Synergy of Sufferers

"Shared misfortunes bear more patience than those endured alone."
— Niccolò Machiavelli


The sufferers grow in number,
When Evil's faced as one.
Till pain becomes all tender,
And bestial deeds are done.



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Once so much, now so little —
Nonsense fades, a vanishing riddle.
What’s not nonsense, time will show,
Only years can let us know.

For us? Just few remain
“Fit for duty,” birds in pain —
Like the Red Book’s vanished kind,
Knowing pain, the thoughtful mind.

They know all’s just nonsense here:
Not humans now, but herds appear.
Among them few feel out of place,
Only minds that dare embrace.

To believe and still create
In this bondage, cursed fate.
Rot grows like a tightening ball —
Soon this rotten madhouse falls.

Can’t endure this vile breath,
Better much to choose Death.



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Tall tales gather all the likes —
Killing minds with twisted spikes.
New fascism steps in stride,
Breaking souls with fear inside.



-------------------------


Putler’s scum —
The reign of fake CowID’s done.
Now war rages — fools still buy
Every smoke-screen, every lie.

The source was called "The Butts,"
Long dead — yet the second batch trusts
Total lies once more, and swings
Wide the doors for fascist kings...



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Karachun, old grump, to you won’t come —
Too many moons have passed, it's done.
Where is that spiteful little fiend?
Only boredom now is seen...



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A minefield lies within the mind —
Deceitful charges placed all round.
The chances not to step — so slim,
The schematics tightly wound.

Only scum could dare to make
These traps that lie beneath the ground.
The herd grazes dumb and fake,
Among the grass, uncut, unbound.

The grass hides every single mine —
A “peaceful” pasture, so it seems.
Painted scenes with oil and line,
As if it’s not a war of dreams...



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Comparison of Greco-Roman Wrestling and Marathon

Teens’ pillow fight — just warm-up, a test,
Before the marathon’s true quest.
I’ve faced them both — it’s not a lark,
To run that race is hell and dark!



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Cogs and Mechanism

A tiny screw is tightly turned—
You’ll never loosen what’s well burned:
It feels no pain, no woe, no loss—
The mechanism wins, the boss.



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Mountain Practice
(an ironic verse)

From burrow up the hill you crawl,
Seek truth and light beyond the wall.
Tremble only before the bright—
The hamster’s lost, no sign of sight.

That burrow’s home to that small beast,
Whose lies and madness never ceased.
Beaten down by endless lies,
A swamp of falsehoods, dark disguise.



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The Privileged

The privileged — what a joke:
They boast, but what’s their claim?
Their wealth, their endless bloat —
Few have a worthy aim.

Daddy’s sons are mostly scum,
As usual, every time.
In this world, the subtle hum
Is trapped in endless grime.

The brazen always climb
Right up to highest place.
The privileged only dream,
A hollow rotten case.

There’s always exceptions, sure,
But these aren’t what I write.
When rot is all you endure,
The top’s to blame outright.



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Step by Step. To the Reichstag
Or will you fall into the abyss?
Arm yourself with fearless grit:
If not the pit — you’re sure to miss!

To live small-world is suicide.
To die — and rise again, there’s chance.
Forget all speeches, pomp, and pride —
In Bedlam, only Honor stands!

Death will rank us all in lines.
Reverse the order, watch it clear:
Those who swim in lies and fat —
Are last, far off, in utter fear.

A stranger shows up in the distance,
With a name that cuts like steel:
“F#ckup” — world-wide consequence.
This small world’s doom is real.



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Super Sport

Bullshitters rule the football game,
Less cash, less players, fans the same.
Shots of lies suppress the fools —
In this sport, propaganda rules.

Top league filled with perfect liars,
Politicians—first-class buyers.
Not a gang, but highest tier,
Goals scored well, the crowd will cheer.

The rigged machine runs like a clock,
Now more than ever, it’s a shock:
Everywhere dull fascists rise —
This sport’s just lies behind the guise.



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Mass-Produced Prison

Mass-market prison, trap of waste—
Consumers stuck in shit misplaced.
Can’t pull them off, no quick escape,
Only root them out, reshape.



-------------------------


The Angry Bear and the Russian Asylum

The Angry Bear left marks behind —
Shameful traces, raw, unkind.
Spewed such wild, insane disgrace,
That the whole Asylum stared in face.



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Partly Not Partly...

Partly it’s a blessing,
That it’s not all a blessing—
Partly… Not a curse, confessing—
This world’s a Hell’s own dressing.

Will it choke or will it swallow?
Choke it will, not partly, hollow—
Whole and full, then it will follow,
A new world born, new joys to wallow.



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Solar Apocalypse

"Children of the underground" —
The future’s dark for those who’ve found
A chance to save their fading breath.
That “captain” just spins nonsense,
Spewing cow farts, dense pretense,
Everywhere the CEO’s death.

These tales are old, the lies abound,
Your head will swell, the dumb surround.
This widespread plague of empty minds
Leaves all in shock, it binds and blinds.

And CowID’s the first test—
For those who to the cities rest—
Below, like tags on herds confined,
Masks lock them all, enslaved, aligned.



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"Enjoy!" — a common phrase before a meal...

Even cats without affection
Won't embrace their food’s connection.
A restaurant, like fairy tales,
For two-legged beasts with tails.

Who’s the animal? Think twice,
Scrape off pride and all the vice:
Nonsense, lies like swirling smoke—
This is what the truth provokes.

The final verdict’s clear and crude,
But we won’t name it — rude,
“Man like god”? A cursed fraud —
The Horned God, foul and flawed.



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Drowning in Lies

They push —
We sink.
They push Lies —
Sick of all these stinking kinks...



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The Suckers

Lies? Well, then turn on patience...
And multiply your tolerance?
If bullshit wins the fight,
You’re lost — no chance in sight.



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Sellouts

Why do you cling to those corrupt freaks —
Honor, dignity? Like, who needs that, geeks?
Scary as hell — these sellout clowns, no tricks.
They tear apart what’s fragile, thin as sticks!

Thin the bullshit, thin the minds, so weak —
Primitive fools, but still, try books you seek.
“All subtle” — in the scum’s stale, crooked schemes,
But dissonance still rings loud through their dreams.



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They Fucked Us All

They fucked us ALL —
That’s how this world is.
Keep grinding, “Emelya,” —
Wretched, poor, and helpless.

Chew your grub,
You VILE beast —
You’ll find a noose,
A flea sold out, at least!..



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Truth and Fiends

How many fiends? —
Too damn many!
Roasting lies? —
No place to carry.

Enough to wait
For that tight space —
Time to kill
Those beasts with grace!

Not by force,
But all the same —
Few chances left
To become the same.

Just Truth,
Harsh and raw!
A burden, yes —
That’s what it’s for.



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Fallen Heroes

Fallen heroes, truly—
Just a poet’s voice,
Or a pen swung duly
To defy the noise.

Writers sharp and daring—
Not for sale or fame.
Publishers be swearing?
Screw them. Play no game.

Shout the truth unshaken,
Even if alone,
Like a soul forsaken
In a desert zone.

Gloriously perishing,
Having served your term,
Loving Light and cherishing
Soul through rot and worm.

Fallen heroes, burning
Truth through Hell’s facade—
Kept their spirit yearning,
Flamed through filth and fraud.



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1.
They burned with truth, not sold or tamed —
In Hell they roared, not just complained.

2.
No deals. No mask. No fake applause.
They died for Light — not for a cause.

3.
Their soul stayed clean. The world — decayed.
They lit the rot. And weren’t afraid.

4.
In lies they stood — the blazing few.
No fame. No fear. Just truth they knew.



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The Subtraction Master

Master of Subtraction —
Strips the lies away,
Clears the mind’s distraction,
Burns the rot to clay.

For the tainted spirit,
Paths are sharp and few.
Earth and thought? Don’t fear it —
Both are filled with stew.

Master of Subtraction
Cuts through all the grime.
Purest mind — no faction —
Walks the road sublime.



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The Sweatshop System

The sweatshop system—
A soul-crushing pit.
Every gear is sharpened—
To obey? Just quit.

Or chasing "carrots,"
You’ll stumble, dumb mule.
Broken, twisted, mangled—
That’s the system’s rule.

Life’s too vast, and humans,
If free, would find the way,
Not served up on platters—
But earned in honest sway.

The sweatshop system—
Makes fools on the line.
Fools live on lies and memes,
No chains—but still confined.

For “carrots” cost less
Than prisons or death’s reign.
From childhood slaves absorb
The lies and shadow’s pain.



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1.
Slave to carrots, chained in mind,
Freedom lost—just fools confined.

2.
System grinds the soul to dust,
Lies and memes — the only trust.

3.
Cheap carrots bait the slave’s march,
Truth buried deep beneath the arch.

4.
Born to serve, fed lies from birth,
The sweatshop crushes all true worth.



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Slipshod Propaganda

Slip-slop:
Feed the crowd with lies and noise.
Flop-flip —
Spread the fear, create the void.
All a mess—
Propaganda, control—pure shame deployed.



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Reading Material

Beer for reading,
Hangovers fleeing,
Often skipping,
Just joy leaking...
But to drown the mind, that potion
Serves its purpose — clear devotion.



-------------------------


Baron Munchausen’s Pull

Baron Munchausen will pull his hair—
And peace will circle ‘round, they say.
But fools who trust in tales so bare
Are lost inside the grand cliché.

Clownish politicians, pawns so small,
Serve masters whose aim is not peace.
The world itself—too dim, too dull—
A shooting range where hopes decrease.

Baron Munchausen will stretch out time,
While scum plots vile schemes to fall
On all the world—a poisoned crime,
Creating rot that feeds the thrall.

If the world’s a swamp, then where to go?
No place to pull yourself or fight.
The fate of fools is sunk below,
Drowned in the mire, lost to light.



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Megatons of Battle Lies

How to craft equivalents
For total, vile deceit,
When everywhere the remnants
Of lies surround and cheat?

Madness forms perception’s base
For most who walk this Earth.
A curse, a spell, a twisted trace—
The fiends exult in birth.

With battle lies, these creatures kill
The Mind and Spirit’s core.
No grace remains—hell’s flames now grill
Us, trapped in lies and war.



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1.
Lies explode—megaton weight,
Killing mind, sealing fate.

2.
Battle lies burn soul and brain,
Hell’s deceit — relentless pain.

3.
Fiends feed lies to snuff our light,
Darkness wins the endless fight.

4.
No oil left, just fiery hell—
Trapped in lies, we choke and dwell.



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Powerless Fool

Powerless fool —
One single reflex.
Seems so cute —
A dumb brute’s flex.

“Forward!” he hears,
“Attack!” the call.
He’ll crush us all—
One brutal brawl.

He’s the mass,
A Darkness knight.
Darkness reigns—
A sellout blight.

Dumb as hell,
He fights the fight,
For fascist hell—
Against our light.



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Gastrointestinal "Civilization"

Stomach full,
Plenty of shows,
Slogans drilled,
Money flows.

Other things?
Don’t give a damn.
“Smart” folks play
Poker scams.

One’s a nerd—
Bullies the weak.
In fascist muck?—
Lies they speak.



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1.
Full guts, dumb brains,
Money rules, knowledge drains.

2.
Stomach stuffed, mind’s a joke,
Truth’s a bluff — lies provoke.

3.
Smart ones cheat, weak get crushed,
Fascist lies and lies all hushed.

4.
Gut-fed fools, no truth to seek,
Civilization? Just the weak.



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Demos

Demos — Demon:
The demon inside dissolves.
Darkness reigns—
In that dark decay evolves.
Lost in nonsense,
Without Fire’s baptism,
We choke and drown,
No light, no wisdom.



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Overfed

Overfed — it’s hard to work.
Must a poet always starve?
Better dead than lost in murk—
Dead, at least, won’t twist and carve.

Only dead poets meet
Most demands, almost all.
If much remains unsung,
It’s better — critics call.

A simple image works,
Critics love the easy score.
Read it quick, no strain, no quirks—
Light info, nothing more.

Ease beats depth — that’s what they want,
Sugar-coat it, keep it light.
Even this’s a crooked hunt—
Selling out to shallow sight.

Get stuck here, but know the line —
Die soon, brother, don’t delay.
Pioneers got heaps of rhymes,
So know your place, obey.



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Consumption and "Delusions"

“Often the surest way to fool a man—
Is telling him the purest truth.”
— Mark Twain’s words to understand,
A trap that blinds, a twisted proof.

They rarely lead into “delusion” —
Scum crawl through media’s lies,
Schools and colleges spread confusion,
Killing minds where wisdom dies.

“Delusion” is the knowing torn
Against fascist filth that grips the globe.
Consumption reigns — the falseborn thorn,
The idol carved in greed’s own robe.

Total lies have worn us thin—
Conscience vanished from the earth,
Soulless masses lost within,
For the Wise, the world’s a curse.



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Kitchen, Church, and Kids

Kitchen, church, and kids confined,
Cookbooks locked in narrow minds—
What can children gain or know
From obedient, empty show?



-------------------------


Beast to Moron

From beast to moron, still must grow —
This zoo-circus, all ass and back.
So few faces, lost the glow —
No saving here, just endless lack.



-------------------------


Cookbook

Cookbook, TV series,
Not a moment for knowing.
In the chaos, mind disappears—
No chance for true growing.



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The Making of Misery

“We’ll leave this world as dumb and vile
As when we found it once,” they said. — Voltaire’s trial.


No — dumber, meaner, that’s our role,
A soulless fiend that kills the whole.
This fiend’s a tool for beasts below,
To dull the world, keep minds too slow.

Since childhood fools believe the lies,
The bar is set low, truth denies:
Eat, breed, “find joy” — the empty test.
So fiends breed woes; with scum, they jest.



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“Builders” of Communism

A Soviet scum, no burden —
A “builder,” in blind accord,
Faith in “bright” lies stubborn,
In garbage they move forward.

They churn out cheap and trashy,
Feed on filth, dull and brashly.
Build the vile — yet can’t perceive,
In their own crap, no shame to grieve.



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Extraction of Spirit in Pseudoscience and False-Life Patterns

“To grasp the best is work begun —
To bring it forth, the deed is done.”
— Jean Guéhenno


To grasp the best — but from your youth
They lie with brazen, ugly ruth.
Hard to believe when lies surround,
The body’s not a god profound.

This is the template everywhere,
The sum of lies, the Spirit’s snare.
They drive it out of thought’s domain:
In pseudoscience — pure disdain.

And so the world in falsehood sinks,
More nonsense spewed, no time to think.
The Spirit’s Light drifts far, astray,
While “consciousness” breeds fear and sway.



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“Real Men”

So-called “real men” —
Their backs unbowed again,
Still follow orders cold,
And kill the close and bold.

But rise they cannot more —
They trust the scum they adore,
In “God” they place their blind accord —
True madness rules this sordid horde.

In this cruel world, the herd stays mute,
The rabble’s voice: a silent brute.



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School —
A kitchen of abuse,
Where freaks are baked profuse.
Who’ll fight the Dark’s tight clutch,
When all they make is such?



-------------------------


Global Garbage

Dignity —
In this dump? No way.
Only a gun will aid the bandit’s play,
Not in the world’s widespread decay.



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Filth

Rotten shit behind the gun,
Where have all the people gone?
Genocide and war persist,
They mow them down, none can resist.

But the scum will find their dens —
Soon the honest will be ends.
World-wide fascism will reign,
In hell the bastards will remain.

But just for now — the cataclysms,
Best escape from fascist schisms.
They’ll burn it all — then peace will come.
All this filth will be undone.



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Beach and Booze

Beach and booze —
Is that a rest?
Don’t pretend you’re something more —
Or you’re just less.

Run and swim —
That’s how you’re strong.
In your shorts right at the door:
If they glare — just laugh along.



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Adequacy?

Adequate — to serve the shame
Of vile, dishonored beasts?
A world locked up inside its frame,
In terror 'midst deceits.

Few are monsters, many real,
Yet if this scum should rule,
Satan posing as God’s seal —
Adequacy’s a fool.



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All poems are located at address https://vykhovanets.yzz.me