Spiritual Vision and the World's Vile Rot
Faith in “God”?
Or faith in you?
To pierce the fog,
Love what is true.
To truly see,
The soul must guide —
Or you’ll be swept
By filth and pride.
The soul untouched will rise and glow,
But join the rot — and you’ll sink low.
Detach from evil, or you’re caught —
Just one more fool the world has bought.
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The Führer of the Madhouse
Hell has frozen — here's our Führer!
Loud and proud — but not much surer.
And the crowd, once known for might,
Now believes this clown is right.
Drunk on nonsense, near elation,
In a fog of degradation,
They applaud the ashtray preacher —
The madhouse roars. He is their teacher.
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The Chance to Create Yourself
It’s tough —
But not the end.
No luck?
You missed the trend?
That excuse
Is rot for cinders —
Just dead souls
With dying embers.
Smash the wall,
Let fire rise.
Show your fist
To captive lies —
Through creations bold and burning —
Even poems, ever yearning.
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Surrealist “Picnic in the Open”
Crust of lies
On fear-made butter.
Ashes rise
Through dreamlike clutter.
Chew the lie,
Then eat the heap.
Sip some swill —
Let numbness creep,
So the ash
Becomes a view,
And your crash —
A feast for two.
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Money in the Filth
Money calls from Hell’s own pit,
And you sell your soul for it.
If your mind is sheepish clay,
You’ll call that “joy” along the way.
But this filth plays by no rule —
Beasts will squeeze you like a tool.
Wave “success” before your face —
Then drain you dry without a trace.
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Murk and Fear. A Lonely Way
Through fire, lies, and full dismay.
Stand alone beneath the hail
Of total falsehood — do not fail.
Be the brave one — hold your ground,
If your truth is battle-bound.
Truth’s your cause — the rest is free.
In war with Evil's tyranny,
Meekness is the primal sin —
So strike the dark. And strike within.
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“Flowers of Evil”
“Just focus on the light,” they say,
Forget the horrors of decay —
And in that blissful, blind retreat
The Weed of Evil finds its seat.
It clings, it spreads, it haunts the air,
Its roots are lies, its bloom — despair.
And evil, masked by ignorance,
Peers through their dreams with twisted glance.
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Mirror, Mirror, Cruel and Grim...
Mirror, mirror, harsh and clear —
Who’s the fiercest one you fear?
The unbending Russian soul?
No — the khokhol plays darker role.
He strikes Russians with a glare,
Swears his strength comes from the air.
Guards each inch of village dirt —
Lest the Moskal brings it to hurt.
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Junk “Classics” and Fake School Lore
The wise one knows: when art turns dull,
It rots — a death without a skull.
In schools they feed the kids pure lies,
Fake “truths” that petrify their minds.
And once that stone is fully set,
It won’t be cracked — not even yet.
So youth, start thinking while you can —
At thirty, Mind won’t make a man.
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Feminine “Charms”
The body — battlefield,
Where soul’s asleep or sealed.
The war is sharp as steel —
And rot is all it yields.
Wrapped in glossy lies,
It lures with deadly glow.
You bite — and pay the price:
The blade will shape you low.
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Silent Slaves
Amid the shameful, swirling mess,
The minds decay, they’re in distress.
The chaos says, “We’re not the slaves,”
But in truth, they’re silent graves.
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A Führer in Zombie Disguise
A Führer dressed in zombie skin,
So dumb, you'd swear he’s just your kin —
A cousin to the fool and clown,
A soulmate to the lowlife crowd.
That crowd is vast — the final score
Of silent genocide and war.
If you’re not dull in this parade —
You’re pastry tossed in a latrine’s shade.
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Gas Exchange: Thought and Matter
The air we breathe, the world, the skin —
They twist the Thought that flows within.
Distorted well — a grand conceit —
And thus was born Debility.
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Serve No Evil Homeland
Serve no land that’s steeped in lies —
Bow to Truth, not flags or cries.
Then you'll walk a noble way,
Clean of thought, by light of day.
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The Worm’s Last Century
Was it Worm or Wretch that reigned?
Twisted times were preordained.
Change erupts — the herds start marching,
Led like sheep, their brains discharging.
Not through desert, but through waste,
Filth and fear — a bitter taste.
Welcome now the Drainage Age —
We’ve earned it well. Enjoy the cage.
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Total Censorship by Pseudo-Search Lords
“Let thoughts be countless, so no censor keeps up.”
— Stanisław Jerzy Lec
Dullness rules — and now the censor
Is your god, your thought dispenser.
Search engines obey the crown,
Cracking minds and shutting down.
So multiply your thoughts, be daring —
Don’t get used to evil’s bearing.
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The Fatal Reign of the Abnormal
Abnormals crowned — a fate relentless,
The world’s gone dark, infernal, senseless.
To feel is now a sacred rite,
While storms of lies blot out the light.
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The Slushy Fool
A dribbling dunce blocks up your way,
His head’s half-melted into clay.
Avoid him — sticky, slow, diseased,
His leaking rot is not appeased.
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Change as Froth
"Change" is froth, when shame’s the stream
Flowing through a shallow dream.
Fools call it “the past’s great voice”—
Just old foam, but not by choice.
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The Madhouse
A madhouse fool with brains of clay —
That’s the whole damn world today!
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From Hell to Hell, and Through Again
From Hell to Hell, and through the flame —
Each circle plays the devil’s game.
Yet still the herd runs, blind and glad —
A slave is dumb, but rarely sad.
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Combat Media
Slither through the slime and scum—
Is that a life? A job well done?
Scum attacks where threads are thin—
Hence the stench, the creeping sin.
Subtle souls are shoved aside—
Trash promotion, truth denied.
All the rest—just dough, just clay:
Molded lies in foul array.
Rotten nonsense, mass-produced—
Vermin’s craft, unchained, let loose.
Brutes in charge—relentless freaks—
Rotting peace is all it seeks.
Yet success is near-complete:
Soon the press will serve the Beast.
Don’t you crawl, unless you’re vile...
Or you’ll choke in filth and guile.
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The Pseudoscience Fragment Trick
Smash it to pieces,
Then crudely re-glue it —
That’s “science” today,
Our god, so they bray.
But bastards who do it
Are frauds and deceivers,
And people obey —
Like sheep gone astray.
They stitch up the horror
With purpose — distorted —
A world with no soul
Is all they portray.
And once they’ve contorted
The truth they’ve aborted,
The masses will stroll
In file, led away
To pens full of chatter
And lies that grow louder,
While all that is real
Is trampled and killed.
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False Science: Detail and Blur
All on nothing dwells,
Nothing on it tells —
Twisting truth like hells
Till your conscience gels.
Wade into the grime
Of fake-science slime —
Spirit is the base?
Screw it. We're the race
Of demonic pawns.
In the chaos spawns
Of our dead ideals,
Truth dissolves, it kneels.
Media will cite
Us as guiding light —
While we cut the cord
To the higher Lord.
We unleash the reign
Of the blind and vain.
To be blunt and crass:
Yes — we all are SCUM.
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Flying Fish
No fathead carp, for sure —
They’re heavy, dull, and proud.
A sunken kind of “pure,”
Respected in their crowd.
But some still dream of flight,
To breach the water’s hold —
Escape the swamp’s long night,
If only for a fold.
Who rises from the grime?
Who dares to leave the pond —
Where weeds, like ancient slime,
Devour those who respond?
The carp loves muck and mud,
It's home — a cozy pit.
No stirrings in his blood,
Though all around is shit.
But fly — or rot below.
There is no in-between.
Let carps adore the flow
Of sludge they deem serene.
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What Made You So Broken?
What made you so broken, so low?
Where’s the fire you once had inside?
You wander like husks in the shadow —
No soul, just a hide you now hide.
You traded your spirit for wages,
Chose chains for the sake of a bone,
Now rot in the hell that you staged —
Lashed onward by lies overthrown.
Corrupted, enslaved, and compliant,
You sink, and you scream not a word.
At rock bottom, limp and "defiant",
You don’t even see that it’s absurd.
It’s not “them” — you’re the disgrace.
No monster could dream to create
A world that would stoop to embrace
This filth you still dare tolerate.
The price? It is written in flame.
The fall — it is coming, no doubt.
When fascist delusions proclaim
Their “truth” — and the rabble buys out.
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Strain and Surge
Life is lived through grinding —
Friendship’s gone or hiding.
Push with all you’ve got — and
Weakness comes to naught.
Lone, defiant fighter —
None but he climbs higher,
Breaks from Hell’s dead zone,
Far from herds of drones.
Swinging like a pendulum,
Spent, he slumps — momentum gone.
But he will return again,
Flame will rise and burn again.
Flare up! Burn completely!
Fight the dark — not sweetly.
If you love this Hellish stay,
You're just meat — and not far from the blade.
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Little Thought — Lots of Fire
Little thought,
Lots of fire.
Count it out —
Check desire.
When emotions storm and crash,
Guard your mind — or you're just trash,
Bleating in some madhouse pit,
Broken down to barely fit.
Think too much — you’ll start to bite.
Boldness is your only right.
In this madhouse, stay alive —
Only rebels will survive.
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Ping-Pong
Ping — pong — ping — pong —
Who’s the sheep? The gong plays strong.
Ping — too weak?
Pong — a blow below.
Too bleak?
Evil plays by rules that show
Only in some film or fiction —
Truth’s a lie for mass conviction.
Ping’s the bait, and pong, you see,
Is genocide — of thought, of meat.
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Lip-Flappers
Lip-flap crew —
In deep poo.
March to "bliss" —
Mall-bound, too.
They will guide you
To the market —
There they’ll grind you
In the target.
Digital or not — who cares?
Camp or store — it's set with snares.
All looks clean, well-lit, and catchy...
Lip-flaps swear that this is "happy."
Too bad truth looks less than snappy.
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Thrown Away for Nothing
SCUM: they kill you through the lie.
Push against it — do not die,
Even when the fools surround you,
Bleeding out what strength is in you.
Fools are many, loud and proud —
In this world, the vile rule loud.
But your soul you still can keep —
Fighting on, for zero reap.
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“Professionalism” — A Cult in Disguise
Ockham’s Razor? Now a script —
A software glitch in logic’s crypt.
No one's close to thought or art;
They grunt like hogs and call it “smart.”
A poet’s word and hack’s dull spit —
Worlds apart. And we eat it.
All decays — no soul, no craft...
The "pros" just guard their petty raft.
They speak in jargon, thick and dead,
To keep out minds they truly dread.
It’s not about skill — it’s a mask, a scheme:
A gatekeeping priesthood of mediocrity's dream.
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"GazMeat", "RusAg",
And "MadTech Global" —
The boss? A thug.
The rulers? Noble...
Worms, that feast
On a corpse, decaying —
A wretched beast
That forgot all praying.
A nation crude,
Soul burnt to ember —
Vile and rude —
Too numb to remember.
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Bitter Truth, and Sticky Lies
Bitter truth, and sticky lies —
Lies get sugar, truth — goodbyes.
One small spoon of bitter pain,
Drowned beneath a sweetened rain.
First, a drop. Then comes the flood.
Bitter’s real — but sweet sells blood.
Truth’s too sharp, too hard to chew...
So they stall — and swallow you.
And the herd? They lick the plate,
Smile wide and call it fate.
"Better sweet and full of shit,
Than awake — and choked on grit."
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Templates
Cut to fit —
You’re done, that’s it.
Thought is dead
Where molds are spread.
Stuck in frames?
Enjoy your cage.
Template minds —
Template rage.
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Three-Fingered, or The Rule of the Rich
Yeltsin, dull and vicious —
How many lay in ditches?
Preach "democracy" aloud —
Or bow before the greedy crowd?
Raging at their lies and schemes —
Does that absolve your guilty dreams?..
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Lenin and the Cause of Revolution
Comrade old ChLenin,
In mob foam venin’,
Go find the villains —
The crowd has millions.
Send in the Chekists:
Some off to jail lists,
Some to be shot —
The Cause must not rot.
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The Global Prison
We laugh at our own fate,
At others, just the same,
At doom we can't escape —
The "Others" play the game.
Like inmates, locked away,
Who mock their fellow slaves —
The world is steeped in grey,
Insane and digging graves.
A cage, a vast corral —
Call it what you prefer.
The soul's dismissed as pal,
Our deck's a losing blur.
The "Others" — not quite men —
Have ruled since time began.
They planted every "truth"
To rule the mindless clan.
Force isn’t quite enough —
They'd rather plant belief,
Make fools draw blood and bluff,
And cull the Souls in grief.
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Selfish Gain
“The noble mind knows what is right; the petty mind — what brings advantage.”
— Confucius
A world where profit wears the crown,
Where “good” is smeared with selfish grease —
The soul grows faint, the mind shuts down,
And worse to come will never cease.
The Spirit's voice is drowned in noise,
The Reason shackled, caged, alone —
We sink in greed, in fear, in lies,
And nothing saves a heart of stone.
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The Living Dead
"Men waste their lives to chase the things they think they need to live."
— Seneca, 1st century AD
Life slips by — we race and spin!
One wrong step, and you fall in.
You won’t notice when, one day,
Death walks in and wants to stay.
Dead men walking, all around —
Worship wealth, their hollow crown.
Just a few still stand, defying —
Till the mob becomes their dying.
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Monkey Training
Doubt is weakness — that’s the rule.
“Best of worlds!” — they teach in school.
Family’s harsh verdicts bite:
Step off course — you’ll lose the fight.
Obey the system, you’ll be fed;
Forget the soul, you're meat instead.
“Don’t mind the cost, don’t ask what’s true —
Now go catch flies for mommy too!”
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Mutual Aid
"Help is the hindrance of evil — real or potential."
— Plato
O Mutual Aid, where did you flee,
On any worthy scale?
Deceit and Madness drown the free,
While envy tips the scale.
For money, talent, empty fame —
We’re crushed beneath their boots.
To fiends who play a devil’s game,
We’re sticks for brutal hoots.
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Pasta, Lies — or Just a Snack?
Is it noodles? Is it lies?
Truthless fiends wear clever guise.
Some lies dangle, light and sweet,
Others rot you from beneath.
Leper world — the plague is speech.
Kill the lie — you're out of reach.
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Mass Murder & the Ass of Communism
Trotsky rants and spits with flair —
Sailor, soldier, mad with glare.
“Hold on, daughters! Sons, beware —
Bourgeois blood is in the air!”
“We'll drown the world in crimson streams,
To build an Ass of broken dreams.”
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Sleep Deprivation
Lack of sleep hits hard and true,
On health and work, it wrecks you too.
In poets' "Labor Laws" they say,
A penalty for work that’s gray:
“Get your rest, and write with grace,
Don’t stress the rhyme or lose your place,
Though verse may seem a heavy task,
Just dream and write — no need to ask.”
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Propagandists, or Hell’s Firemen
Add more fire to Hell’s flames,
Spread the lies and shift the blame.
Write on banners, bold and bright,
“Folly” or “Mirage” — all right.
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Khrushchev
Corn-fed fool,
Spins his lies like a tool.
The fools buy his tale —
In his fog, they will fail.
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Cheaper Clothes and Devices
Clothes are cheap, and man’s more crude,
The cost of honor — no prelude.
More dear the heart, the anxious mind,
As the world’s last days unwind.
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Brezhnev
Old man, lost in his haze,
Speaks in endless, sluggish phrase.
Only praise, no real thought,
Just applause that he’s been taught.
-------------------------
Gorbachev
Spotted fool, a liar bold,
A spawn of Judas, truth be told.
He “restructured” — what a joke,
But built nothing but smoke.
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All poems are located at address https://vykhovanets.yzz.me