Time is a trap, a choking thread —
A gift from demons, masked as grace.
While truth stands still, the herd runs dead —
Their clocks devour the human race.
-------------------------
Psychotyranny
Psychotherapy? No — Psychotyranny!
A tool to leash a dead and beaten mule.
The herd’s gone mad, and shrinks, with sick uncanny
Smiles, outdo butchers. Lies? Their basic rule.
Their twisted “theories” — Freud’s obscene inventions,
Other mental tortures — madhouse filth and flame.
The mule is dead — a zombie — no redemption.
But freaks rejoice: a dumbed-down slave’s their aim.
Dumb us down from childhood — school, indoctrination —
They kill the soul and crush the mind instead.
No true physicians here — just exploitation.
They skim the cream off every life gone dead.
These wounds are planned. They warp your mind with terror,
With filth and panic, till you’re sick and small.
Show a hint of mercy? Fired for that error.
They profit best when you can’t think at all.
They breed our madness, feed it through the ages —
“Help” exists on paper, nowhere real to see.
Their science lies. And while we rot in cages,
They gut our minds — their goal? CRUSH utterly!
-------------------------
Psychotyranny
They broke our minds to keep us tamed and low,
Called it “care” — a lie dressed up for show.
The shrinks are wolves, the patients led to slaughter.
Truth drowns in pills and propaganda water.
-------------------------
The Poetry of Self-Immolation
The poet’s cold fury burns brighter than steel —
No weapon on earth strikes deeper or truer.
Let madness around us devour and reel —
Our answer to Hell is: “We shall endure!”
It’s time to return to the Source, the beginning,
And burn this vile world in the fire of truth.
Forget all the fascists, the fog, the false winning —
The Source wipes it clean, renews us like youth.
The poet — a fakir, a dervish, a flame,
But silence and patience will not always stay.
Now rage rises up — no longer tame —
Self-burning is poetry’s final way.
-------------------------
My verse is a blaze — not a prayer, but defiance,
A torch in the dark, not a tearful compliance.
This world must be burned, not mourned with regret —
Let poetry rise, a firebomb threat!
-------------------------
Through the Looking-Glass
I’ll never see a world where Truth and Honor
Defeat betrayal’s rotting, creeping blight.
This age, like leprosy, corrodes and hollows —
It feeds on those who burn the brightest light.
Only one lie holds any real dominion:
“Super-money” — that’s the god they trust.
It rules this rotting realm with cold precision.
The Stepan Razins vanished into dust.
Among the fools and crawling human weakness,
We drag our days, then die, then start anew —
And each rebirth — more hopeless, dumb, and bleakness!
The fools have multiplied — their grip holds true.
To see this once again? A fate far crueler
Than simple death — annihilation's best!
What grows is fear, and chains grow ever cooler,
In this warped mirror-world of filth and jest.
-------------------------
Mirrorverse Strike
This world is a mirror — cracked, diseased, obscene,
Where gold makes gods and truth dies offscreen.
No rebels left, just clowns in chains and smoke —
Let fire erase what mirrors never broke.
-------------------------
The Inner Realms of Soul
No bonds, no flags, no chains of duty,
No faith in lies — that’s how to stay a man.
Obey, conform — they steal your beauty
And herd you straight into their slaughter-pen.
Obedient cattle in foul enclosures —
That’s what they call “the state,” “the law.”
The proud, the bright face swift erasures —
The mind and spirit meet their final draw.
So some escape into the silence,
That realm within, beyond their reach.
New fascist masks, the same old violence —
The Goat now rules, and morals bleach.
The world grows poor, dives toward disaster,
The fiends accelerate their track.
Only within can one stand faster,
While filth and ruin flood the black.
-------------------------
Inner Strike
The world is rot — ruled by the Goat and chain.
They brand the soul, then flush it down the drain.
But deep within, where tyrants cannot tread,
The fire lives — unbroken, though half-dead.
-------------------------
Doomed
Without the Power that births Creation,
Tradition’s “art” is mere stagnation.
In this grotesque world, true form can’t grow —
What’s called “creative” lacks the soul to flow.
No spark of Source? Then all is murk —
Reflections warped with lies that lurk.
And so this doom cannot be shaken:
All’s off the mark — when Soul’s forsaken.
But true Creation — that sacred Flame —
Lives far beyond the fascist game.
Yet most still toil in dead routines,
Half-blind with fear, devoured by machines.
The slaughter by fascism floods every land —
Not humans now, but clay in demon hands.
They mold obedient beasts from men,
Through lies repeated again and again.
But Forces of End, of righteous unmaking,
Will rise to halt this global faking.
Beast-born decay will meet its close —
For Nature revolts where filth overgrows.
And Death will come — not as damnation,
But clearing space…
for true Creation.
-------------------------
End Before Creation
They burn the soul and call it “art divine,”
While beasts are bred by lies in every line.
But filth can’t last — the end ignites salvation:
Death clears the way… for real Creation.
-------------------------
"Elections"
You’ll choose a doctor or a pilot
With far more care and scrutiny,
Than you’ll ever give the “president” —
Clean-shaven, smiling wide, deceitful, "free".
He speaks so smooth, what’s more to say?
For the people, he’s the man, they say!
But when he blabs of “freedom’s” call,
And “democracy,” it’s just a fall.
He offers recipes, so grand,
To fix it all — yet they all fail!
Year by year, the “people” buy the lie,
For the man’s a clown, a swine who prevails.
Invisible, the swine is the one
Who set the test, and he has won.
The people, as always, fall for the fun,
And in the lies, they’re gone, undone.
-------------------------
The Clown’s Game
A clown in charge, the lies they sell,
While you pick doctors with care, oh well.
Democracy? Just smoke and mirrors —
A fool's parade, while truth disappears.
-------------------------
Control of Soul Over Mind
An impossible task, no doubt —
Luck won’t help, nor endless shout,
Nor the madness, tears, and cries —
Only inspiration, soul’s full rise.
But here’s the rub — the strength is weak,
Always fading, failure peeks.
Without the intellect to bind
The Spirit’s force, what will you find?
A mess, a drag, and endless bore,
Only nonsense reaching your door,
If the swine that lead the flock
Sell their souls for soup and talk,
And craft their lies so slick and sleek,
No truth will pierce, their grasp is weak.
An impossible task, you see —
To tame the soul’s own mindless steed,
“Intellect” — a whore that’s bought,
These creatures know, and never fought.
In lies they drown, with every breath,
They smother those who challenge death,
And bend their minds to evil’s course —
Dogs envy their corrupting force.
They drown the talent, twist the truth —
A war, not brawl — a battle’s youth.
Lies kill, and truth is cut away,
Like CowID, that shows the way.
The fool, deceived by feeble faith,
Follows the beasts into their wraith,
Raising fools to mock the mind,
In total lies, the fools are blind.
The world is rotten — hell below,
The stench of media’s foulest glow.
They rot the soul, and steal the will,
And crush the brain, unthinking still.
But if your soul can master mind,
The beasts can’t touch, they’re left behind.
That’s how you save yourself from doom,
In a world of asses, filled with gloom.
-------------------------
Soul vs. Mind
The soul must tame the mind’s blind bray,
Or beasts will lead you far astray.
Lies kill the truth, and fools will fall,
But spirit’s strength will conquer all.
-------------------------
Leper Colony: "Problem-Reaction-Solution"
A leper colony in the sea,
The brain’s a trickle, ears full of dung.
Though not all is woe, it’s misery —
The sea of lies, the tears that’re flung.
Steamers bring their hollow lies,
A cargo of the baseless truth.
Misfortune grows, it never dies,
Their work’s just making pain, uncouth.
The twisted fools, their only aim:
To shove more problems in the frame.
Jokes forgotten, no more games —
No more dilemmas, just the same.
Stress. Oh hell! Prepare the plan —
How to hoodwink every man.
The leper colony, decay —
If you believe their lies, you’ll pay.
-------------------------
The Leper’s Lie
They breed the lies, then sell the pain,
Make fools of men, then shift the blame.
The leper's game, a rotten scheme —
Believe the lies, you’re caught in steam.
-------------------------
The Howl of the War Propagandists
As a war propagandist,
You’re shot down, since you were born,
A different foe: “upbringing” —
Preparing you for slaughter’s horn.
This war herder, a stitched-up freak,
A devil’s trick above the meek.
In every pen, the world’s a shoot,
All our pens have turned to loot.
CowID showed the tale,
Not much left, too faint to hail.
The herd is driven to the camp,
Slaughtered by the twisted stamp.
War propagandist now —
He’s power, law, and shows you how.
The fools can’t see, they’re blind to note,
As they munch, they drown in hope.
And under crunching, howling din,
Those mad of mind will meet their sin,
The fiends of hell will wipe them out,
And history’s done, there’s not a doubt.
-------------------------
The Propaganda War
They feed you lies and call it law,
The herd is led, too blind to draw.
The fiends will feast, and minds will fall —
Propaganda’s grip, the final call.
-------------------------
Learn Not to Break
Learn from the cats — wild, streetwise,
Full of lazy grace and surprise.
Do they have fleas, or endless sin?
The lies of “warriors” are built within.
Just like sarcoma, deep and raw,
Who here is wise? No man, no law.
Satan’s their guide, they kneel to him;
To the beasts, slavery’s grim.
A tiny cat will chase away
The dog, to keep the pride at bay.
While lies corrupt and gnaw the soul,
They crush the weak — that’s their goal.
Where’s the insight like the cat’s?
The “dogs” are beasts, worse than that.
Mad and wild, their lies destroy
The meek and lost, they’ve no employ.
-------------------------
Master of Subtraction, or The Path Without a Path
Up the dust-choked rise,
Like climbing rays of light,
Though nerves may rot and die,
(But for all, I fight),
Not fooled by "Heaven's" lies,
I’ll flee from filth and blight,
Where souls have been destroyed,
I’ll flee the endless night.
No more to stay in Hell,
Not a moment more —
Like Don Quixote, I rebel,
Against the madness they adore.
Madness, filth — too little else,
So I rise with might,
Rejecting rotten thoughts,
That poison mind and sight.
-------------------------
Advice of the Old Fart
Stress resistance comes from exercise,
While women and liquor — poison and lies!
And the steady run will help you through it,
Like a dynamo, it’ll charge you to it.
It’ll drive out the nonsense, that weighs you down,
The nonsense that kills — now, people are clowns.
Trust no one, relieve your stress, and hope,
Find your own way, laugh at the dopes.
Increase your critique, trust your instinct too,
Reject the filth, let their madness stew.
With a sharp mind, you’ll crush all the vile,
In this world of madness, daring is the style.
Seek and dare. The run will aid the fight.
Sneeze at the filth — let fools chew their bite.
Fight fascism, genocide — show them no mercy,
Or chaos will reign, and you’ll be their prey, a tragedy.
-------------------------
Swallower
They spew their lies, with force and heat,
To distract from questions we repeat;
With filth they cloud the vision clear —
Thus roars the furnace of Hell’s sheer.
From questions, who these fiends may be,
And who they serve, whose goal they see?
In lies, like frying oil, they stew,
No crack of light in Hell to view.
In lies, they’ve wrapped it all up tight —
A perfect seal to block the light.
Their souls, their minds, they've nearly killed,
Like targets shot through, pierced and drilled.
-------------------------
Luciferian System, or Paper Money
"Risen" in the market trade,
But to the depths, they quickly fade.
Paper reins and lies so vile —
A tide of filth, a wicked mile.
You ride in circles, round and round,
Forgetting life’s true, deeper ground.
You’ve harnessed dreams to chase a lie —
Paper’s all that’s left to buy.
Spiritual fire, flashes of mind,
Consumed by greed and wealth you find.
Money spreads like pestilence,
A curse that makes no recompense.
The System built a flea market show,
What use are memes in a fool’s woe?
Cash and thrills, that’s all they crave,
While reins decay and people slave.
-------------------------
Whom You Encounter...
You meet the dulled, the brainwashed, the misled,
Their bloated pride divorced from any reason.
They're fed with lies and fears inside their head—
The kind that nourish falsehood, hate, and treason.
The worst of it? The state-bred fear campaign,
Where fools parade as rulers of the nation.
If fear and evil thoughts infect your brain,
They rot your soul and wreck imagination.
Ideas — that's the root. And evil feeds
Them to the crowd as "values", grand but hollow.
New dogmas rise — and new insane misdeeds,
With beastlike minds too dumb to doubt or follow.
A frenzy of delusions, lies, decay,
And fear plus fear, then fear again — in layers.
It ends in death, though priests will try to say
It’s "life"... just dust dispersed by final prayers.
-------------------------
Fear-fed and hollow, beasts obey—
New creeds arise, and minds decay.
-------------------------
The Beyondness
“Seek not the Truth —
just drop opinions.”
— Zen Patriarch Sosan
Seek not the truth —
just slay belief.
The truth is Spirit, calm and brief.
Burn down your fears,
stop pouring lies —
The truth has fled this world of slime.
A global rot,
a fascist game,
With media dulling every brain.
The sane are few —
a scattered spark
In seas of madness, sheep, and dark.
The fools are meek,
the thugs are loud,
And lies spread thick — a toxic cloud.
All views are false
when soul is gone,
When Spirit’s light is not turned on.
Look deep within —
no fear, no fakes —
There, Light will rise as silence breaks.
It won’t be easy —
sloth runs deep,
And thought itself is sick with sleep.
Only intuition
can make you whole,
It is the compass, it is the goal.
Truth isn’t near —
it’s beyond the known.
And you will reach it
once ego’s gone.
-------------------------
Truth won’t be found through thoughts or lies —
Kill the ego. Let Light rise.
-------------------------
Flickering
They brand you fast — a clan, a trade, a land —
The tribal mark stamped deep into your mind.
Thus, Primal Thought is stripped by sly command:
A global fraud, sensations redesigned.
Names flash like ads, while chains of “values” cling
More tight than shackles iron ever could.
And so, the masses worship everything —
Obedient, blind, and stupid for “the good.”
Cunning and cowardice take up the space
Where truth and spirit used to stand with grace.
A rotten trick, compensatory shame —
Each wave of fools breeds more of just the same.
They swap the labels, but the game’s the same:
Fascism dressed in every kind of name.
Be it Hitler, or Mao, or Churchill, or Tsar —
One filthy pack, and the filth’s still in charge.
The real beast hides — it rules from the fog,
While global “Tao” is madness in a clog.
Fear doesn’t grow like flowers in a field —
It’s sown, then fed, its harvest pre-concealed.
They grow it with care, they groom it with flair —
That’s what “real politics” always declares.
The zombie-screens flash jesters and whores —
So rulers need not whip you anymore.
-------------------------
New masks, same chains — the plague is old.
They breed us blind, and sell us gold.
-------------------------
Combat Psychotherapy
To "adapt" your mind to hell —
That’s their treatment plan. Oh well.
A cheerful donkey in the bin,
While the global madhouse spins.
Reason? Gone. And Spirit? Dead.
Conscience? Trampled, left unsaid.
Is this tale or tragic farce?
Chekhov wrote of such a ward —
Number Six. But time flew past...
Did we change? Or lose it fast?
No — it’s lost. And lost for good.
Mass hypnosis, poison food.
Schools of idiots, screens that lie —
Churn out drones, and truth must die.
When the crowd is ripe and mad,
Then the blast of mass psych spasms
Wrecks all minds, makes reason shatter —
That’s the core of war-born patterns.
Beasts now rule this stupid Earth,
And why war? To prove their worth?
No — it’s bait. The perfect cheese
In the trap that drops with ease.
Poisoned souls? That’s not enough —
Darkness breeds more devil-stuff.
Freaks in rags of thought and power
Train insane in every hour.
Adapt the madness for the war
Against the soul — that’s at its core.
And fate, with all its twisted jest,
Grins cruelly at this loony quest.
They’re no pawns — more like disease,
But they’ll wipe the board with ease:
Kings and pawns, and every fool —
All consumed in madness’ rule.
-------------------------
Adapt the soul to serve the fight —
And call it healing. Pure black light.
-------------------------
No Film Today
No film today — the director’s a fool,
The script was sold to some corporate tool.
What’s left to show? A slop for the sheep,
So foul it reeks of rot too deep.
Flush it straight down — that’s all it earns.
This “projector”? Just a toilet that burns.
The world’s gone septic, sunk in waste,
And “critics”? Coroners. No taste.
They poke through corpses, call it review —
Of rot and stench, they always knew.
And still the shit-flood won’t be stopped,
Since media thrones can’t be topped.
We gulp down lies as sacred truth —
The end? A crawling, mindless brute,
Obedient, vile — a soul long dead,
Who feasts on filth and bows his head.
-------------------------
The film is dead. Long live the slime —
They sold your brain to filth and crime.
-------------------------
Those Who Shatter Worlds
The ones who crush this world to dust
Don’t do it blindly — no, they must
Correct the odds, direct the flow,
So herd-like minds won’t even know.
The crowd obeys “desire’s path,”
But that’s a rigged and charted math.
In Hell’s Domain, the laws are clear —
Obey, consume, and disappear.
It’s not just greed — it’s full control,
Propaganda scripts your soul.
“Education” forged in vice,
And monsters rule us — cold as ice.
A beastly gang now grips the Earth,
Their puppet-master mocks all worth.
Name him plain — the Demon’s mask,
While idiots still fail the task.
They rule like fools, but still they burn
The world again — no will to learn.
The sun blazes brighter still,
But not by some demonic will.
The darker things become each day —
The closer you’re to void and grey.
-------------------------
They rig the odds, then torch the sky —
Obey the lie, prepare to die.
-------------------------
Division and Unity
"To bring the many to the One — that is the root of beauty."
— Pythagoras, 6th century BC
Not to unify — but break:
That’s the path of fake "progress."
Love the fragments, for their sake —
Crushed and stamped beneath the presses.
Then forget the whole you were,
Lose yourself in cheap consuming.
Rot in fear, obey the slur
Of media filth and soul-assuming.
And thus the world comes to its end —
A camp of digits, cold, controlled.
Division breeds the final trend:
A nightmare forged in lies and code.
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-------------------------
They shattered One to sell us dust —
Now chains are built from fractured trust.
-------------------------
On Methods of Curing Cretinism
A sheep-brained, virus-ridden clown,
A zombie soldier — this is End.
Where fascist beasts have seized the crown,
And madness reigns — their perfect trend.
The bottom’s gone — the hole is real.
The idiot now leads the crowd.
For beasts, such fools make perfect meal —
Just feed them lies, then flush them loud.
The world’s digested, flushed in lumps,
A giant turd of “civil thought.”
What’s left to serve with these dumb chumps?
Some brains — but most are sold or shot.
So few still think, and less each day,
As rotten minds infect the stream.
Regression screams. The sick will stay —
No cure for them but fire and flame.
To save the Spirit’s last remains —
That is the task, that is the aim.
A Cataclysm shall break the chains —
Burn cretinism. End the game.
-------------------------
No cure for this — just holy fire.
Burn down the swamp of brute desire.
-------------------------
“History” — Penned by Hacks
"History repeats because we lack historians with imagination."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec
It’s all written by hacks — that’s law.
Even “history” gets their flaw.
A villain funds some myth to spread —
A sellout scribbles lies instead.
No honest mind will take the bribe —
He knows that trash will twist his tribe,
And choke his children in the end —
Let Evil warp what truths depend.
The media twists “what really was,”
Distorts the world for filthy cause.
Today or yesterday — it’s hell,
And ruled by one who hides it well.
-------------------------
Lies write the past, hacks stain the page —
And Hell returns in every age.
-------------------------
The Cleansing to Come
"The lesser evil must be praised as good."
— Niccolò Machiavelli
Evil grows by its own plan —
The “lesser” soon becomes the grace.
Each step down, it fools the man,
Till rock-bottom hugs his face.
And now we’ve hit it — CowID
Made it plain for all to see.
What do maggots call “the good”?
Whatever keeps the price tag free.
They crave cheap junk, a stable rate,
They plug their ears, deny the loss.
But Earth is gone — it’s far too late.
The filth will burn beneath the gloss.
-------------------------
The world is lost — enjoy your screen.
The purge begins to wipe it clean.
-------------------------
I'll Build a Castle in the Air
Crowned with a Tower of Delirium.
A carefree life — beyond despair —
With rules I wrote, my own Imperium.
But orderlies came in a pack,
And with them marched a cop in tow.
They dragged me off — no coming back.
The law is clear: No dreams. Just woe.
-------------------------
Dreams are banned — the world’s decree.
Build a castle? Welcome, psych ward key.
-------------------------
“Victories” and “Change” Beneath the Yoke of Satanism
"Many triumphal arches were later worn as yokes."
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec
When Evil wins, the scum proclaim
Another “triumph” in its name.
And soon the herd is yoked once more —
A different chain, the same old war.
Each “victory” is just disguise:
One yoke removed — another flies.
“Change!” scream the screens with fervent glee —
While necks are chained more zealously.
The Media howls: “A golden age!”
As lies replace the iron cage.
From yoke to YOKE — the people fade.
Their gods are dead. The devil’s paid.
-------------------------
From triumph arch to choking yoke —
The “change” is real — now bend and choke.
-------------------------
Socialist Realism
Chapaev, Petka, Anka — all
Are cursing through each bitter brawl.
The commissar? Their “guiding light” —
A live reproach, a holy blight.
“Freedom” thrives by feeding lies,
They build a camp — with “socialist” skies.
The grand experiment won’t last —
Their commissar’s a clueless ass.
-------------------------
They built a camp, they called it “bright” —
But filled it full of flies and blight.
-------------------------
All poems are located at address https://vykhovanets.yzz.me