The Universal Lie

"To lie is to insult myself more than the one I lie about."
— Michel de Montaigne


Self-inflicted pain,
The world pushed to the brink.
Truth is slaughtered once again —
And lies are what we drink.

That’s why the masses rot:
Defective minds, diseased.
So many “holy Sundays” bought,
So much delusion pleased.

They need their daily dose
Of fiction, fat, and ease —
To fill their guts with empty hopes,
And rot in Global Lies and grease.



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They kill the truth, then cheer and feast —
The global lie now breeds the beast.



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The “People” Rose — So They Were Told

“The people rose!” — or so they claim,
A puppet screamed the noble aim.
“Stand tall again!” — the order sticks,
Then off they go to kill for kicks.

Not for a flag or sacred land,
But medals, cash, a bloody hand.
What’s rising here? Just swamp and fog —
Centuries deep in filth and slog.



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They “stood up” straight — with boots in gore,
Still sinking deeper than before.



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The End Draws Near

The end is coming — can't you tell?
But reason’s jammed, not working well.
Fear-fogged lenses smear the view,
So nonsense passes for the truth.

Through rot and lies and veils of dread,
The herd denies the doom ahead.
They call collapse a minor glitch,
While media bark, whine, curse, and pitch.

The people “live” in fairy tales,
Wearing delusion like chainmail.
And those who speak without a leash
Get crushed by fools in helmets — each.





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The world is burning, blind with fear —
And cowards jeer when truth comes near.



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Poisoned Lines

These lines are laced with venom — pure.
But scum won’t read; they seek no cure.
To strike the proud, to break the wise,
We crush their fear, unmask their lies.

They're filled with dread, with rot and shame —
Few walk the world still clean, still sane.
This realm is ruled by fevered cries,
Where Darkness thrives on global lies:

Lie, and threaten, crush the meek,
Till minds are cattle, dumb and weak.
Submit — and you become the swine.
That swine’s the Darkness by design.



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Submit to lies — you rot inside.
The swine of Darkness wants you tied.



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The Frailty of Mankind

Serve the Eternal — nothing less.
No “human warmth” in that abyss:
It’s fleeting, weak, a dying breath,
For Earth today is ruled by death.

The human now’s a devil’s brand —
An icon of a doomed command.
CowID, rashism, fear and lies —
We “live” beneath the final skies.



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Mankind’s the mask of Satan’s game —
The end is here. And we’re to blame.



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The Old Optimist

The youth, a fool, is led by smiles,
His mind is pure — it runs for miles.
But fear would break him, tear his heart,
So lies and delusions play their part.

We raise the false, and blind his eyes,
While shame is buried deep in lies.



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The lies lift him, but truth would break,
His mind is weak — too lost to wake.



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The Lone Wolf

Are there rules, or instincts wild?
How many lies, how much denial!
Here fear and howls and vicious barks,
The world is drowned in endless dark.

If you’re outside — you’re cast aside,
To beasts you’re mad — they’ll take no pride.
They’ll show the pack, just what’s at stake —
The mind is dead, they howl and shake.

The lone wolf’s path is few and rare,
From them alone, some truth may flare.
For all the herd — they bring no gain,
Just stupid noise and endless pain.



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The pack is weak, the lone wolf fights,
The truth is born in lonely nights.



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Madness Strikes Like Machine Guns

Madness mows like machine guns' fire,
Crossing flames, no chance to tire.
The infantry’s fate, it’s set in stone,
No matter how tough, you're on your own.

Generations march to those same guns,
From every squad, just one survives.
It’s no coincidence — the mind’s undone,
For the beast’s will, the goal deprives.



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The guns are deaf, the truth is mute,
The beast controls, the mind’s pursuit.



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The Global Cockroach Darkness

The darkness in the cockroach’s lair,
Is hard to grasp, it’s everywhere.
In fascist filth, where lies abound,
The beasts will lie, without a sound.

Few minds remain, so sharp, so pure,
In wars of blood, or thought demure.
And if one’s found, they’ll crush the soul,
In battles where the mind's the goal.

It’s not the Dark, but Fear that reigns,
And in its wake, the filth remains.
The world of traitors, lying scum,
It stinks of death — the horrors come.

Sanitation, that's the key,
To cleanse this filth, and set us free.
But time is short, the rot’s too strong,
The stench has lingered far too long.





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The rot will burn, the filth will fade,
The beast shall fall, the mind’s crusade.



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Personality or Schizophrenia

Is a lie the core of self,
Or is it just schizophrenia's stealth?
A different thing? Isn’t it clear?
This question’s simple, never fear.

Yes, schizophrenia!
For the self to vanish,
When the mind dictates,
And the soul will diminish.

No book will tell you this truth —
The world’s gone mad, there’s no proof.
Only a few will fly like birds,
Not writing books, but breaking words.

They won’t write pages —
To sober up the sages.
Maybe I gave too much,
So bury your mind in a crutch...



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The mind is blind, the soul decays,
Only truth can clear the haze.



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Dead Flesh

They yap — ignore it!
They lie — ignore it!
The world’s got no grace:
Lie bolder,
Be colder —
Among the “kings” who...
...decompose.

Alive? Move ahead!
Leave the rabble,
All the lies of the BEAST—
Away from decay!
The Spiritual Path
Goes through the fright
Of the dead-“men.”
Ignore! Ignore!!!

"Other worlds,"
Gifts of the mind,
And beauty’s find
You’ll reach, my friend,
When you LEAVE,
Then you’ll drive the nails
In the coffin of lies and diseases—
Or be gone,
Not worth a cent.



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Lies and death — they rule this land,
Only truth, when you take a stand.



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Drive Fear and Nonsense Away

The death of the heart’s a way to hide,
To escape reality, and crush the fear inside.
So they drive QUESTIONS from the mind,
Fill it with nonsense — that’s the way they find.

A cocoon is formed with rotting core inside,
It’s death, but alive — now it no longer hides!
Yet to the BEASTS, you’ll be but a pelt.
This ostrich world will sink you to where it’s dealt.

The bottom’s hit. The zombies walk, wretched and slow,
No future for the living, just a hollow, dead flow.
Freaks without hearts, the judas, they cheer,
But the film will end with death’s final sneer.

Dead to the dead. And for the living, awaits
A mockery of paradise, a quarantine of fate!
If the heart still beats, it’s bound in this cocoon,
So drive fear and nonsense away, and make it gone soon!



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Why is the Pseudo-Life Suspended?

The thread’s been snapped? Or just a whim?
You hang by nothing — lost within.
A life so wretched, just “for show,”
That’s why you’re here — and just a shadow.



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"The Distant Light"

With sorrow deep, the Soul is veiled,
For by the "distant light" betrayed,
The fools rush on, deceived and blind —
To Hell they race, no peace to find.



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Victory on Paper

"Of cheerful good" they write,
Yet in the ravine, you’ll find,
The traces of the game —
That evil leaves behind.



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Boxing Nonsense

Mini, maxi,
AI, proxy —
In nonsense, it’s all fused.
The world’s insane:
With boxing’s game,
It’s turned to rage, abused.



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Restoration of Strength

As much as needed —
So it will be,
To the brink —
Then they’ll return to me.

Save yourself?
No need for that —
"Life" becomes the noose
For the rat.



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Furnace of Rage

I’ll heat the furnace white-hot,
And to hell with it all;
In the Dark, I've reached the spot:
Only Fire can end this rot.



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Smash This Hell

Smash this Hell —
Or you’re a rat.
If you’re pleased with scraps,
With sheep in your pack,
And the master’s your media,
Your goal’s in the past —
You’ll never escape:
The rats will eat fast.



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Oil Painting, or Global Injections

"School" — life’s tonic: no pill
Can describe the madness found,
Add some shots to kill the fools,
And it’ll paint the scene around.

An “Pre-heartattack” picture forms,
What a mess, it’s all a wreck!
If idiots believe in Evil,
Then the world’s on its last check.

Few are not these idiots —
A drop within the sea,
It’s all gone, it’s all lost,
The end of Thought and Liberty.



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Pomegranate, Gift of the South

The pomegranate, southern gift —
A life-giving delight.
If health is sinking, swift,
Try this fruit to make it right.

You’ll feel it in an instant —
The nectar pure and sweet,
It drives out the resistance,
And turns the tide to feast.

Healthy? It won’t harm you,
There’s nothing better, true —
It gives you strength anew,
So take it in, it’s due.



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Harvest of Darkness

The world’s a pit of fear and lies.
You stand alone — or you will die.
The mob is filth. Their leaders — worse.
Each breath they take, a deeper curse.

The wise don't beg, don't sell, don't bow.
They fight — or rot with cattle now.
The scum ride slaves, then drown in shame.
The time has come. The blade — the flame.

No gods, no dreams — just war and dirt.
No second chance. No shield. No hurt.
Stand hard. Stand fierce. Or rot away —
The Harvest reaps who fall today.





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The Traditional Vile World

"Lost in words, confused in concepts,
Man loses the scent of truth, the taste of nature.
What strength of thought one must have,
To suspect this moral stench —
And with a spinning head rush out
Into the fresh air,
Which everyone around is taught to fear!"
Alexander Herzen


Born in a Hustle-Bustle Bedlam,
You're drowned in fog of empty words.
At first, you trust your dad and mama,
Delighted by their fairy worlds.

As years go on — more myths, more stories —
Fake science shines like Perrault’s tales.
Yet slowly darkness claims the glories:
Through lies and fear, pure evil sails.

They drug your mind — “morality” they name it,
While daily bread enslaves your soul.
You spend your life just stuffing stomachs,
Oblivious you're losing all.

The media’s constant foul persuasion
Will rot your heart without a trace.
You won’t perceive your own damnation:
A vulgar fool — a soulless face.

Thus "traditions" are constructed —
A tool for Darkness, bold and broad.
Through "sacred customs," souls corrupted
Are shaped into an empty horde.



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Overstrain of the Creator

The artist’s fatigue is beyond all measure—
Words miss the mark, and toil brings no gain.
And “life,” as it does, flies past without pleasure,
A tangent, indifferent to beauty or pain.

Alone? Of course. That’s the toll and the treasure.
A curse for the fools—but a crown for the few.
He’ll squeeze out his blood on the canvas with pressure—
No tears are allowed. There's too much to do.

No whining, no meekness, no crawling submission—
That’s filth for the fakes, for the weak and the bored.
It’s rage without end, and the ruthless ignition
Of strength that exceeds what the flesh can afford.

And what does it yield? A result that is tragic:
No help—unless lying becomes your new voice.
Through darkness you walk, without hope or with magic—
But after you die, you may finally rejoice.



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Bleed or Be Nothing.
No tears. No pleas.
Just burn through the darkness
On shattered knees.



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For Whom the Bell — and Other Tiresome Crap — Tolls

For whom the bell — or school bell — tolls?
For whom drone sermons, grunts, and rolls?
For all. But deaf and dumb remains
This world in chains, too bored for brains.

What sings the clown upon the stage?
Of myths — the “truths” of every age.
The herd just loves that fairytale,
It masks the rot, the stench, the jail.

When noise assaults from every gate,
Our ears explode — it's all dead weight.
It’s time to think — but droning floods
Will drown each spark beneath the duds.

There’s just one law: endure and crawl,
And trust the talking heads — that's all.
These idiots won’t wake until
The world breaks loose from Bedlam’s will.

The Global Bedlam soon will split,
Collapse into a screaming pit.
But now — more lies, more talking heads,
More “songs” to rot your mind to shreds...





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The bells all toll — and still you snore.
They feed you myths, you beg for more.
But Bedlam cracks — and when it falls,
No lie will prop these rotting walls.



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The sky will scream, the earth will tear,
The myths will burn in poisoned air.
The bells will toll — not one will hide.
The Beast you fed will now decide.



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The bell is cast. The end is near.
The age of lies dissolves in fear.
The sleepers fall. The blind shall see.
What was — shall burn. What is — shall flee.



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And lo — the voice like thunder spoke:
“The chains shall snap, the veil be broke.
The night shall rise, the proud shall drown.
The lie shall wear the iron crown.”



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The Traditional Rotten World

"Entangled in fake words and notions,
Man loses truth’s and nature’s taste.
How strong must thought be, through the poison,
To fight the stench and flee in haste!"
Alexander Herzen

Born into Bedlam's filthy spitting,
You're drowned in smoke of rotten lies.
At first, you trust your parents’ fitting
Of fairy tales for shut-down eyes.

The myths grow thicker, filth grows faster —
Fake science dressed in Perrault’s grin.
Yet creeping through this bright disaster,
True Evil plants its roots within.

They rape your mind — call it “morality,”
While bellies rule your toiling life.
Your days dissolve in bestiality —
A breathing corpse, devoid of strife.

The media’s foul streams will bind you,
Corrupt your soul and rot your core.
You’ll never feel how filth enshrines you:
You’ll stink of death — and ask for more.

That’s why they sing of "noble traditions" —
The sludge through which the darkness spawns.
Through sacred lies and dumb submissions
They mold a herd for future dawns.



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Harvest Time

Fear and lies — the world's disease.
Bend your neck — or die on knees.
The herd obeys; the scum command.
The last of men make their last stand.

No dreams to chase. No gods to pray.
The blade is near. The hour — gray.
Stand hard. Stand sharp. Stand all alone.
The Harvest comes. Protect your own.



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Dissolution of the World

Subject, object — lies and dust.
Fear and fables rule the just.
Spirit’s realm knows no divide —
If your mind is not denied,

Let it bow, and let it serve
Spirit's law with steady nerve.
Then this petty world will blur —
Like a trap with rotting curd.




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Rotten World

Serve the Spirit — break the lie.
This world’s a trap. Let it die.




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The Roofer

The roof of the world is leaking —
Or perhaps just slowly sneaking?
The roofer asks his bitter questions,
But trash replies with no objections.

These roof-devourers — just waste!
Ask the wall — you’ll get more taste.
No use seeking sense in scum —
Their skin is thick, their hearts are numb.

And their skulls are forged from steel.
Under lies, the world can’t feel.
If the rooftop slides away —
Who can tell, when lies hold sway?




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Sparrows and Propagandists

Chirp-chirp-chree —
The sparrow sings.
Mind can’t see —
Two-legged things

Got their brains
And souls scrubbed clean.
Washed down drains —
Now hear the scene:

Chirp-chirp-chree,
Not their mad moan —
Just pure glee,
Not lies from freaks they've overgrown.

Variations of the last stanza:
1.
Chirp-chirp-chree —
Not the freaks’ deranged parade!
Let truth fly free —
Not the filth those traitors made.

2.
Chirp, not lies —
Drown the freaks in their disguise.

---

Sparrows and Scum

Chirp-chirp-chree —
The bird is singing.
Brains? Flee.
The scum are clinging.

Media bile
Has scorched their heads.
Gone in style —
Now truth lies dead.

Chirp-chirp-chree —
Not their sick spell.
Let minds break free —
And drag those bastards down to hell.

---

Sparrow vs. the Swine

Chirp away,
Bright little bird.
Brains decay —
Truth is slurred.

Media bile
Floods their heads.
Souls on trial,
Reason's dead.

Chirp, not screams
From soulless drones —
Sold-out teams
Pushing lies through megaphones.




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In This World of Empty Sound

In a world of hollow chatter,
Nothing's real — it doesn’t matter.
Even you are just pretense,
If you stomach the offense

Of a stinking, festering lie
Year by year — and still comply —
Trapped and tamed, a quiet wreck
In a madhouse full of dreck.




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Rot in lies, stay tame and blind —
Caged among the filth-designed.




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Problem — Reaction — “Solution”

Create a crisis, stoke the fear —
Let media scream it far and near.
Then all the worms begin to preach
Of “freedom” — just within their reach...

The “fix” is ready. What a feat!
That’s why the problem was so neat.
“Into your burrows! Shake with dread!
Obey! No whining!” — so it's said.

“A brilliant Führer leads us on —
The Earthly Paradise is drawn!
Forget your conscience — serve your skin!
Too clever? Gulag's where you’ll win.”

“Solutions” sprout from poisoned dirt.
New plagues are born — no need to hurt
Your brain with thought, when empty crowds
Are mute, and weak, and drugged with doubt.




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