can swallow nonsense whole—
Just look at CowID's deadly toll.
They showed it clearly, loud and plain:
Many minds have gone insane.
Few dissent, the rest comply—
Our task? Just talk and let it die.
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Smears and Pseudoscientific Nonsense
A naked beast in reckless flight,
Its body stained, hits canvas tight.
"Is this called art?"—for fools, indeed,
The answer’s simple—no great need.
The filth is praised by vile and base,
To test how deep the fall from grace.
The crowd has sunk—are they still men?
They’ll rot, then sink, then rot again.
A critic, paid to hail decay,
Will turn pure light to foulest clay.
For cash, he’ll damn what dares to shine,
Exalting filth like it’s divine.
See, take Picasso—paints and boards—
That’s all his scribbles are, my lords!
Yet push the name—"Behold! How grand!"
Thus war on reason’s close at hand.
They fight for minds, for souls, for will,
Through filth they twist and mold you still.
Through fraud they plant absurd belief—
And fools embrace it, to their grief.
But don’t! Look out with your own sight,
And let your mind discern what’s right.
Or else you’ll turn into their spawn—
A wretch their twisted hands have drawn.
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Satan and Earth
The steward stepped into the Hall,
But found no master there.
The servants, weak and doomed to fall,
Were lost in dull despair.
He seized the throne, he made the rules,
A tyrant, harsh and sly.
The meek obeyed like frightened fools—
And how the Fiend did sigh!
But time had come to pay the price,
To settle every debt.
The Fiend and Evil fell like dice
To Hell, where they were set.
Yet one stood firm—no slavish pawn—
He passed through Heaven’s gate.
For justice shines, still marching on,
Through all the bounds of fate.
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The Shell of Lies
Peter Harris, trapped inside,
Cannot break his fragile shell.
Lies seep in through gaps so wide,
Twisting nature—warping well.
Layer lies upon another,
Till his armor’s thick and strong.
Soft ones, run—there is no cover!
Cry or wail—it won’t be long.
Armored shells now fill the spaces,
Choking life in poisoned air.
Toward the BEAST, the fate it chases—
Armored hordes are floating there.
ARMOR-BEAST now sets them chasing,
Soft ones lost beneath the tide.
What began this dark erasing?
Filth that festered deep inside.
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Mediocrity and Means
Do they survive on what they earn?
Oh no—don’t be naive!
Inheritance at every turn,
And fools that fools receive.
True talent makes them shy away,
A living, biting shame.
The meek and hollow store for days,
Yet hoard their worthless claim.
And hacks will always lend a hand—
They sail a single wave.
While talent shines, it’s quickly banned—
No market for the brave.
A poet? Writer? Cast aside
All dreams of gain or fame.
You dig for worlds yet left to rise—
Not writing for their game...
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The Price of "Success"
For some—elite,
For some—a grind.
Success? So sweet—
For all, designed.
They break your mind,
Corrupt your soul.
You walk in blind—
Cash is the goal.
But keep your mind,
And stand your ground—
No wealth you’ll find,
No fortune found.
Success is theirs
Who sold their core.
The fool who cares
Stands lost—ignored.
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The Puppet Show
In politics, the same old game—
They wag their fingers, scold.
Yet hidden hands still call the plays,
Deciding blood runs cold.
They choose if wars ignite or cease,
What chaos will unfold.
Elections? Truth? A madman’s peace—
A lie forever sold.
A line of puppets, set to go,
In every shade and hue.
The "leaders" march to steal the show—
A shame in plainest view.
Their "will is free"—or so they claim,
Yet dance at filth’s command.
A sneeze, a cough—blown into flames,
Till death is close at hand.
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The Wheel of Wretched Life
It turns, it grinds, through pain and strife,
And leads to sorrow’s pit.
"To serve your land"—a noble life?
A fool believes in it.
They preach of homeland, power, pride,
All wrapped in golden lies.
Yet scum still rules, and side by side,
The clean are dirt in eyes.
If born in chains, you'll sink in grime,
Forever dragged below.
They call it "order"—filth sublime,
While lords just watch the show.
Their whips in hand, they crack them loud,
While dangling sweet rewards.
We drown our grief in drunken clouds,
Then march to serve once more.
The "Motherland" commands again—
The mindless sent to die.
The honest wail, yet all in vain—
As propaganda cries.
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The Dreadnought Comes
The dreadnought sails through mines and waves,
It reaches port at last.
A cheering crowd in banners waves—
"The Leader’s here!" they blast.
A crowd? Or just a mindless mass?
A leader? Or a brute?
No doubt, the bastards rule the class,
While sheep stay dumb and mute.
And so it was, and so it stays,
The cycle spins again.
Now dreadnoughts change in modern days—
Yet worse are those who reign.
The Overton-lit windows shine,
Far worse than war and strife.
Deceit in megatons refines—
And drags us down from life.
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The Industry of Nonsense and Stupefaction
Nonsense feeds the foolish mind —
Industry of modern kind.
BEASTS need mobs without a thought,
Better yet—an idiot lot.
Stupefaction leads the way,
First — the home in its decay,
Like a chain that pulls along,
Then the school — the BEASTS’ foul song.
Through the STENCH their voices spread,
Till it rots the soul and head.
Day by day, the grip is tight—
Soon, we’ll rot away in blight.
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Cataclysms Exist to Sweep Away the Infernal
Revolutions stand in vain —
Hell on Earth will still remain.
Only storms of fire and flood
Save the Soul through ash and blood.
Cycles passed—yet Earth is still
But a prison for the will.
Countless souls, corrupt and weak,
Perished in the purge we seek.
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Methods of Rashist War and Propaganda
Onward limps the maimed to fight!
Won't comply? Then face the night.
TV blares its twisted call—
"Volunteers"—a countless thrall!
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A bullet’s blind,
A lie — like mind.
Both will tear
The thoughtless bare.
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All poems are located at address https://vykhovanets.yzz.me