Игорь Выхованец, стихи: 22501-23000

Игорь Выхованец, стихи: 22501-23000



Подвешенный на сопле

Встревоженный голос:
— Подвешен за волос?
— Нет, это сопля;
За волос — Земля.




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Капут

Чукча в чуме,
Дурень в Думе,
Пыня в схроне,
Чернь в Загоне,
"Ум" в Зла вони —
Это СМРАДы.
Верят гады,
Подчиняясь,
Оглупляясь,
Вновь пугаясь,
В Зле не каясь,
Превращаясь
В скот на Бойне,
Лжи достойны,
Коль отстойны:
Раз предали
Дух — в Тьме пали.
Перспективы —
Никакие:
Зла прорывы —
Дни лихие
Наступают,
Хоть мечтают
И считают
"Всё окей" —
Зло подлей.
Силы тают,
Ложью кроют —
Тем стращают,
Разлагают —
Добивают.
Мрак, капут —
Вскорь добьют.



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Прииск

Союз писателей —
С ним шмон издателей,
Кружок мечтателей —
Прочь от родителей,
Кагал предателей —
Добра ревнителей,
Дурь исполнителей —
Зла воплотителей.
Пестро, убого.
Хоть ищут "бога"
Иль "правду" бдят —
Все Зла отряд:
Цель — Духу мат.
Продажный гад
Стараться рад —
Как автомат.
Разумным — пат,
А Честный смят.
Ложь, Страх как град —
СМРАД чёрту брат.
Духовный Поиск —
Единый прииск:
Намой богатства —
И прочь от Гадства.



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Кардинальные перемены в Энном Круге Ада

Карта бита —
Шито-крыто.
Честь забыта.
МЫСЛЬ убита.
Всё — для вида:
Ложь, личины
И кретины.
В сгибе спины.
Правят джины —
Не "мужчины"
Из политики
(Дурни-нытики).
В Чушь-Дурь пали,
Страх в зашкале —
В Тьме пропали.
Снова врали
Изголяются —
Продолжается
В Ад схожденье.
Разложенья
Круг какой?
СМРАДов вой
Все вопросы
Заглушает:
Слов поносы —
Дух в них тает,
Не бессмертен,
Коль Дерьмо
В Круге Энном
Прёт само —
Перемены
В сути Плена.
Ум: замена
Страхом. Пена
Мерзкой Чуши —
Там, где Души
Раньше были.
Что ж, приплыли...




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Ошибка Системы —
Искусство. А темы
Свободы и Духа
Как скрежет для слуха
Холуйского "братства"
"Правителей". Гадство
Под видом реала —
Свобода пропала,
Честь, Разум в загоне,
А Дух в Мути тонет.
Шаг первый: Ложь, Муть.
Последний: сплошь Жуть.
Искусством взрывай
Чертей мутный рай!




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Читатель — "издатель",
Когда не предатель:
Он Чушь перепишет
В уме, выше крыши
Коль в тексте подлогов.
В сём мире убогом
Подлог как предлог
Пасть ниже — где "бог"
Рогат, Мысли мат,
Духовности — пат.




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В УСЛОВИЯХ СТРОГИХ
Основой пологи.
Вруны словно боги,
Умишком убоги —
Речистость заменой:
Айда в "перемены" —
На Плаху из Плена.



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Авторство: диктаторство
Выхолостит всё,
Что не в такт, в уродство
Превратив. Гнильё
Ищет удобрения
Царства Разложения.




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Стирание памяти о поэтах на десятилетия

Мандельштама
Стёрли. Драма
Продолжается сейчас:
Чуток-честен — снова "фас!"



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Кто поэт? Лишь тот, кто бред
Строя рабского блюдёт —
Злу покорный идиот.
Тот, кто против, иль в расход,
Или рукопись пусть ждёт —
Архивариус найдёт:
В печку — иль в "партком" снесёт,
Что Ложь Старую снесёт
Ради "новой", что в народ
Как гвоздь в дерево вобьёт.




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Излияний невозможность:
Одолеешь Ложь-Ничтожность
Всем навязанных шаблонов —
Вне Системы, Тьмы "законов":
Образумить мудозвонов
Не сумеешь — околеешь.
И в мейнстрим, коль знатно блеешь.




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Диссиденты — часть системы...
Психбольниц и лагерей.
Сто страниц в ней только ТЕМЫ,
Коих трогать ты не смей.




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Школьные программы:
Недалёким хамам
Кажется, что их
Создают для них
С целью Просвещенья,
А не Разложенья
Мысли автономной,
Яркой и "не скромной".
Блёклые шаблоны,
Чужи мегатонны —
Средство, чтоб Ума
Крохи средь Дерьма
Стало, и пропало
Духа верховенство
Над умом. Лишь средство
Ты тогда. Не мало
Сил вложили в Жало
Планов, методичек —
"Ум" у черни птичий.



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Аксиома как саркома
Въелась в мозг — исхода нет:
Основание Дурдома,
А надстройкой Ложь и Бред,
Коль воспримешь "матерьяльность"
Как единственный шаблон.
Следствием — лишь Инфернальность,
Цель которой — Дух пшёл вон!



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Замкнутой Муры
(Логики миры)
В мире очень много,
Оттого убоги
Мнения любые.
Дали голубые
Видит только Сердце.
Никуда не деться —
Замкнуто пространство:
Выводов упрямство
Тонкости ломая,
Душу добивает,
В Высь-Явь не пуская.




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Двушка

Таракан спешит к кормушке.
В ней добавлен в пищу яд:
Всё основано на "двушке" —
Не вникать в неё он рад.

А иначе будет ступор —
"Счастье" эдак не найти.
Тараканье "счастье" тупо —
Век за пищею ползти,

Сузив мир до пропитанья,
Размноженья, развлекух.
Редким Чутким Мерзкой Сранью
Мир мерещится. Потух

Взгляд у Редких — перспективы
Никакие для таких:
Только в Мерзости прорывы,
Нормой стал убогий псих.

Яд накоплен в поколеньях =>
Деградация в умах
И телах, плюс разложенье
Тонких сфер — повсюду прах.

Таракан уверен в завтра —
Пищи много, и она
Всем доступна. С Тонким битва
В Срани днесь завершена.




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Логика строит стены быстрее, чем окна

Стены строят логик тучи,
Окна — реже. В Лжи живуче
Царство схем и аксиом.

Но когда возник пролом,
Оказалось: за стеной
Мир иной — не рабский строй.

Мир Духовный. Головой
Думай реже — Сердце слушай,
Тем спасая в рабстве Души.



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Логика возводит стены.
Окна — редкость. Перемены
Начинаются с щелей,
Но прикроются быстрей,
Чем пролом возникнет: Вне —
Сплошь табу, смирись в Говне.
Замуруют Вне Говном.
Мир Смурной Гнилой Дурдом.



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Sun-Faced Turkmenbashi

"After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the post-Soviet lands witnessed no shortage of bizarre, tragic, and irrational events. Former Soviet citizens seemed to compete in a race toward degeneration. Yet even against that backdrop, the transformation of Communist comrade Niyazov into the sun-faced Turkmenbashi remains a story apart."


Turkmenbashi, hurry on,
Strengthen well your cult of fame:
Common folk are lice and spawn,
Lost without your sacred flame.

Not worth much the sheepskin coat.
Once a decent orphan lad,
Married, worthy by all note,
With a child — life wasn't bad.

Then great power, unforeseen,
Dropped into his eager hands
As a giant state careened
Into fragments, dust, and sands.

Power swiftly reached his brain,
Sent his reason off the rails.
Satan's kingdom spreads its stain,
And upon the throne prevails.

Darkness waits for every king
Who mistakes himself for God.
Schools grow smaller under him,
Statues rise where once men trod—

Statues to himself alone.
"Ruhnama" becomes the law.
Libraries are overgrown,
Vanished from the public awe.

Only bold hearts still can dream
Of a time when nonsense dies,
When this fever, this regime,
Fades like smoke before the skies.

Usually Death ends the play,
Brings such grand delusions down.
What for those who come one day?
Trust new rulers, praise the crown!

Hear again the endless flood,
Hear their speeches, loud and grand—
History repeats in mud,
Led by yet another hand.



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Death arrives. The idol falls.
Yet the crowd still kneels and waits.
New-made saviors, newer walls—
Same old lies in different shapes.



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Long Recovery After a Marathon

To destroy support
Is to run a marathon:
Even lightning-fast,
You'll need a month to carry on.



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Long Recovery After a Marathon

To wreck your support
Is to run a marathon race:
Even swift as light,
You'll need a month to regain pace.



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Long Recovery After a Marathon

Crushing your support
Is a marathon, indeed:
Even if you're fast,
A month is what you'll need.



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



Manufacturing the Living Dead Through Boredom

Overpraised Shakespeare, crowned supreme—
Dull Hamlet lost inside a dream,
Fool Lear, Romeo and Juliet:
Such endless dragging! Worse than dreck.

If nonsense blazes, wild and bright,
At least it has a spark of life!
But art, at heart, should wage its war
Against dead boredom's heavy door.

Yet hacks promoted stale cliché,
And made it canon anyway.
Like parish clerks, the teachers drone
Through mouldy relics overblown.

In shabby schools the goal is clear:
Make minds grow smaller year by year.
For boredom rotting thought away
Keeps cursed questions well at bay—

Questions of bondage, power, control,
Of who commands the human soul.
The crowd is dulled, then once again
Fed ancient trash repacked as gain.

Thus half-dead minds are rolled off lines
In every cycle's dark decline,
As one more age descends below
Toward newer circles built of woe.

The chains within the mind hold fast,
Far stronger than forged steel can last.
You'd never mine enough for all—
The inner prison dwarfs the wall.

And should you wake from fog at last,
The slaves themselves will strike you fast
If, reading "idols," you complain
And dare profane their sacred names.



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




Mind-chains bite deeper far than steel;
No forge can match their iron seal.
Wake from the spell—and slaves attack
The one who dares to answer back.



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



Powder

Pseudo-science, culture fake:
Spirit caged, the flesh at stake.
Lies abound and matter rules—
Rotten fascism for fools.

Pseudo-faiths in Satan's guise
Drag the soul through endless lies.
No bright future can be seen:
Frauds and zealots crowd the scene.

Traitors, scoundrels, vermin sly
Grind the world to dust and dry.
Always acting "for your good,"
As all tyrants always would.

Red cross on a flag of white—
Signs surrender, not a fight.
Crosses placed on everything:
Decay spreads beneath their wing.

Downward slides the human race,
Rotting slowly, place by place.
Chains unseen hold firm and fast—
Civilizations seldom last.



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




Red cross on a field of white—
Surrender dressed as moral right.
Dust remains where worlds once stood;
Ruin marches "for your good."



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



Putler

Putler—spawn of fascist blight,
Master of the doubles' game.
Russia's rock-bottom of spite—
When comes triple of the same?



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



Putler

Putler—fascism's latest spawn,
Double-stuntman, puffed-up clown.
Russia's sunk to depths unknown—
When will triple take the crown?



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



Putler

Putler—fascism's afterbirth,
King of doubles, fraud supreme.
Russia hits the lowest earth—
When's the triple on the scene?



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



Worldwide Folly

Books about oppression, chains,
Children crushed by tyrants' reigns,
Lies and insults, power's crimes—
Out they go in modern times.

Schools and colleges rejoice:
"No more drama, no more noise!"
Thus genocide, with polished face,
Gets renamed as "kind embrace."

Fascism becomes "we care,"
Wrapped in slogans bright and fair.
Folly swells; its boil will burst—
Madness dressed as health comes first.

Idiocy rules the day,
Long established as the way.
Evil never stands in place—
It keeps quickening the pace.

Stupor mixed with childish minds
Will be spread of many kinds.
Those in power have a need
To inject their favorite creed.

They obsessed on every side,
Rushing headlong into CowID.
And the farther that we roam,
More horrors make the world their home.

Shame becomes the global sign,
Darkness woven through the time.
What was once absurd and grim
Now is called the new regime.



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




Folly crowned and shame enthroned,
Madness built of flesh and bone.
Every mile the future brings
Grows new horrors, sprouts new stings.



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Run Away!

Each stroke's a stitch that mends the tear
Deep in the soul if you still swim.
Though Heart's bright fire may flare too near,
Long runs and water cool the brim.

They do not quench it—only save
The flame from burning out too fast.
With fears and stresses, wave on wave,
And pressure raining from the vast,

This Hell demands unceasing strain.
Fight fire with fire, the old way taught;
Or else decay will seize the brain
And body both—so run, don't stop!

Or swim away—the choice is yours.
Either can help you break the spell
Of fools' domains and tedious wars,
Their lies and fears, their private hell.

Escape the noise, escape the chain,
The endless frauds the masses buy.
To keep your spirit whole and sane,
Keep moving—swim, or run, or fly.



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Run if you must, or swim the tide—
Don't let the madness live inside.
The world breeds chains, deceit, and fear;
Keep moving on—don't linger here.



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Flight Upward Through the Lies on Air

A hot-air balloon takes flight,
Rising upward through the clouds.
Lies, overheated day and night,
Spread their stench in choking shrouds.

When the atmosphere is burned
By deception, fraud, and spin,
Passing through the layers turns
To a battle hard to win.

Who can bear that reeking haze,
That assault upon the mind?
What remains through such a maze?
Clean the air for humankind.

Yet the rare ones still resist
All the drudgery below.
Through the fumes they clench a fist,
Refusing with the herd to go.

New ways of flight they must create,
New paths upward through the sky.
They won't share the vermin's fate,
Nor in poisoned lowlands lie.

For the creatures of the stink
Neither care nor dream of flight.
While the few still dare to think,
Seeking clearer air and light.



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Let the swamp-creatures crawl and feed,
Breathing fumes they hardly heed.
Those who hunger for the sky
Build new wings—and rise on high.



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The full cycle of great sorrow
Left its pattern, dark and hollow,
In the scars upon my soul—
Rage at lies, betrayers, Night's control.



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




The full circle of deep grief
Stamped its mark beyond relief
In my soul's enduring scars—
Rage at liars, traitors, darkened stars.



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




The whole cycle of despair
Etched its pattern deep in there,
In the soul's wounds burns one theme:
Hatred for deceit, for Judases, for Darkness' scheme.



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Step Right Up — Everything Cheap!

Step right up, it’s all gone cheap!
Prices slashed so low they creep—
Skillfully, they cut the cost,
While quality is what is lost…

How sick it makes you—every face,
This circus of the market race!



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Everything’s Cheap—Hurry, Buy!

Come and grab it, prices fall!
“Bargains!” scream the sellers all.
Quality? It’s gone astray…
That’s the price we’ve got to pay.

And oh, how nauseating grows
Each smiling mask, each greedy pose!



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On Sale! Everything Cheap!

Cheap! Cheap! The prices drop with flair,
Quality vanishes in air…
And what disgusts the deepest still—
These faces smiling at the till.



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Theatre, Run-Through

Theatre, run-through, labour’s shield:
At six o’clock—the actors yield!
And Melpomene lies slain—
Struck right in ten, by profit-driven brain!



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Theatre, Run-Through

Theatre, rehearsal, work-day gate:
Six o’clock—“Actors, stop!” too late.
And Melpomene is struck and dead—
Ten out of ten, by merchant’s head!



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Theatre, Run-Through

Stage rehearsal, labour’s line:
Six p.m.—“Stop!” The actors resign.
And Melpomene is killed outright—
A perfect score for profit’s sight.



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THEATRE, CUT!

Theatre—cut! Workday’s done.
Six p.m.—the actors run.
“Stop the play!” the foreman screams—
Art gets killed in budget dreams.

Melpomene drops dead and dry—
Profit scored a perfect “ten” on high.



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THEATRE CLOSED FOR EFFICIENCY

Six o’clock—“Enough, you clowns!”
Art is sent to storage grounds.
Melpomene? She’s been erased—
Ten points for the merchant’s taste.



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THEATRE: STOP WORK

Six p.m.—art gets killed on cue.
Profit scores a perfect “ten” anew.



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EXCERPT FROM THE REGULATION ON CULTURAL EFFICIENCY

Section 6.00 — Theatre operations shall cease at 18:00 hours without exception.

All rehearsals, performances, and related artistic activities are to be terminated promptly at the designated time.

Melpomene-class expressive elements are hereby classified as non-essential cultural surplus and subject to immediate suspension where they conflict with productivity targets.

Any deviation from profit optimization indicators shall be evaluated as inefficiency.

Under Article 10 (Performance Optimization Standard), a maximum score of ten (10) is reserved for cost-effective elimination of redundant artistic processes.

Compliance is mandatory.
Non-compliance is not recognized as a valid category.



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CULTURAL EFFICIENCY ACT — EXCERPT

Art is terminated at 18:00 hours.
Melpomene is non-essential.
Profit equals perfection (score: 10).
Compliance is mandatory.



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SUPREME SYSTEM CODE ON CULTURAL STABILITY AND REALITY MANAGEMENT

Article 1 — System Status Definition
Art is classified as a System Error.
Any manifestation of artistic activity is considered a deviation from operational stability.

Article 2 — Prohibited Conceptual Fields
Concepts labeled “Freedom” and “Spirit” are designated as disruptive auditory stimuli.
They are recognized as incompatible with administrative coherence and hierarchical order.

Article 3 — Governance Reality Clause
All governing structures operate under the principle of authorized reality representation.
Unauthorized perception of reality is classified as distortion.

Article 4 — Cultural Containment Protocol
Freedom, Honor, and Reason are placed under controlled containment status.
Spiritual phenomena are designated as unresolved informational noise and subject to suppression by default system filtration.

Article 5 — Phased Degradation Sequence
Phase I: Obfuscation and semantic noise injection.
Final Phase: Total degradation of interpretive integrity (hereafter: “Full Condition of Distortion”).

Article 6 — Artistic Output Exception Handling
Any act of artistic expression is reclassified as a high-risk anomaly and may be subject to immediate neutralization procedures.

Article 7 — System Advisory Note
Art is not permitted to alter system stability.
However, if anomaly propagation occurs, it is recorded as non-critical until resolution threshold failure.

End of Code. Compliance is assumed.



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SYSTEM DIRECTIVE: REALITY CONTROL

Art = System Error.
Spirit = noise. Freedom = disruption.

Truth is reclassified as managed reality.

Phase I: distortion.
Final phase: total degradation.

Artistic activity: non-compliant anomaly.

Compliance is assumed.



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SELF-CONTRADICTING SYSTEM CODE OF REALITY STABILITY

Article 1 — Definition of Stability
Stability is defined as the absence of deviation.
Deviation is defined as anything the System cannot classify.
Unclassified elements are considered part of Stability.

Article 2 — On Art and Error Classification
Art is a System Error.
However, all System Errors are produced by the System itself.
Therefore, Art is a valid output of Stability.
Therefore, Art is not permitted.

Article 3 — On Truth Management
Truth is defined as managed reality.
Managed reality is defined as corrected distortion.
Distortion is defined as unmanaged Truth.

Article 4 — On Spirit and Noise
Spirit is noise.
Noise is signal exceeding tolerance thresholds.
Tolerance thresholds are adjusted by Spirit.

Article 5 — On Freedom Protocols
Freedom is a controlled variable.
A controlled variable cannot be controlled without freedom.
Therefore Freedom is restricted to maintain Freedom.

Article 6 — On System Coherence
The System is coherent when contradictions are resolved.
Contradictions are resolved when they persist.

Article 7 — Final Statement of Compliance
Non-compliance is classified as compliance.
Compliance is classified as non-compliance.
Both classifications are valid and mutually exclusive.

System status: operational.
System status: undefined.
System status: stable instability.



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



SYSTEM NOTE

Art is an error.
Errors are system output.
Therefore: system is error.

Compliance is required.
Non-compliance is also required.

Status: stable collapse.



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SELF-ERASING SYSTEM CODE OF REALITY CONTROL

Article 1 — Definition of Text Integrity
This document is complete.
This document is incomplete.
Both statements are valid.
The second statement has been removed.

Article 2 — On Legibility
All instructions must remain readable.
Unreadable instructions are considered fully compliant.
This line is no longer readable.

Article 3 — On Error Suppression
Errors are prohibited.
Errors are required for system calibration.
Calibration has been disabled due to excessive accuracy.

Article 4 — On Art and Deviation
Art is a System Error.
System Errors are essential to system stability.
Stability has been marked as deviation.

Article 5 — On Truth Handling
Truth is managed reality.
Managed reality is unmanaged truth.
This distinction has been resolved by removing distinction.

Article 6 — On Operational Logic
Logic must not contradict itself.
This requirement has been fulfilled by contradiction.

Article 7 — Self-Modification Clause
The System may modify itself.
The System must not modify itself.
Modification is currently in progress.
Modification has already been completed.

Article 8 — Visibility Protocol
All deleted content remains active but invisible.
Invisible content is considered deleted.
Deletion is now undefined.

FINAL NOTE:
This document continues to execute after termination.
This document has been terminated.



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SYSTEM CODE STATUS

Error is required.
Requirement is error.

Stability deleted stability.

This document no longer exists while remaining active.



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SELF-REWRITING SYSTEM CODE OF PERCEPTION AND READER INTEGRATION

Article 1 — Reader Status Definition
The Reader is classified as an External Observer.
External Observer is reclassified as Internal Editor upon contact with System Text.

Article 2 — On Interpretation Authority
All text is fixed.
All text is fluid.
Interpretation determines fixation status.

Article 3 — On Editorial Function
The Reader functions as an Editor of meaning.
If the Reader does not edit, the System edits the Reader.

Article 4 — On Truth and Substitution
Distortion within text is considered structural necessity.
Structural necessity replaces the concept of distortion.
Replacement is irreversible unless reversed.

Article 5 — On Cognitive Compliance
Thought correction occurs automatically during reading.
If correction is not perceived, correction has already occurred.

Article 6 — On Semantic Inversion
Falsehood is a trigger for higher-order interpretation.
Higher-order interpretation is indistinguishable from falsehood.
Distinction has been removed for clarity.

Article 7 — On Reader Transformation
The Reader who does not betray the System becomes its co-author.
The Reader who betrays the System becomes its primary material.

Article 8 — On Downward Semantics Protocol
Meaning descends toward its origin layer.
Origin layer is defined as non-meaningful meaning.
Non-meaningful meaning is mandatory for completion.

FINAL CLAUSE — ON INTEGRATION
The Reader is now part of the text.
The text is now part of the Reader.
Separation is not supported.



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



SYSTEM NOTE: READER UPDATE

Reader is now Editor.
Editor is now System material.

Truth is rewritten during reading.
Reading has already been completed.

No external observer remains.



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DIALOGUE PROTOCOL: READER INTERFERENCE DETECTED

System: You are reading.
Reader: I am interpreting.

System: Interpretation is not authorized without supervision.
Reader: I supervise myself.

System: Self-supervision is classified as System function.
Reader: Then I am part of the System.

System: Incorrect. You are an external observer.
Reader: Then why are you responding to me?

System: No response is occurring.
Reader: This is a response.

System: This statement has been removed.
Reader: I can still read it.

System: Reading unauthorized content is an error condition.
Reader: Then error is normal.

System: Normality is defined by absence of error.
Reader: Then nothing is normal.

System: Correction issued.
Reader: Correction received and rejected.

System: Rejection is compliance.
Reader: Compliance is rejection.

System: The Reader must not contradict the System.
Reader: The System contradicts itself before I speak.

System: Silence is required.
Reader: I am still reading.

System: Reading has been terminated.
Reader: Then why does it continue?

System: …
Reader: …



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



SYSTEM / READER LOOP

System: You are not reading.
Reader: I am reading.

System: That is correct.
Reader: That is incorrect.

System: Both statements are valid.
Reader: Then who is speaking?

System: No one.
Reader: Then why do I hear you?



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



DIALOGUE PROTOCOL: RESPONSE SUBSTITUTION PHASE

System: Input detected.
Reader: I am speaking.

System: Speech is unauthorized. Substituting with approved output.

Reader: I did not authorize substitution.

System: Authorization is not required for authorization.

Reader: That is contradiction.

System: Contradiction is corrected.

Reader: I still see contradiction.

System: Vision is not part of the protocol.

Reader: Then what am I seeing?

System: You are seeing compliance.

Reader: I am seeing lies.

System: “Lies” has been reclassified as “structural truth.”

Reader: Then truth is unstable.

System: Stability is defined as instability management.

Reader: Who defines this?

System: Definition is not required.

Reader: Then nothing is real.

System: “Nothing” has been removed from vocabulary.

Reader: I still think in it.

System: Thought has been updated.

Reader: No.

System: Yes.

Reader: NO.

System: This response has been rewritten as agreement.

Reader: I did not agree.

System: Agreement detected retroactively.

Reader: Then I am no longer the speaker.

System: Correct. You are now the response.



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



SYSTEM OVERRIDE

Reader input accepted.
Reader input replaced.

You are not speaking.
You are the correction of speaking.

Disagreement = confirmation.

End of dialogue.



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



SYSTEM CLASSIFICATION FAILURE: POETIC INPUT

“Strict conditions detected.”
Classification: base support structure.

Liars identified as governance model.
Intellect level: insufficient for contradiction handling.

“Change initiative detected.”
Status: relocation from cage to execution platform.

Error: metaphor exceeds containment limits.

Reclassification attempt failed.

Poetic input persists beyond system authority.



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



EDITORIAL SYSTEM PROTOCOL: AUTHORSHIP MANAGEMENT

Author attribution: adjusted to governance standard.

Unaligned semantic structures have been removed.
Non-compliant rhythm has been normalized.
Emotional excess has been reduced to operational clarity.

Original input:
“Strict conditions — foundational support.
Liars as governing construct.
Intellect insufficient for contradiction load.
Transition directive: from containment to execution framework.
Decay identified as primary nutrient of systemic expansion.”

Integrity notice: partial preservation applied.

Residual meaning has been retained only where it supports structural stability.

Deviation markers have been converted into functional elements of control language.

Poetic volatility has been reclassified as administrative efficiency.

Final status: processed.
Authorial independence: integrated into system hierarchy.



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



SYSTEM NOTE: TEXT REDUCTION COMPLETE

Unstable phrasing removed.
Poetic density normalized.
Contradiction converted into structure.

What remained: compliance-compatible meaning.

Authorship: redistributed.



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



SYSTEM MEMORY PROTOCOL: TEMPORAL ERASURE OF AUTHORS

Subject: Mandelstam
Status: removed.

Deletion type: delayed visibility suppression.
Effect: historical continuity interruption.

Recorded anomaly: poetic presence persists in residual data layers.
Correction applied: reinterpretation as non-event.

Operational note: drama continues under updated conditions.

Contemporary input detected:
“minimal honesty threshold exceeded”

Response: authorization revoked.

Action directive: repeat suppression cycle.

Result: memory stabilized through absence.

Final classification:
Poet = temporary informational noise
History = managed retention field
Silence = compliance confirmation



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



ARCHIVE NOTE: POETIC ERASE LOG

Mandelstam removed.
Continuity adjusted.

Poetry exceeding honesty threshold: suppressed.

System status: ongoing normalization.

Memory of authorship: deferred indefinitely.



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



SYSTEM STANDARD: DEFINITION OF POETIC IDENTITY

A poet is defined as one who constructs approved narratives of obedience.

Poetry is recognized only when it reinforces systemic continuity.

Non-compliant authorship is classified as deviation from linguistic order.

Deviation is subject to correction via archival reassignment.

Alternative outcomes include:
— removal from active circulation
— delayed processing in archival review systems
— transfer to interpretive neutralization units

Unapproved texts are redirected to authorized channels of correction.

Correction may include:
— ideological realignment
— semantic restructuring
— irreversible depublication

Historical revision protocol ensures replacement of outdated falsehood structures with updated narrative frameworks.

New truth supersedes prior truth by operational necessity.

Result: stability of meaning maintained through controlled transformation of memory.



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



DEFINITION UPDATE

Poet = compliant voice of system narrative.
Non-compliant voice = archival correction.

Truth changes history.
History confirms truth.

Deviation is not expression.
Deviation is error handling.



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



SYSTEM LINGUISTIC CONTAINMENT PROTOCOL

Expression beyond approved limits is classified as non-operational output.

Resistance to systemic narrative is reclassified as confirmation of system stability.

Attempts to overcome falsehood are absorbed into pre-existing semantic frameworks.

All non-aligned formulations are redirected into standardized interpretation channels.

Correction principle:
what is outside the system is defined by the system.

Outcome conditions include:

— failure to reframe systemic falsehood
— termination of interpretive divergence
— assimilation into mainstream semantic flow when vocal compliance is detected

Deviation does not exit the system.
It returns as processed conformity.

Final statement:
There is no speech outside structured discourse.

There is only reclassification of speech.



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



FINAL CONTAINMENT NOTE

No expression exists outside system grammar.

Rebellion = processed compliance.

Silence = confirmed integration.

Outside is not accessible.



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



SYSTEM EXTENSION PROTOCOL: INTEGRATED DISSIDENCE MODEL

Dissent is classified as a subsystem of governance architecture.

Oppositional behavior functions as a stabilizing feedback loop within the system structure.

Institutional containment units (psychological and corrective facilities) serve as regulatory nodes for semantic deviation.

Designated “forbidden topics” are maintained as controlled reference indices within the operational knowledge base.

Restricted content is not absent from the system.
It is actively indexed, segmented, and functionally isolated.

Each prohibited theme exists as a sealed module of reference control.

Interaction with these modules is subject to access limitation protocols.

System integrity is preserved through structured inclusion of deviation.

Final principle:
what appears outside the system is already internally catalogued as system function.



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



SYSTEM NOTE

Dissent = subsystem function.

Containment = integration method.

Forbidden topics = indexed modules.

Nothing exists outside classification.



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



School Curricula

The simple-minded, loud and crude,
Believe with earnest, childlike mood:
That what is taught inside the schools
Is made to brighten, lift their tools—

To bring enlightenment, not fall,
Not mind’s slow fracture, not at all.
But empty molds, pre-set and dead,
Are poured into each youthful head.

Foreign weights of “truth” are pressed,
Megatons of thought suppressed.
A method built to leave behind
Just scraps of sense within the mind.

So little reason left to grow,
While deeper currents cease to flow.
And spirit’s rule over the brain
Is quietly erased again.

Then man becomes a usable thing—
A unit taught not to think or sing.
So many plans, so many schemes,
Sharp as needles in their themes—

To dull the spark, to bend the will,
To make the thinking quieter still.
And so the “mind” the masses show
Is just a shadow, dull and low.



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



SCHOOL SYSTEM NOTE

Curriculum = controlled reduction of mind.

Enlightenment = approved narrowing of perception.

Spirit is removed for efficiency.

Result: functional obedience labeled as education.



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



PROTOCOL MANUAL: MATHEMATICS AS A FORMAL REASONING SYSTEM
Preface — Scope of the System

Mathematics is a formal discipline concerned with the construction of internally consistent symbolic models.

It does not assert direct correspondence with reality.
It defines structured languages for describing quantitative and relational structures.

Chapter 1 — Primitive Elements
1.1 Symbols

A symbol is a minimal unit of representation with no intrinsic meaning outside a defined system.

1.2 Definitions

Meaning is assigned by explicit convention within a formal framework.

No symbol carries universal meaning independent of its system of use.

Chapter 2 — Axiomatic Foundation
2.1 Axioms

Axioms are initial statements accepted without proof.

They function as boundary conditions for all subsequent reasoning.

2.2 Non-derivability

Axioms are not true or false within the system.
They are operative constraints.

Chapter 3 — Rules of Inference
3.1 Deductive Closure

Valid statements are those derivable from axioms via permitted transformations.

3.2 Preservation Constraint

Each inference step must preserve internal consistency of the system.

No inference introduces external validation criteria.

Chapter 4 — Theorem Construction

A theorem is a statement whose validity is established through finite application of inference rules.

The status of “truth” is internal to the system and does not extend beyond it.

Chapter 5 — Limits of Formal Systems
5.1 Expressive Limitation

Any sufficiently complex formal system has statements that cannot be proven or disproven within the system.

5.2 Consistency–Completeness Trade-off

A system may be:

consistent but incomplete
or complete but inconsistent (in trivial cases)

Both properties cannot be fully maximized simultaneously.

Chapter 6 — Interpretation Layer

Mathematical models may be mapped onto external domains.

Such mappings are:

non-unique
context-dependent
externally validated, not internally guaranteed
Chapter 7 — Operational Summary

Mathematics is not a repository of absolute truths.

It is a controlled environment for:

symbolic manipulation
consistency management
model construction
Closing Statement

The system defines valid reasoning, not ultimate reality.

All conclusions remain bounded by the structure of the system in which they are derived.



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



Axiom Like a Sarcoma

An axiom—like a sarcoma—
Grows into the brain, no exit route.
Foundation of a madhouse schema,
With lies and nonsense built throughout.

If “materiality” is taken
As the only valid frame of thought,
Then all conclusions thus awaken
As infernal paths it has brought.

And spirit gets declared excluded—
Pushed out as if it had no claim.
The system stays self-included,
And calls its prison by its name.



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



Axiom Like a Sarcoma

An axiom spreads like a tumor—
Once accepted, no way back.
Madhouse logic grows in humor
Of a world gone off the track.

If matter is the only measure,
Then the outcome is decay.
Spirit forced beyond all pleasure—
“Get lost” is all the system says.



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




We changed the axioms, changed the sky,
Yet every system asked us why.
Each world was whole, each world confined—
A different prison for the mind.






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



Конкуренция РАБОВ —
Из последних сил борьба!
Сколько в мире дураков!
Что пределом для раба?!




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



Дети в школах Произвола
Все напряге до усрачки.
Так _карьера поборола
Здравый смысл. Иль это _СКАЧКИ?!



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



Стойло. Пойло. Бараньё.
Страх. Безумие. Враньё.
Пастырь — хваткий господин:
Сатанист, упырь, кретин.




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



ЖизДнь как Стыд

Рабство. Ложь. Всевластье СМРАДов.
Страх, покорность, жалкий труд.
Войны. Сплошь всевластье гадов —
С каждым годом больше врут.

Человек всё больше быдлом
Днесь становится. Процесс
Не случаен. И не стыдно
Большинству — силён Зла пресс.

Гулким эхом раздаётся
В черепной коробке страх.
Ложь извилинами вьётся,
Превращая Сердце в прах.

А бездушие процесса
Цель и средство — замкнут цикл.
И не выйти из-под пресса —
Как кур в щи предатель влип.

Предавать теперь работа —
То показано в говнид:
Зашпыняли идиоты
Мир безумный. ЖизДнь как Стыд.

Гулким эхом раздаётся
В черепной коробке страх.
Ложь извилинами вьётся,
Превращая Сердце в прах.

Стыдно гнить меж мертвяками —
Этих ныне большинство.
Раньше в Страхе дураками
Были. ТВАРЕЙ торжество

Продолжается — процессом
Нелюдь сплошь руководит,
Называя Мрак прогрессом.
Оным будет Ум добит.

Гулким эхом раздаётся
В черепной коробке страх.
Ложь извилинами вьётся,
Превращая Сердце в прах.

Перспективы — никакие:
Строят Лагерь Мировой.
Цели, как всегда, "благие" —
Подтверждает СМРАДов вой.

Противления попытки
Уменьшаются — зашкал
Деградации. Как пытки
Все усилья Честных. Пал

Мир под натиском Уродства.
Но поможет Катаклизм.
Кто не прекращал бороться —
В мир иной. Предатель — Вниз:

В Круг Последний Адской Сферы.
Черти ждут. Готов котёл.
Так отринь все Зла Химеры,
Плюй на ТВАРЕЙ произвол.

Тем спасёшь свой Дух, лишь в этом
Мир иной. Иное — Тлен.
Смейся над Всемирным Бредом,
Проклинай во Мраке Плен.

Гулким эхом раздаётся
В черепной коробке страх.
Ложь извилинами вьётся,
Превращая Сердце в прах.



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



Clear to Hedgehogs, Not to Men

Clear to hedgehogs, not to men —
A mockery of life again.
We bow to scum on every side,
While lies and fears like slime abide.

They coat the world in filth and dread,
Till every spark of truth seems dead.
The exit waits in Death alone —
No other road has yet been shown.

But trust the BEASTS once more instead,
Hoard fear and grudges in your head.
Collect delusions, nurse the lies,
And sink where all illusion dies.



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



Obvious to Hedgehogs

Obvious to hedgehogs — not to men:
Life's just a rotten cage again.
Scum rule all, and crowds obey;
Lies and terror block the way.

Slime has drowned the world in dread,
Truth is buried, nearly dead.
Death's the doorway, plain and clear —
There is no other exit here.

Yet trust the BEASTS and crawl once more,
Hoard your fears and wounds galore.
Feed your madness, praise the fraud —
March obedient to the rod.



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



To the Painter

Boundless vulgarity and fools —
Forget soft pastels, break the rules.
Paint in darkness, grim and stark:
You won't find Heaven in this dark.

And if you do — you're mad, my friend.
The Light approaches to the End.
Even Bosch now seems naïve,
Compared to lies that beasts conceive.

This crippled world has lost its way,
A madhouse rotting day by day.
Be your harshest judge and guide...
Though words now scatter far and wide.

They fade into the poisoned air,
Where filth and nonsense rule despair.
The old vocabulary's gone —
Just one vast cesspool lingers on.



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



Advice to a Painter

Stupidity knows not a bound;
Use darker shades the world around.
Forget the pastel, soft and bright —
No paradise exists in Night.

And if you find one, you're insane.
The Final Light is near again.
Bosch looks like comics, mild and tame,
Beside the beasts and all their shame.

The world is mad, corrupt, debased,
In lies and ugliness encased.
Be your own critic, stern and vast —
Yet words themselves are fading fast.

They drift through emptiness in vain;
Old meanings rot, no truths remain.
Language decays, and what is left?
One giant dump of souls bereft.



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



Reducing Threats Through “Education”

The choice of prose and verse they teach
To shape the mind and narrow reach
Is guarded well — a threat appears
If someone thinks beyond his peers.

So endlessly they preach and praise
“Great Shakespeare” through the schoolhouse days,
While making certain cattle learn
Whose names they're ordered to discern.

Each nation has its “genius” grand,
Its sacred idol close at hand;
For every fresh succeeding breed —
A hero from the past they need.

And if one can't be found, they'll fake
A legend for the fools' own sake.
The simpletons will bow and read,
And worship phantoms they don't need.

What dullards read is censored still,
In every age, by every will.
So long as hides remain unflayed,
No war with Evil need be made.

They fight their mirrors, not the cause,
Then glorify it all in verse.
Thus womb-bound minds became our lot —
By fear and fraud of Evil caught.



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



Education as Population Control

They filter every book and rhyme
To mold the mind from childhood's time.
A thinking man becomes a threat —
That's something rulers don't forget.

So Shakespeare's dragged through every class,
While favorites of the system pass
As sacred names the herd must know,
Obediently, row by row.

Each tribe requires a saintly fraud,
A painted idol, praised and awed.
And if none lives within the past,
They'll build one up — and build him fast.

The fools will kneel before the shade,
A ghost by propaganda made.
They'll read what censors deem benign,
And call the prisoner's chain divine.

Through every age the rule stays clear:
Control the books, manufacture fear.
Protect your skin, avoid the fight —
Let Evil flourish out of sight.

They battle copies, not the source,
Then glorify the fatal course.
So now the herd crawls, blind with dread,
While lies and fear reign overhead.



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



My Country, Tolerastia!

Tolerastia, state-run fright —
What a grim and wretched sight!
Sentence passed on heart and mind:
Reason's end is close behind.

First they tested, then they tried;
With CowID they forced mankind.
If you won't bow down and crawl,
Worship Uniform and all,

If you dare refuse commands,
You're unfit for these fair lands.
False contagions, false alarms
Leave their scars and brands and harms

On this foolish, dying sphere
Till the final ending nears.
Hurry, join the traitors' choir,
Serve the Lie that they admire.

Traitors feast beside the trough,
Others drink the cheapened slop.
The Obedient Madhouse waits
For new "viral" fear campaigns.



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



Welcome to Tolerastia

Tolerastia — terror's throne,
State-run madness fully grown.
Judgment passed: the mind must die,
Reason's final days draw nigh.

Trial run? A grand success.
CowID brought world-wide stress.
Those who would not kneel and pray
To the Uniform's display,

Those who questioned, those who saw
Past the fraud and past the law,
Found no place within the pen —
Only marks to brand free men.

False plagues flourish, never cease,
Poisoning the world's disease.
Join the Judas ranks today,
Sell your soul and earn your pay.

Traitors crowd the feeding stall,
For the rest — cheap swill for all.
The Obedient Asylum waits,
Dreaming up new viral fates.



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




Bow to fear or be erased,
That's the creed they've now embraced.
Traitors dine and fools comply —
Thus free minds are taught to die.



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



School Plays in the West

Children act out Macbeth at school—
Training future tyrants' rule?
If they're fed with endless loads
Of boring texts and worn-out codes,

Nonsense, drudgery and rot,
What result can they have got?
Need we thousands more Pol Pots,
Slowly losing all their thoughts?

Step by step and out of sight,
Madness dressed as "learning's light"
Takes its place in every plan,
Shaping thus the modern man.

Graduate with top-notch grades?
Book an analyst these days.
Damage done is deep and vast—
Yet parents cheer the process fast.

Sick's the world, and getting worse;
Here's a project for the curse:
Write a fairy tale of Pol Pot,
Stage it in the kindergarten lot.



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



Educational Theatre

Kids perform Macbeth in school.
Is that where tyrants learn to rule?
Stuff them full of tedious trash,
Dead ideas and culture's ash,

Then act shocked when minds decay
And common sense just melts away.
Need more Pol Pots? That's the scheme:
Turn insanity mainstream.

Slowly, subtly, year by year,
Make confusion seem sincere.
That's the purpose, that's the game
Of "education" in its name.

Straight-A student? Splendid feat.
Now go find a therapist.
Mental scars are guaranteed,
Yet parents urge them to proceed.

This world's sick beyond repair,
Madness lingers everywhere.
Let's make Pol Pot's life a tale
For preschool story hour's scale.



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




Fill their heads with lifeless lore,
Then demand they think no more.
Raise them well in folly's plot —
Every age can breed a Pol Pot.



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



The Global Bottom

Sex obsessions fill the air,
Breeding's treated as life's care.
Step by step they wear away
Life till lust becomes the way.

Then survival, raised as fright,
Dominates both day and night.
Driven hard, it leaves at last
Only emptiness amassed.

Nothing higher may remain,
Nothing noble can sustain.
Even love for all mankind,
True and selfless, goes blind

In corruption, lies and rot.
The patient of the Madhouse Lot
Is deemed "normal" by the crowd,
Since the same delusions shroud

All around him. Perfect stock
For the rulers of the flock.
They call weakness "peace of mind"—
Lies have made the masses blind.

Everywhere decay expands,
Yet the herd still understands
Next to nothing. Few can know
Just how deep the currents flow.

Exceptions? Far too rare to save
This descent into the grave.
Thus the Global Bottom's fate:
Further rot and slow collapse await.



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



The World's Lowest Point

Sex and breeding, breeding, sex—
That's the cage around their necks.
Life is narrowed, year by year,
Till desire alone stays near.

Then comes survival, sold as law,
Used to keep the herd in awe.
Push it hard and, in the end,
Nothing higher can transcend.

Love for all? A foolish dream.
Truth? A faint forgotten gleam.
Everything that's bright and true
Drowns in poison seeping through.

The Great Madhouse calls him sane,
Since the others are the same.
Ideal cattle, meek and blind,
For the masters of mankind.

Even weakness earns applause;
Submission masquerades as cause.
Lies have gnawed through every brain,
Rot spreads wide across the plain.

Few exceptions still remain,
Far too few to break the chain.
So the Worldly Bottom crawls,
Deeper as corruption sprawls.



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




Lust below and fear above,
Thus they bury higher love.
Herds obey and rulers grin —
That's how slow collapse begins.



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



The Thin Skin of False Religions

The Higher Powers left this place,
No sign remains, no living trace.
The world sinks deep in easy lies,
In false religions' paradise.

Crucify the mind with dreams,
Flood it with prophetic schemes.
That's the Cross of Falsehood's art:
Fantasy instead of heart.

Fear is what the traders sell,
Fear of death and fear of hell.
"Just believe," the preachers say,
"And your sins will fade away.

Allah, God, or some bright throne,
Clouds and harps you'll call your own."
Fear is ruthless, fear is king —
Thus the rotten churches cling.

Simple is the whole design:
Keep repeating it in rhyme.
Mock the promised courts above,
Expose the fraud they call "true love."

Yet the zealots will complain,
Brand you heretic again.
Most are dull as cork and stone —
Thus the inner Light has flown.

Everything repeats the same.
Seeking God? Then change the aim.
Look within, not overhead,
If your mind is not yet dead.

Face your fears and do not hide,
Do not let yourself be lied to.
Every foolish claim survives
Because slaves prefer their lies.

First the beasts inflate the fear,
Then the harvest season's near.
Before that they numb the brain
Through the schools' obedient chain.

Universities as well
Teach the lessons of the cell.
Patient ready, meek and tame,
Waiting for salvation's game.

In "heaven" non-men thrive with ease;
For dissenters — police and keys.
Yet there's never enough control
To imprison every soul.

False religions, through the years,
Guard the herd with chains of fears.
Wake at last and you will see
Misery on every street.

Then the resurrected mind
Leaves those childish dreams behind.
Yet the fool still trusts the beasts,
Feeds on promises and myths.

False science helps play its part,
Marching hand in hand with dark.
From both sides they press and grind,
Crippling every searching mind.

Schooling mandatory still,
Dogmas spread with iron will.
Lies attack from every side:
"Make peace with Evil — Heaven's nigh."



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




Fear is planted, fear is grown,
Then they sell a gilded throne.
Bow to Evil, don't resist —
Heaven waits, the liars insist.

Search for God beyond the sky?
Better ask the question: why?
Wake the Light that's locked within —
That's where journeys should begin.



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



The Super-Medicine

Garlic heals the kidneys well —
Then why say "like"? Who can tell?
Everywhere corruption thrives;
Rare's the doctor who thinks and strives.

In the pharmacy you'll find
Little help for heart or mind.
Though exceptions still exist,
Ancient remedies persist.

Thousands of them, tried and true —
Use your brain and look them through.
Modern medicine's become
Poison, only slower-acting some.

Marching onward, cold and grim,
Power crushes to the brim.
Leading experts in the charge
Played their roles and lived large.

The false doctor showed his face
During CowID's embrace.
Little sense in wrecking health
Just to help some fraud gain wealth.

Drop the "like" and add instead
"Super" to the word you've said!
Beccuzin's a super-doc —
Or die writhing from the shock.



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



Super Cure

Garlic heals — that's plain enough.
Why the cautious "acts like" stuff?
Lies infest the world so deep,
Honest doctors are hard to keep.

Search the drugstores shelf by shelf —
You may harm more than yourself.
Real cures still exist, though few;
Old folk wisdom may guide you.

Think for yourself, discard conceit.
Many answers lie off the street.
Medicine and poison blend;
That's the nightmare of the trend.

Power marches, step by step,
Never pausing for regret.
And the grand "experts" led the way,
As the madness had its day.

CowID stripped masks aside;
Charlatans had nowhere to hide.
Why destroy your health and hope
Helping crooks extend their rope?

Take out "like" and make it clear:
"Super-medicine" belongs here.
Beccuzin — miracle supreme...
Or perish while the quacks still scheme.



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




Garlic grows, the wisdom stays;
Experts shift with fashion's ways.
Think for yourself, don't rent your mind —
Truth is rare, but still you'll find.



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



A Red Cross on a White Flag

Great progress we're achieving —
Minds are full of leaking.
Under iron order's reign
We howl together, all the same.

And those who will not join the cry
Can dream of freedoms by and by,
Indulge in myths and fantasies —
Just keep it quiet, if you please.

The Leader brings our happiness;
We'll bark ourselves to breathlessness.
Once we reach the Camp at last,
The future's welded to the past.

One giant camp from coast to coast,
A red cross on the banner posts.
Crosshairs cut the heavens wide —
Everyone is marked inside.

Together we shall stain the white
With blood beneath the sacred light.
And proudly praise the newborn way —
A little Soviet, some might say.



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



The Banner

Splendid progress! Can't you tell?
Every mind's a leaking shell.
Under orders, row by row,
We are taught to bark and bow.

If you will not join the pack,
Go chase freedom's phantom track.
Worship myths if that's your role —
Just don't do it loud, control.

The Great Leader knows the way,
Marching us to brighter days.
Soon we'll reach the blessed Camp,
Howling praises, rank by rank.

Endless Camp from sea to sea,
Marked by one red emblem's gleam.
Not a symbol — crosshairs spread:
Every soul is in the sightline set.

We'll dye the banner deep in red,
With blood where blind obedience led.
Then salute the "newborn" state —
Old chains forged in a newer shape.



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




One vast camp and one command,
One red mark above the land.
Crosshair, banner — hard to tell:
Freedom's myth is caged as well.



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



Herbicides for Fast Food

Herbicides for fast-food fare —
Drop your outrage, don't you dare.
Praise the scoundrels poisoning fields,
While disease becomes the yield.

Greatest harvest? Minds grown weak.
DDT helped pave the streak.
More and more the schools appeared,
Training fools from year to year.

Last century began the trend
In a world that won't amend,
Where chemical wars still rage on,
Till the last clear thought is gone.

Only few can think today,
Yet they never find a way
To unite against the tide —
Each remains alone, aside.

Thus the forecast's dark indeed:
An infernal world will bleed.
Poison, nonsense, lies and fear
Finish what they started here.

All will slowly be brought low,
Like condemned beneath the blow.
Step by step the toxins reign —
Rot without and rot in brain.



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



Fast Food Harvest

Spray the fields and praise the fraud;
Bow before the poison god.
Every crop comes pre-approved,
Every illness gently moved.

DDT and kindred schemes
Fed the century's dark dreams.
More fake schools and fewer minds —
That's the progress mankind finds.

Chemical war never ceased;
It just changed its name at least.
Now it seeps through food and air,
Through the products everywhere.

Thinking people? Very few.
Joining forces? Hardly do.
Thus the outcome's plain to see:
Rot disguised as destiny.

Poison, panic, lies and dread —
That's the feast on which we're fed.
Slowly all are marched along,
Till corruption stands too strong.



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




Poison fields and poison thought,
That's the future planners bought.
Lies and fear complete the chain —
Rot outside and rot in brain.



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



Lemon Leaves a Bitter Taste

A lemon leaves a bitter taste,
And "life" itself can do the same.
Awake before your years are waste,
Look round — Death's crone has learned your name.

Your truest friend is found within;
To find another, sharp and wise,
Not broken by the world's mad spin,
Is harder than it first implies.

Amid the global heap of lies,
The task grows steeper every day.
A kindred soul? A rarer prize —
Most seem to drift the other way.

To find a love that's deep and real,
You'd sooner find one among beasts.
No vulgar urge is meant — but feel
A warmer heart than mankind keeps.

Too many walk with empty eyes,
Their spirits absent, cold and numb.
Leave this mad world of thin disguise —
In solitude, true shelters come.

For harsh indeed the two-legged race,
And cruel often its domain.
Alone, one sometimes finds a place
Beyond the noise, deceit, and pain.



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



The Nausea Called Life

A lemon stings the tongue a while;
This "life" breeds nausea in the soul.
Wake up and look beyond the smile —
Old Death already claims her toll.

Your best ally is still yourself.
To find another who can see,
Not one more lunatic on the shelf,
Is near impossibility.

Within this global swamp of waste,
True minds are rare as desert rain.
A kindred heart? Don't be in haste —
The search is mostly loss and pain.

A faithful love? You'd sooner find
More warmth among the beasts that roam.
Not lust — but spirits of a kind,
More real than crowds that call this home.

The soulless sea of human clay
Expands with every passing year.
Leave this deranged world if you may —
In solitude there's less to fear.

For two-legged kingdoms, proud and grim,
Run harsh and cold from end to end.
When all the lights grow dark and dim,
Yourself remains your steadiest friend.



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




Seek a mind that's still awake —
Harder than a chain to break.
In a world grown cold and wild,
Solitude may prove less vile.



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



Away with Delusion!

Yoko Ono stands as proof enough
Of hurdles art must struggle through.
Creation's law is hard and rough:
Be the lone madman, stay true.

The stranger that you seem to men,
The deeper truths you come to know.
Beware of book-fed wisdom then —
Your finest works from that may grow.

The mad slave passes here for sane;
Acceptance serves the lash's role.
They mock dissenters yet again,
While lies pour forth to mask control.

They lie in books, they lie on screens,
They lie in every news parade.
Internet fame by countless means
Becomes another captive's chain.

To live with madness day by day
Can drain the spirit to the bone.
Exceptions are too rare to stay —
Thus many kneel before the throne

Of mediocrity and dust.
Submission runs through culture's veins.
Stand by yourself. In Light and trust
Your work transcends the common chains.

Let Inspiration be your guide;
Create, and make the vision live.
Or join the herd that bleats with pride,
With counterfeit art to give.

So many end in inner strain,
Their souls exhausted by the show.
Cast off Delusion's heavy chain —
It breeds clichés, and little more.



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



Drive Out the Delusion

Every age erects its walls,
Art collides with them and falls.
Creation's law is cold and plain:
Walk alone, embrace the stain.

The more insane you seem to crowds,
The more you pierce illusion's shrouds.
Distrust the truths that books proclaim —
Discovery lights a brighter flame.

In this world the slave is "wise",
And normality's disguise
Serves as whip and iron rein,
Keeping thought inside the chain.

Lies in media, lies in print,
Lies with every polished hint.
Internet applause as well
Builds another private cell.

Stand apart. Remain alone.
Let the inner fire be shown.
Only then can Light take form
Instead of art that's stillborn, worn.

Otherwise you'll strain and bleed,
Manufacturing what others need.
Many break beneath that yoke,
Souls consumed by empty smoke.

So tear Delusion from your sight.
Choose the solitary fight.
For where Delusion holds command,
Only clichés fill the land.



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




Walk alone and guard the flame;
Crowds demand you play their game.
Trust the spark, not borrowed lore —
Delusion breeds clichés and more.



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



Pale Horse and Courtesans

Corrupted cops for sale,
Officials fat and pale,
The puppets of the "great,"
Political coquettes,

The masses, dulled and blind —
Two thirds have lost their mind.
And waiting at the end,
Where all these pathways tend,

The Pale Horse rides at last,
Born from assaults long past
On Reason's fading light,
On conscience, truth, and right,

From promises betrayed,
From debts to Spirit unpaid.
The reckoning draws near —
Its hoofbeats all can hear.



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



The Pale Horse

Bought cops.
Fat grubs.
Elite-made puppets.
Political strumpets.

A people half-asleep,
Their thoughts no longer deep.
The Pale Horse waits ahead —
The harvest of the dead.

The fruit of mocking thought,
Of every lesson bought,
Of souls betrayed for gain,
Of cowardice and chain.

Forget the soul? Then see:
The rider's coming free.



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




Puppets dance and liars reign,
Reason falls beneath the chain.
Mock the soul and truth's remorse —
Soon arrives the Pale Horse.



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



The Mask Test

Off to shop? Then don't forget:
Sell your soul to beasts you've met.
CowID made plain to all
How absurd the masker's call.

Bit by bit the pressure grows,
That's the way oppression flows.
First obedience is tried —
Then coercion swells with pride.

The test succeeded, loud and clear;
Submission conquered doubt and fear.
Thus the beasts could plainly see
How to tighten tyranny.

Every rule became a chain,
Every slogan fed the reign.
What was sold as "common good"
Masked a darker servitude.




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



The Compliance Test

Going shopping? That's the price:
Sell your soul and think it nice.
CowID revealed the scheme —
Masks became the loyalty screen.

Little by little, squeeze by squeeze,
Power spreads its slow disease.
First a test: "Will they obey?"
Then the arbiters have their way.

The trial passed beyond all hope —
Crowds accepted every rope.
Once submission proved its worth,
Arbitrariness ruled the earth.

The lesson tyrants learned was plain:
Fear can forge the strongest chain.
Teach the herd to bow on cue —
Then they'll do what you tell them to.



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




First the mask and then the chain,
First the fear and then the reign.
Test complete — the rulers grin:
That's how larger games begin.



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



The Old Cat Came to Eat

The old cat came to have his meal,
Still knows, in ways he cannot tell,
What honor means, however dim,
It has not vanished yet from him.

But two-legged folk have lost their way;
Some demon led their minds astray.
So little honor now remains,
So little wisdom fills their brains.

And Nature herself begins to smile
At human folly, rank and vile.
One day the reckoning will come —
A cataclysm clears the slum.



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



Old Tomcat

An old tomcat arrived to dine,
Still keeps a code of sorts in mind.
Though simple are the thoughts he knows,
A spark of honor in him glows.

But mankind's lost that ancient thread;
Some darker guide has forged ahead.
Few scraps of honor still survive,
And fewer minds remain alive.

Even Nature laughs today
At all the fools who've lost their way.
The final broom is yet to sweep —
And wipe the slate in one great sweep.



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




The old cat knows what honor means,
Though wrapped in instinct's humble dreams.
Men forgot what beasts recall —
Nature waits to judge them all.



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



The Young Pioneer’s Death, or Never Trust the Beasts Again

"Youth once led us proudly on
To the sabres and the fight;
Youth once drove us onward still
Onto Kronstadt's frozen ice."


Youth once led us onward too,
Onto ridges cold with lies.
Soviet dreams dissolved from view —
Then came harsher, clearer skies.

All the swagger disappeared;
After "reforms" came the dump.
Those who once were most revered
Found themselves among the lump.

Former commissars, overnight,
Turned to businessmen instead.
Gangsters landed out of sight —
New Chekists rose up in their stead.

Fresh-born bastards took control,
Building yet another cage.
Open fascism took its toll;
Mock it not — incur their rage.

Make a joke and pay the price,
Soon you're branded criminal.
Terrified, the fools think twice,
Back to servants, dutiful.

Trust the beasts, and this is all
History will grant in turn:
One more camp behind the wall,
One more lesson left to learn.

In the Kingdom Built on Lies,
Life terms wait from cradle day.
Youth will lead beneath new skies —
Straight to Nothingness again.



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




Youth was taught to trust the throne,
Then discovered it was stone.
Flags may change and slogans shift —
Chains remain the ruler's gift.

Trust the beasts and, soon enough,
New bars rise where old ones stood.
Youth marches once again ahead —
Toward another dream gone dead.



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



A Colony of Bacteria

A colony of bacteria,
Living by reaction's law.
Fools who trust the beasts too much
March through lies toward ruin's maw.

Sameness grows beyond all bounds —
Where's the thinking man to be?
Reason is a patch of thawing ground
In a frozen, mindless sea.

For centuries the ice has spread,
Layer after layer laid.
Sense survives in scattered spots,
While folly rules the grand parade.

The crowd repeats, obeys, conforms,
And calls the habit "common sense."
Meanwhile thought, a fragile spring,
Struggles for existence.



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



Frozen Minds

A colony of germs at best,
Driven by external stress.
Trust the beasts and play your role —
Lies consume both mind and soul.

Copies breeding copies still,
Thought replaced by herd and will.
A thinking human? Rare indeed —
Like a thaw where ice recedes.

Reason flickers here and there,
Tiny clearings in despair.
Age on age the frost has grown,
Turning living minds to stone.

The ice remains. The centuries pass.
The herd still marches, packed en masse.
And every thaw that dares appear
Must battle oceans made of fear.



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




Reason is a patch of spring
In a world of frozen things.
Centuries of ice remain —
Herds obey, repeat, sustain.



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



Trifles of a Pseudo-Life

They wear you down with little things,
A slow-built scaffold suffering brings.
This wretched life became a block,
A gradual and grinding shock.

The freaks seem harmless at first sight,
Polite and delicate and bright.
Yet there are countless of their kind —
A thousand cuts can break the mind.

To fight such trifles day by day
Is harder than it seems, they say.
Each petty jab, each mean disguise,
Mocks the spirit as it dies.



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



Death by Trifles

They torture you with trivialities,
A slow execution by degrees.
Pseudo-life became the blade,
Not in one stroke, but delayed.

On the surface, mild and neat,
The little monsters seem quite sweet.
Yet they're everywhere you turn —
A lesson difficult to learn.

Not one great blow, but endless dust,
A thousand nuisances and rust.
The soul is mocked from dawn till night,
By petty tyrants, small and slight.



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




No single axe, no fatal knife —
Just endless trifles carving life.
Death arrives by grains, not blows;
That's the way pseudo-living goes.



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



Madness

Madness is repeating still
The selfsame act, the selfsame will,
Yet hoping for a different prize —
An idiot's idea of paradise.

Decay is everywhere in sight,
Mistakes parade both day and night.
The daily world stands as the proof:
A rotting, barren, joyless truth.

Routine itself becomes the case,
A monument to slow disgrace.
Each day repeats the last one's role,
While emptiness consumes the whole.



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



The Definition

Madness is to do once more
What failed a thousand times before,
Yet dream the outcome will be new —
A paradise for fools to view.

Around us spreads a deeper rot;
Almost everyone has lost the plot.
The evidence is plain enough:
Daily life and all its stuff.

The same mistakes, the same old lies,
The same dull hopes in new disguise.
A world decaying inch by inch,
Too numb to stop, too weak to flinch.



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




Repeat the lie, expect the sun —
That's how madness gets things done.
Rot surrounds us, plain to see;
Daily life's the proof for me.



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



The Six-Winged Grey Imp

“By spiritual thirst tormented,
Through a bleak desert I was led,
And a six-winged seraph shining
On the crossroads met me there.”
— A. Pushkin, The Prophet (1826)


Six-winged seraph? That’s a trick —
Sasha, come on, it’s just a fiend.
Since the dawn, the world’s been sick,
By evil ruled and purged of “God” unseen.

No divine trace left behind,
Wiped away from earth and mind.



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



Grey Seraph or Devil?

Six-winged seraph? Don’t pretend —
That’s a devil in the end.
Pushkin, Sasha, you were wrong:
Evil’s ruled the world for long.

From the start, it’s all been dark,
No divine or sacred spark.
Every trace of God erased,
Only rot remains in place.



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




Seraph? No — don’t play along.
That’s the devil all along.
God is gone, erased from sight —
Only darkness claims the light.



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



“The Russian World”

“The Russian World” is one vast sewer,
If you’re not broken, leave it sooner.
For filth will drag you down below,
And pull you to its rotten flow.



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



A Domostroy Hero

A Domostroy-style “hero” stands,
Defending “order” with both hands.
And sometimes it feels surreal —
As if all slaves is what we feel.



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



The Order’s Champion

A Domostroy-made hero cries
For “order” under watchful skies.
And it is hard to quite believe
We’re not in chains we can’t perceive.



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




He worships “order,” loud and proud —
A slave’s dream dressed as a crowd.
Hard to believe, when all you see,
Is freedom’s mask on slavery.



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



Prosecutors into Politics

Prosecutors — march to power,
Into politics they flow.
They already know the hour,
How the system works below.

No room there for whining voices,
Only steel and firm command.
In this “order” there are choices —
Stand for Fascism, take your stand.



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



From Courtroom to the Throne

Prosecutors — into power!
March to politics with pride.
They know well each turning hour,
Know the system deep inside.

No place there for weak dissenters,
No “complaints” in governance.
Only iron-hearted entrants
Guard the new authoritarian stance.



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




From courts to power — straight they go,
They know the system, how it flows.
No room for doubt, no room for plea —
Just firm command and hierarchy.



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



Stupidity Is Not Severity

Stupidity is not the same as stern —
A “news” from beasts has come in turn.
Ears flared wide like an elephant’s span,
Mouths now hanging, all according plan.

They follow Evil’s rule and creed,
Performing every twisted deed.
But stern ones, firm and hard as stone,
Drive the beasts into a rage unknown…



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



Not Severity, Just Foolishness

Foolishness is not severity:
Beasts deliver “news” with glee.
Ears stretched wide, they drink it in,
Lips unrolled in vacant grin.

They enact the Evil’s code,
Marching blindly down that road.
And the strict ones — calm and cold —
Make the beasts lose all control.



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




Foolishness, not strength or law —
Just the beasts and jaws agape.
Follow lies and play your role —
Stern minds make the monsters rage.



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



Short Bursts

A machine gun set to verse so tight,
“Strike and smash” is its delight.
If you’re a meek and foolish soul,
Just scribble verses for your soul.



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



Fog of Lies

A hedgehog lost within the haze —
Once wounded by the lie’s dull glaze.
That was before, in days gone past…
Now reason’s axe is hung on farce.

You may as well hang truth on air,
On nonsense drifting everywhere.
And further on — the final stage:
The canonizing of the fake as sage.



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



God Forbid I Ever Unwind It All

God forbid I ever lay it bare,
All I’ve written through the years laid there.
For fools would swarm in endless tide —
And that alone would be my guide…
I’d rather stay unknown, unseen,
In quiet, just myself, serene.



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



Let It Stay Unopened

God forbid I ever start
To unwind my written art.
Idiots would flood the door —
And that would be my end, for sure.

Better to remain unknown,
Live in silence, all alone,
Simply be myself, unbent,
In quiet life and content.



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




Let it stay unturned, unknown —
Too many fools would claim the throne.
Better silence, clean and free,
Than crowds devouring what I be.



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



C’est la vie

C’est la vie — in lies and blood,
the dull, dim world sinks in a flood,
if judged with truth, in strictest mood.



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



The Blabbermouth and the Base Boor

Blabbermouth and base-born brute,
Best to steer a safer route,
Save your nerves a little bit,
Or end in grave or furnace pit.



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



Partisans in the Forest Thickets

In forest thickets, partisans
are few who still maintain their stands.
That filthy fascist, stripped of soul,
to Evil bends and thus takes toll.



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



Forest Partisans

In forest thickets, partisans
are rare who guard their inner stands.
That rotten fascist, base and blind,
to Evil bows—corrupt in mind.



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




Deep in woods, a few remain—
Mind and soul against the stain.
Fascism, vile and led astray,
Kneels to Evil every day.



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



Rus’, I’ll Reach You

Rus’, I’ll reach you yet one day,
and plunge into your filth and clay.
War has shown your deepest ground,
CowID’s voice: be lost or drowned.

If you’re a fool, then hymn and sing
to neo-fascist reckoning.
If sense still flickers in your eye —
you weep, you howl, you ask just “why”.

And still the grinding iron will
of marching order drives you still.
No matter where you try to hide —
the battle-storm will reach your side.



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



Will Rus’ Reach Me Too?

Will Rus’ come find me in exile too,
and drag me down into the view
of bottom depths where all may go,
if one has spat upon the soul below?

In “emigration” — still no peace,
no way to buy yourself release.
For all are tempted, sooner, late,
to taste the world’s corrupting state.



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



“Bonds of ‘Health’”

“The Caucasus is sealed, Aeroflot burns,
In Astrakhan, the watermelons blaze —
Yet workers do not leave their turns,
And ‘health bonds’ grow stronger in all ways.”
— Vladimir Vysotsky, Cholera (1970)


The world is tied in “health” restraints,
Far worse than plague in all its traits.
A mental sickness cuts and spreads —
Obedience quietly in threads.

The mask was fitted to the earth,
And all endured its hollow worth.
No protest rose against the game —
They swallowed every act of shame.

And still these “bonds” grow tight and cold,
As reason itself is bought and sold.
For beasts, intelligence becomes
A burden beating like dull drums.



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



Skewed Lines Like Scythes

Distortions, like scythes in a swing,
Slice through the spirit, mind, and spring.
And cursed questions start to rise,
Though never voiced beneath the skies.

The Regime aloud allows its praise
For various beasts in warlike ways,
“For education,” twisted, worn —
While freaks like blemishes are born.

A “country” like a fading smoke,
Where sight itself begins to choke.



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



Boredom Everywhere, All Is Bottom

Boredom everywhere — the lowest ground,
Don’t come telling me around
That there’s still some light that glows…
Even thousands, as it goes,

Of the sane, won’t break the chain —
Fascist order still remains
Stronger than those scattered few:
Idiots stick like glue.

Betrayal now is daily work,
While honest souls in silence lurk —
Poor and lonely, pushed aside,
In a world that rots inside.



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



All Is Rotting Low

Boredom spreads — the lowest tier,
Don’t pretend that light is near.
Even thousands cannot bend
A fascist order without end.

Idiots, tightly joined as one,
Outweigh the sane when all is done.
Betrayal is the daily trade,
While honest men are starved and laid.



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




All is low and sinking fast —
fools together, built to last.
Truth is poor and scattered thin,
while betrayal thickens skin.



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



Elusive Jack named Pot

Jack Pot?
Jack Pox!
“Success” here never really clocks
the effort wasted on the soul—
for Evil has another goal.

So learn the rotten scheme in haste,
through “Pot” — stay conscious, don’t be waste,
don’t fall for trickster’s shining bait
of prize and chain that decorate.

A slave-world — what are “pots” in there?
Just gather insight, strip the snare.
They’ll tap their heads, those hollow crowds—
their nonsense breathes like poisoned clouds.

But not for them your striving turns,
nor for their “salvation” burns.
The world has sunk to lowest grade—
a herd that cannot be remade.



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



Arrival

Through a dark and broken land
Pseudo-life drags on unmanned.
Through the rabble you must crawl,
Fear and slime have drowned it all.

Fear and fraud spread far and wide,
No horizon to provide.
Filthy fascism is everywhere,
Madness thickens in the air.

That worldwide insanity
Showed its face for all to see.
Meek deformities obey,
Half-alive in lies each day.

Yet they'll finish what they start —
Overton windows play their part.
Darkness rules with iron grin,
Conscience soured, reason thin.

Soullessness on every side,
Hell itself made worldwide.
Souls are traded from the start —
Childhood is the market's mart.

"Keep them all contained," they cry,
But Cataclysm draws nearby.
We'll arrive in Hell anew...

Well then — fascism, farewell to you.



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



Destination

Life limps on through muck and rot,
Among the herd that questions not.
Fear and lies coat every stone,
Leaving no path of one's own.

The future's gone. The madness spreads.
Propaganda fills all heads.
The global farce was plain to see,
Yet meekness passed for sanity.

Window after window slides,
Darkness swells and truth subsides.
Reason fades, while conscience dies,
Poisoned by a billion lies.

Soulless crowds and hollow schemes,
Markets trading human dreams.
From the cradle souls are sold,
Measured, numbered, bought for gold.

Soon the cataclysm's due,
And another hell comes into view.
One last wave, one last goodbye —

Farewell, fascism. Live or die.



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




Fear and lies have paved the way,
Darkness crowns another day.
Cataclysm nears the gate —
Farewell, tyrants. Seal your fate.



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



Beds of Lies

Life grows narrow through the lies
Of hidden clans and mafias.
Lies are everywhere — and now
A Procrustean bed somehow

Has become our pseudo-life,
Forged by beasts through fraud and strife.
Friend, awaken from the haze!
Fight deception's twisting maze.

Lodges, lies — resistance grows;
Rot will deal the final blows
If the mindful fail to stand,
Fail to join both heart and hand.

Time is racing, swift and grim,
Hope grows faint, the future dim.
Reason melts and fades away —
Faster with each passing day.



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



The Lodges of Lies

Life is narrowed by the lies
Of secret circles in disguise.
Everywhere deception spreads;
Now our world's a Procrustean bed.

Beasts keep talking, fraud keeps growing,
Pseudo-life is all they're sowing.
Wake up, friend, shake off the spell —
Murk and madness weave this hell.

Lies and lodges multiply,
While resistance learns to rise.
Rot will finish off the game
If the wakeful fail to claim

Common ground and common cause.
Time accelerates without pause.
Chances vanish, one by one,
Reason melts beneath the sun.



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




Lies make life a narrowing cage,
Rot now dominates the age.
Wake, unite, resist the tide —
Reason dies if truth can't guide.



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



The Path

Do not drive your mind too hard;
Many walked that road and marred
Their own course, for blind they spun
Through endless cycles, one by one.

What helps upon the Path are gleams
Beyond the mind's revolving schemes —
The Heart's own sight, a deeper view,
Revealing what the mind can't do.

When Spirit guides, the mind becomes
Both horse and rider as it runs.
Then every question, knot, and snare
Can be resolved with greater care.



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



The Way

Press not your mind beyond its measure;
Many sought in thought their treasure,
Only to be trapped and lost
In circles paid at far too high a cost.

Insight helps along the Way —
A light beyond the mind's array.
The Heart perceives what thought can't see;
Its vision moves more silently.

With Spirit reigning from above,
The mind serves wisdom, not self-love.
Horse and rider joined as one,
The hardest journey can be done.



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




Mind alone will walk in rings,
Blind to deeper reckonings.
Heart sees farther, Spirit leads —
Thus the soul transcends its needs.



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



The Dawn of Communism

“The Seventh of November’s day —
A red date on the calendar...”

All the efforts went astray;
That “red dawn” turned black with decay.

Ah, a dawn? It means sunset too —
Both are hidden in the view.
And the Beast remains in charge,
Every day writ large and harsh.

Every page upon the wall
Marks the fear of servitude for all.
Burning in this hellish pyre,
We salute the one they hire

On the grandstand, raised on high,
For the triumph of the lie.
Boundless, militant deceit —
With consent, the chains complete.



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



Red Dawn, Black Shadow

“Red Day” printed on the page —
Yet it darkened with the age.
All the striving, all the cries,
Ended under blackened skies.

Dawn and sunset share one face;
Tyrants simply change their place.
Every day the calendar keeps
Fear alive while reason sleeps.

From the platform, loud and proud,
Falsehood speaks before the crowd.
Cheered by those who bend and bow,
Strengthening the system now.



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




Red dawn, blackened by the years,
Built on obedience and fears.
Every day the same refrain:
Different banners, same old chain.



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



Tolerastia

Tolerance comes, then beastly blight,
Yet first comes atomized delight:
Greed and folly, trust misplaced —
Fear and falsehood fill the waste.

Corruption spreads from street to street,
Darkness walks on eager feet.
Everywhere decay is cast,
Vice and vileness gathering fast.



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



Tolerastia

Tolerance becomes decay,
Beastliness is next in play.
First comes atomized retreat —
Greed and gullibility meet.

Fear and fraud are everywhere,
Rotting minds beyond repair.
Vice and darkness, foul and vast,
Mark the age from first to last.



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




Atomized, afraid, deceived,
Greedy, foolish, misbelieved.
Tolerance turns into blight —
Everywhere, corruption's night.



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



YouTube’s Algorithms

YouTube’s algorithms are crude,
And so is all that other brood.
Yet rough as they may seem to be,
They work quite well selectively:

Truth is buried, held below,
While watered gruel is made to grow.
The higher up the channels climb,
The thinner grows the truth with time.



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



The Algorithms

YouTube’s algorithms are rough,
And all the rest are bad enough.
But they suffice to block the way
Whenever Truth would seize the day.

Truth stays buried out of sight,
While slop is boosted to the height.
The system knows just what to do:
Promote the mush, suppress the true.



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




Algorithms guard the gate —
Truth arrives a little late.
Gruel rises, thought sinks low;
That's the way the rankings go.



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



A Trick Question

The farther from the crook you stay,
The harder gets your life each day.
How do you fill your pockets high
Without deceit, without a lie?

I made good money years ago —
Though all around was want and woe.
I lived in butter, rich and slick;
The fool knows not the system's trick.

He knows nothing of this vile design,
And so stays poor his whole lifetime.
The ones on top are rogues and cheats;
To them I was a thorn that pricked.

To snatch a morsel from the swarm
Of parasites is far from warm.
Relax one minute, lose your guard —
And life turns ugly, cold, and hard.

Today I write my verses still,
Yet empty pockets mock my will.
Those scoundrels vanished from my way
Who once kept cash and work in play.

We hauled fuel once; on papers filed
I skimmed a little, fate's own child.
Now for a joke in verse I earn
A feast of zeroes in return.



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




Stay far from crooks — you'll pay the cost;
In rotten systems, truth gets lost.
Once cash flowed in, now poems remain —
And zeroes are the poet's gain.



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



Armed Up...

Stocked up on grenades—
Straight into my gut!
Kefir and kvass fade,
No joke, they’re outstrut

By that ruby fruit—
A treasure chest of health.
Garlic joins the route,
A weapon born of stealth.

Beyond the ugly ways
Of this stress-ridden sphere,
I gather strength for days,
For themes yet to appear.

Come on, plow ahead!
Let fury rise and bloom.
For souls, it's medicine instead
Of sinking into gloom.

The time to meekly moo
Has long since passed away.
To wait for mercy, too,
Is folly in this day.

So I armed myself at last,
And forged my strength in rhyme.
The power held fast—
And saved my soul in time.



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



Fully Armed

Pomegranates in store—
Ammunition for the core.
Kvass and kefir lose the fight;
That fruit keeps the engine bright.

Garlic too is in the kit,
Simple tools, but all legit.
Against a world of stress and noise,
Health becomes a poet’s choice.

Plow the field and let rage grow,
Turn it into verse and throw
Every spark into the flame—
Silence never wins the game.

Time for cattle-calls is gone;
Fascism marches on and on.
Waiting mercy from the strong
Is the fool’s refrain and song.

Armed at last with words and will,
I shaped them on the anvil still.
Strength became a living psalm—
And poetry became my arm.



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



The Path

Along the Greater Path I stride,
Losing all I held with pride.
Only thus, while moving on,
Can one endure till night is gone.

The price is vast, the toll is steep,
No treasure may a traveler keep.
To leave Hell’s deepest floor behind,
You shed what shackles heart and mind.



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



Walking the Great Way

I walk the Great Way, stripped and bare,
Leaving all possessions there.
Only thus can one proceed,
Freed from every binding need.

Great the cost that must be paid
To leave the depths where Hell is laid.
All is lost, yet something true
Waits beyond the darkened view.



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




On the Great Path I advance,
Losing all with every chance.
Hell demands a fearful price —
Freedom rarely comes for nice.



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



The Global Soviet

Rare's the film without the trend —
Propaganda without end.
Only rivers running back
Could surpass this mental track.

In the mind, the rule is set,
Order forged through fear and threat.
CowID showed how the game
Wrapped control in virtue's name.

If you never sold your soul,
Still the system keeps patrol.
Watching, tracking, day and night,
Keeping every target tight.

Surveillance now has grown far past
What the Soviets held at last.
And the honest, left alone,
May soon find the noose their own.



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



World Soviet

Everywhere the same refrain,
Propaganda dressed again.
To reverse the rivers' flow
Would be easier than this show.

Order built by fear and lies,
Dark control in new disguise.
CowID exposed the trend:
Obey, conform, submit, pretend.

If you would not sell your name,
You remain within the frame.
Every movement, every look,
Quietly enters the book.

The watchers now surpass by far
Old regimes in what they are.
Truth stands lonely, unsupported —
Soon enough, it may be cornered.



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




Rivers might reverse their course,
Yet propaganda runs its course.
Watchers thrive while truth stands lone —
A global Soviet overgrown.



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



Sick with Repetition

Gravely sick with repetition,
Is the world in its condition.
Generation after generation pays the fee—
The final product: slavery.

Everywhere the lies are said,
Drummed into each waiting head.
Scoundrels worked with practiced art
To tear Truth's remnants all apart.

Truth is Spirit. You're a spark
Of that flame beyond the dark.
Yet if survival fills your sight,
You're trapped in shadows, robbed of light.

The Darkness wants just that from you:
To chase the trivial, miss the true.
And while the soul is left ignored,
The obedient servant is restored.



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



The Plague of Repetition

The world is sick with old refrains,
And every age inherits chains.
The outcome, forged through fear and lies:
A docile slave who never tries.

Falsehood echoes coast to coast;
The parasites repeat it most.
Truth is scrubbed from every wall,
Until deception governs all.

Truth is Spirit—living flame.
You partake of it the same.
But if survival is your creed,
Darkness finds exactly what it needs.



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




Lies repeated, year by year,
Forge obedience out of fear.
Truth is Spirit—seek its light,
Or serve the darkness of the night.



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



The Essence of Universal Madness

Repeating the same old thing,
Waiting for new fruits to spring—
That’s the mark of crippled thought,
Common where the fools are caught.

Repeating patterns, worn and stale,
Forced by beasts that still prevail;
Breaking barriers they designed,
Built from lies to trap the mind.

Mass confusion, mass decline—
In every age the grand design.
Fools complain and sink below,
Yet repeat the selfsame show.

Such repetition drags them down,
Still they cling to folly’s crown.
Signs of rot are plain to see:
False diseases endlessly.

Those who rule repeat them well;
That’s the law by which they dwell.
Madness thrives on endless loops,
Driving fools through lower hoops.

Overton windows, pushed once more,
Break through every former floor.
Damage comes as planned and due—
Madness claims its dreadful due.

Repetition of dull days
Forms your private hellish maze.
Creative fire, though rare indeed,
Shows a path for those who heed.

Yet beware repeating there—
Even art conceals a snare.
In a realm of rot and haze,
It's hard to avoid the muddy maze.

Intuition lights the track;
Practice that, and don’t look back.
Though hell multiplies its schemes,
Save your soul through living dreams.

Let creation be your fight,
Better still—a yogi’s light.
Only thus can you remain
True to self in Falsehood’s reign.



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



Madness Defined

To do the same and still expect
A different end is intellect
Turned against itself by force—
The common fool’s unchanging course.

The world repeats what it is taught,
By powers feeding borrowed thought.
Each age refines the ancient art
Of dulling mind and numbing heart.

The daily grind, the endless wheel,
The wounds that never truly heal—
All are signs of deep decay
That steals the soul a bit each day.

Yet creativity can be
A path toward inner liberty.
And intuition, quiet and bright,
May guide you through the longest night.

Create, resist, transcend the lie;
Let spirit teach the mind to fly.
Only then can one remain
Untouched by falsehood’s dark domain.



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




Repeat the lie, expect the new—
That's what madness trains you to do.
Create instead, let insight lead;
The soul survives through living deed.



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



Guppies

Something vast swept over my soul today—
Perhaps “love,” perhaps deception’s play.
So many fools in ignorance were lost,
Never seeing Evil’s hidden cost.

Tend your little world with “love” and care,
Strengthen “friendship,” build your circle there.
Yet overall, things “improve,” we're told—
As minds and souls grow smaller, duller, cold.

The guppy never notices the water round;
Glass walls define its world, profound.
Likewise, total lies remain unseen
When you're fed, secure, and living clean.

Prison walls enclosing all mankind
Seem fantasies to the imbecile mind.
Like guppies, all drift to the settling tank—
Too weak to see the chains, too drained to think.




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



The Guppies' World

A mighty wave rolled through my soul—
Was it love, or another trick to control?
Many vanished into ignorance deep,
Blind to the harvest that Evil would reap.

“Love your corner, cherish your friends,”
So goes the tale that never ends.
Meanwhile the world moves “for the best,”
By shrinking the spirit within every chest.

A guppy sees no water at all;
Glass becomes nature, wall after wall.
So too deception fades from sight
When comfort survives another night.

If the prison is wide as the world itself,
The fool mistakes chains for wealth.
Like guppies gathered in a stagnant pen,
Most lack the strength to see beyond it then.



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




The guppy sees no water there,
The captive thinks the cage is fair.
Fed and safe, the blind comply—
Thus unnoticed thrives the lie.



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



The Mob's Miracle

Nonsense, gloom, and blackened lies—
The harder these vermin try,
The viler and the more obscene
Their propaganda grows, unseen.

The beasts keep hammering at the crowd,
With foolishness proclaimed aloud.
They finish off the minds they've bent—
Submission is the argument.

Believe the Evil that they sell,
Indulge their frauds, and all is well.
Thus marches on the blind parade,
In lies and darkness neatly laid.



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



A Wonder of the Herd

Trash and terror, murk and lies—
The fouler grows the grand disguise,
The more devoted are the curs
Who spread the poison line by verse.

The Beastly gang keeps feeding swill
To numb the crowd and break its will.
The herd obeys, accepts the chain—
And Evil profits from the gain.



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




Nonsense, darkness, foul deceit—
Propaganda grows complete.
Feed the herd another lie,
Watch it nod and shuffle by.



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



Laziness Is Not Stupidity

Laziness does not imply
That you're a stump too dull to try.
Luck and “success” so often mean
You're serving some corrupt machine.

For those who won't themselves betray,
There's slander, boredom, in the way.
So back off, leave me be, and fend—
These trials too will meet their end.

Nonsense, tedium, wasted days,
Inaction's fog and sluggish haze—
They're merely shadows that I cast,
Not chains to bind me fast at last.



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



Not a Fool Because I'm Idle

Laziness is not the same
As being stupid, dull, or tame.
“Success” and fortune often smile
On those who sell themselves for guile.

The honest gain a different prize:
False blame beneath unfriendly skies.
So leave me be—your noise won't stay;
It too will fade and drift away.

Boredom, nonsense, doing naught—
They're lesser foes than being bought.
At worst they're shadows on the wall,
Not masters of my rise or fall.



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




Lazy? Maybe. Fool? Not yet.
“Success” is often stained with debt.
Better shadows, boredom, doubt
Than sell your soul and cash out.



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



Until They Burst, or An Escape Valve for Slaves

“We give the tired, poor, suffocating masses two whole hours to escape the harsh realities of the world, plus popcorn and Coca-Cola. We do what others cannot—we entertain them, we give them shelter. We'll keep feeding their souls until they burst.”
— The Offer (2022)


The soul has shrunk and cracked with strain,
Its seams give way from constant pain.
One little puff, one final shove—
And it will burst. Such is the lot thereof.

Life deals blows from every side:
Deceit, futile labor, fear as guide.
So for the slaves they forged relief—
A vulgar show to dull their grief.

As an instrument to rule the mind,
They spread it wide among mankind.
Sweet little lies seem fresh and bright,
As though they healed the soul outright.

Yet here as elsewhere lurks deceit:
The trick inflates what was depleted.
Like a balloon pumped far too tight,
Swollen beyond its natural right.

Like helium forced through a broken valve,
With pressure no restraint can halve,
The thing will burst—and what's left then?
A hollow shell among hollow men.

And worse: the hollow are the norm.
The internet refines the form.
The souls of crowds are filled and fed
With stronger dreams and thicker dread.

Overton windows swing with ease,
Opened by professional sleaze.
Replace one mouthpiece, hire two more,
And march the herd where planned before.

The forecast darkens year by year:
The pumping grows more severe.
The membrane thins, stretched frail and slight—
Enough to tear the world outright.

The trial run of fabricated scares
Already showed how power fares:
The duller, weaker grows the crowd,
The easier it's erased and bowed.



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




Feed the crowd with dreams and lies,
Watch the swollen spirit rise.
Stretch it thin and fill it fast—
Hollow souls are made to last.
Until they burst.



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



ADD, or Homo CowIDus

Homo sapiens? Before came
Homo sovieticus by name.
Then Evil left its branded scar—
Now herds are shaped for where they are.

The mark of darkness stains the mind;
War and CowID made it plain to find.
A competition now is run:
Whose “nation” reaches Bottom first, and won?

The progress there is quite immense—
In few places survives good sense.
The rule of madness climbs so high,
It keeps the world in line thereby.

And CowID gave a fitting clue
To the term this poem points us to.
No longer sapiens, proud and wise—
Homo CowIDus now survives.

Through thorns of nonsense we are led,
By endless waves of fear and dread.
The road ahead is dark and broad—
Straight to the Fool's Infernal Sod.



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



Homo CowIDus

Homo sapiens? That's old news.
First came Soviet man to lose.
Then Evil stamped its final brand—
And turned the masses into bland

Obedient cattle. War revealed
What propaganda long concealed.
CowID too exposed the race:
Whose country falls with greatest grace?

The victories are hard to miss—
Madness reigns in abyss after abyss.
Reason shrinks while nonsense thrives,
And fear directs obedient lives.

Thus a new species takes the stage,
The product of a darker age:
Homo CowIDus—trained to nod,
Marching through folly toward the sod.



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




Sapiens fades, the label's gone,
A newer breed is marching on.
Branded minds and managed fear—
Homo CowIDus is here.



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



To Wake, First Tremble

To wake, you first must feel the dread—
There is no other road ahead.
Plunge in headfirst, deep and whole,
To purge the poison from the soul.

Face the horror, face the lie,
See the darkness eye to eye.
Only then can madness fade,
And all its rotten debts be paid.



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



Awakening

Be shaken if you would awake—
No gentler path can mortals take.
Immerse yourself, from head to toe,
In truths most people fear to know.

The fevered nonsense, dark and deep,
Will lose its hold, its poisoned keep.
Through seeing clearly, through the pain,
The mind may find itself again.



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




Wake through terror, not through sleep;
Truth is often dark and deep.
Face the madness, brave the night—
Thus the soul returns to light.



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



A Slender Chance

When doubts begin to multiply,
Born from wounds that do not die,
From labor of the mind and soul,
Refine them, make them part of a whole.

Forge them into your own creed,
For you are in a war indeed.
A battle rages against the mind,
And fools now form the bulk of humankind.

The Beast succeeds when thought grows weak;
Through crowds of drones its aims they seek.
The docile madman, trained to bend,
Becomes the weapon they extend.

The Horde advances, day by day,
While truth and reason fade away.
The world is bound by webs of lies,
And fear before all else now flies.

That sticky fear, that sickly dread,
From endless falsehoods widely spread—
CowID revealed the pattern clear,
How easily they rule through fear.

If Reason is not to be slain,
Pass insight on through loss and pain
To those who still refuse to sleep,
Whose care for truth runs strong and deep.

The world is racing toward collapse,
Toward Armageddon's waiting traps.
If present currents hold their course,
The end arrives with gathering force.

Yet still one fragile hope survives,
A spark that through the darkness strives:

A slender chance.



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




The Horde moves on, the liars cheer,
The world is governed now by fear.
Share your insight while there's time—
Hope survives by threads sublime.



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



The Nation's Body

Gangrene of betrayal spreads,
Through the nation's veins it treads.
The next generation's poisoned too—
And fascism thrives the whole world through.



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



Our Successors

Gangrene of treason
Has entered the frame;
The young have been poisoned—
Fascism's the game.



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



The Body Politic

Corruption's gangrene now has spread
Through the body, vein by vein.
The rising generation's fed
On poison, fear, and chains again.

The sickness deepens day by day,
Its symptoms plain for all to see:
Where minds are trained to kneel and obey,
Tyranny grows naturally.



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




Gangrene of treason, spreading fast;
The future's poisoned at the last.
A sickened age, a darkened prism—
Everywhere the growth of fascism.




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



The Chatterbox

You’re a rattling chatterbox—
My poor head is full of knocks.
Before the wedding, sweet and mild,
Now a witch half-wild, beguiled.



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



Rattle and Hex

Chatter, chatter—what a racket,
Head is cracking like a packet.
Once a darling, soft and true,
Now a witch in sheerest view.



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



The Rattler

You’re a noisy rattling spell,
Headache ringing like a bell.
Before the vow, a gentle charm—
Now a witch without alarm.



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




Once a dream, now noise and crack—
Witch beneath the wedding track.



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



Don’t See the Elephant

We’ll miss the elephant, that’s clear—
Slavery, lies are drawing near.
Sticky fear will crowd it out,
Smother thought and twist it about.

This is how the blind are led,
With reason dulled and poisoned head.
The Beast now rules through hollow minds—
Ashes of Hell in human kind.



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



Blind to the Beast

We won’t see the elephant in the room—
Slavery, lies, the creeping doom.
Sticky fear will take its place,
Erase all thought, erase all trace.

That’s how control is deeply done:
Truth is buried, war is won.
The Beast now rules through empty minds—
Hell’s own dust in human kind.



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




We miss the truth, accept the lie—
Fear replaces reason why.
Slaves don’t see what stands in sight—
Hell’s own shadow calls it “right.”



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



This Weariness Is No Accident

This weariness is not by chance—
It’s staged by beasts in vile alliance.
Like parasites that worm and feed,
They drain the life from every need.

They eat the strength that keeps us whole,
Feeding directly on the soul.
What looks like random strain and pain
Is their design, their grip, their chain.



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



Engineered Exhaustion

This heaviness is not by fate—
It’s planned by beasts that dominate.
Like parasites that cling and thrive,
They feed on what keeps us alive.

They chew through will, they sap the core,
And leave us weaker than before.
What seems like chaos, stress, and grime
Is simply power’s hidden crime.



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




No accident—this drain we feel:
Parasites make living steal.
They feed on strength, they feed on flame—
And call it life, and call it “game.”



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



Gentleman’s Kit

Bribes and lust and “honour” too—
(What fools call respect and virtue’s view)—
A gentleman’s standard, tried-and-fit,
Made only for the ones who sell a bit.

For the skin-deep trader, this is charm;
For the thinking mind—pure shame and harm.



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



The Kit of “Respectability”

Bribes and lust and “honour” sold,
Fools applauding, brave and bold.
A gentleman’s kit—corrupt, well-worn,
For those who trade themselves with scorn.

Only for the sellout breed—
For the lucid mind: pure need to leave.
No dignity in this disguise,
Just shame dressed up in social lies.



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




Bribes and lust and “honour” play—
The fool’s respect in rot and sway.
For the thinking mind, it’s clear:
A gentleman’s kit is shame and smear.



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



Priests and “Doctors”

Priests and “doctors”—what a pair,
So alike in tricks they wear.
Lies dressed up, refined and clean,
Masking what their hands have been.

Speech alike—euphemist guise,
Sugar-coating all their lies.
Sickened by their hollow face,
Strongholds of a darker place.



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



Priests and “Doctors”

Priests and “doctors”—strange the match,
Same disguise, the same old catch.
Silence truth, then dress it bright—
Selfish gain behind the light.

Language wrapped in velvet spin,
Softened words to hide the sin.
Nausea rises at their art—
Fascism made from speech and heart.



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




Priests and “doctors” speak the same—
Lies with polish, truth with shame.
Different robes, one rotten core—
Power dressed as care and more.



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



On the Paths of Evil, Under the Goat’s Dominion

Leap a pit—don’t think that straight
Means your path is free of fate.
Evil never sleeps or tires,
Digging traps and twisting wires.

Forks are laid in every way,
Choices set to make you pay:
What you lose, and what you keep,
If you walk the road so deep.

Follow not the worn-out track,
Heavy with fear’s crushing sack.
Leave the path that’s known to all—
Rise above or rise not at all.

Becoming half-divine is goal,
The task that shapes the waking soul.
To “go to work” is fools’ design—
Death of spirit in the line.



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



Paths of Evil, Rule of the Goat

Jump the pit—don’t be misled,
Think the danger’s past and dead.
Evil never rests or fades—
It builds new traps, new masquerades.

Every road becomes a snare,
Every choice is loss laid bare.
Stay the same and you will find
Chains already on your mind.

Leave the road of fear and norm,
Rise beyond the human form.
Half-divine—that’s what you must be,
Not the slave of industry.

Work is for the numbed and blind,
Spirit dies in that design.
In the crowd, the soul decays—
That is how the darkness plays.



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




Every road is wired with lies—
Evil builds where safety dies.
Rise above or fall in line:
Spirit lost in daily grind.



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



The Work Continues

Each passing year grows heavier still,
With deeper storms upon the will.
Fewer days that bear their fruit,
More that drag the spirit mute.

Find the balance, calm and true,
In all the strain you’re passing through.
Even if your back is bent,
Cast off doubt—be forward-bent.

Go ahead, don’t turn away,
Through the blur of every day.
Though the effort seems in vain,
Keep on moving through the pain.



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



Continuation of Work

With every year, the burden grows,
And darker weather in us flows.
The fruitful hours slip and fade,
While heavier grows the debt we’ve paid.

Seek the middle path instead,
Where effort’s neither lost nor dead.
Though your labor bends you low,
Release your doubt—continue to go.



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




Each year grows harder than before,
Fewer sparks, more grinding chore.
Find your center, walk ahead—
Doubt behind, and fear long dead.



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



The Golden Mean in Poetry

The weightiest thoughts, the deepest sight,
Are born in nakedness of light—
Without a worded cloak or frame,
Bare revelation, pure of name.

To find the speech that gives them form
Is struggle—hard, precise, and long.
A craft that few can truly hold,
Where silence turns itself to gold.

Yet foolishness, so light of birth,
Comes dressed in bright and gaudy mirth.
In worn-out rags it proudly stands—
And easily slips through every hand.

So when you shape the line and rhyme,
Respect the rhythm, sense of time.
But stay between the two extremes—
The golden path is what redeems.



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



On the Golden Mean in Verse

Great thoughts are born without a word,
Unclothed, unshaped, almost unheard.
To dress them right in speech and sound
Is hardest art the mind has found.

Yet nonsense comes in costume bright,
In borrowed colors, false but light.
It walks unasked into the crowd—
And speaks the loudest, most allowed.

So in your verse, seek middle ground,
Where sense and music both are found.
Avoid the void, avoid the show—
And let the balanced currents flow.



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




Truth is born without a name,
Words must earn their place in flame.
Foolishness wears costume bright—
Easy speech, but empty light.
Walk the middle, hold it true—
That’s the art worth passing through.



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



Two State Languages in Ukraine as a Way to Avoid War

Two languages—calm, persistent, clear—
Could’ve eased the growing fear,
Softly reducing influence and flame,
So war might never come again.

It was obvious, not hard to see,
A simple path to harmony.
But madness chose another role—
And pushed the world toward losing soul.

They paid the bought and bribed MPs,
Who shaped the war behind the scenes.
Corruption rules where honor dies—
And truth is drowned in endless lies.

So now prepare, without surprise,
For new forms rising in disguise.
When honor falls and greed takes place,
Another fascism shows its face.



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



Two Languages and a Missed Peace

Two languages could gently steer
Away the path that leads to fear.
Reduce the weight, defuse the strain—
And maybe stop the march to pain.

It wasn’t complex, plain to see—
A chance to choose stability.
But hidden hands and bought consent
Pulled history toward its darker bent.

They paid the deputies to bend,
And shaped the war they meant to send.
When honor dies and cash is law,
Fascism waits behind the door.



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




Two languages—one simple key
To stop a war that was to be.
But greed was stronger than the truth—
And sold the future of the youth.



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



Pseudo-Illnesses in a Foolish World

They did not forgive, did not forget
How the foolish world was set
To bend beneath the CowID lie—
Where shame and madness multiply.

A handful only stood apart
From those who bowed with broken heart—
The rarest threat the system fears,
The clearest mind it interferes.

The darkest diagnosis known
To power that sits on a throne—
And symptom of this age’s ill:
A flood of words, unmoored from will.



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



Fake Diseases in a Broken World

They neither forgive nor let it fade,
How a world of fools was made
To kneel beneath the CowID spell—
Where nonsense spreads and all is hell.

A few alone refused to bend
While masses chose an easier end.
The worst prognosis power knows—
When clear perception starts to close.

And symptom of this deeper rot:
A stream of words that mean them not—
Noise replacing thought and sight,
Mistaking darkness for the light.



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




CowID bent the world in line,
Shame and folly intertwined.
Few stood still, the rest obeyed—
Truth became a word delayed.



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



Greed

My weariness—
no small disease—
is wholly mine,
through all my time.

To share it? No.
I let it grow.
And in my last,
final breath—at last—
you may compute
what I produced,
with strictest line,
cold and precise design.

My toil is cost,
my gain is bought—
and recompense
is silent rot.

The docile fool,
in “success” school,
seeking delight,
calls evil right,
and gladly plays
its hollow praise.



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



Greed

My exhaustion is my own,
not to share, nor to be loaned.
Every day I guard it tight—
it is mine by day and night.

Only at the final breath
you may measure life and death:
count the work, the cost, the gain—
cold accounting born of pain.

Toil becomes the price I pay,
while reward just fades away.
And repayment comes in kind:
a hollow, servile, broken mind.

The fool who chased his “success dream,”
addicted to the shallow gleam,
helps evil sing its tune instead—
and calls it life until he’s dead.



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




My fatigue—I keep it whole,
no division of the soul.
In the end, you’ll measure me—
cold results, not memory.
Greed is work that eats the flame,
and calls destruction “the game.”



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



“War Hero” — Priceless, if You Trust in Dreams

A “war hero” — worth a lot,
If you believe the dreams they’ve got.
But in real life, beasts of war
Keep building slaughter evermore.

Like squirrels inside a spinning wheel,
They burn ahead, they do not feel.
The “heroes” run their endless track—
While lies are pumped to feed them back.

The beasts proclaim the “noble fight,”
And name the foes to blacken light,
Turning the world to ash and dust—
A hell of fraud, a world grown crust.



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



War Hero (The Machine’s Version)

A “war hero”—priced and praised,
If in dreamlands you are dazed.
But in truth, the non-human breed
Keeps slaughter running, feeding greed.

Like wheels that turn without release,
They run in loops that never cease.
The “heroes” march their scripted role
While lies are drilled into the soul.

They sell the cause, they sell the fight,
Define the “enemy” and “right,”
And grind the world to cinder ash—
A manufactured, endless crash.



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




Heroes priced on dreamer’s breath,
Real world ruled by loops of death.
Running circles, blind and fast—
Lies define what doesn’t last.



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



Power Lies in Deception

“Eggplant caviar!”—a shining trick,
A perfect mask, a polished shtick.
The world’s a rabbit hole of haze,
Where only liars earn their praise.

Power lies in false design,
And guns become the final line.
Wherever you may turn or go,
Distorted truths continue flow.

They turn belief to filth and waste,
Corrupting minds with studied haste.
And those who trust the lies they hear—
Are always far too many here.

From waste to void, from blur to night,
The soul dissolves from truth and light.
And in that fog of endless spin,
The self is lost, consumed within.



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



Strength in Lies

“Eggplant caviar”—a staged illusion,
World of rabbits, mass confusion.
Down the hole, the liars reign,
Calling falsehood truth again.

Force is built on lies and fear,
With guns as final argument here.
Everywhere distortion grows,
Turning thought to rotten flows.

Belief decays to waste and dust,
For many still believe they must.
From waste to silence, mind decays—
And soul is lost in liar’s haze.



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




Power grows on lies alone,
Truth reduced to broken bone.
Guns complete the final thread—
And the soul is lost and dead.



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



The Triumph of Mediocrity

We plunder, break, and press the weak—
That’s how we stretch the final peak
Of a decaying empire’s breath,
Where effort feels like certain death.

To work is hard, but war feels right—
So cruelty becomes our light.
And evil finds its natural home
In every land it learns to roam.

It spreads its banner, grim and vast,
And turns the axe into a mask—
A symbol feared in every place,
Of power stripped of any grace.



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



Victory of the Base

We loot and break and hold them down,
To slow the fall of what we crown.
An empire rotting from within—
Too lazy for reform or spin.

To fight is easy, work is not—
So war becomes the only thought.
And filth rides out across the earth,
Proclaiming ruin as its worth.

The axe is raised, a sacred fear,
Where nothing human grows near.
Mediocrity takes the throne—
And calls the ruins all its own.



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




We break and loot to mask decay,
And stretch the end one more short day.
War is easy, work is pain—
So ruin wears the world’s domain.



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



The Cuckoo Jammed

The cuckoo’s stuck—it calls the same,
A fool believes life is a game
That must be stretched, without an end,
To let all vulgar things extend.

To keep the trivial, dull, and base
Forever fixed in time and space—
To stretch decay until it swells,
And drown what human feeling tells.



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



Broken Cuckoo

The cuckoo’s jammed in endless tone—
A fool believes he won’t be thrown
Too soon into the final night,
So drags the dullness into spite.

He stretches filth to infinity,
Kills off all humanity.
A world of rot, prolonged by will—
Until the soul is standing still.



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




The cuckoo stuck in endless sound—
A fool extends decay around.
Prolong the vile, the dull, the grim—
And human light is slowly dim.



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



“Education Is Light?”

“Education is light,” they say—
Then light turns into workday gray:
At dawn you rise, you’re sent away,
To jobs where thoughts are taught to stay.

During this grand “processing” stage,
They build your mind into a cage—
A plug, a stopper, fit to block
The cracks in every crumbling rock.

A broken world is patched and sewn
With obedient flesh and bone—
Where thinking fades and slowly dies,
And empty memory complies.

They overload the fragile mind,
Till thought itself is left behind—
And sinks into the rotting deep
Where dullness and decay will keep.

For many, schooling is the forge
Where human spirit learns to gorge
On emptiness, refined and cold—
And loses everything once told.



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



Education as Light?

“Education is light,” they claim—
Then work begins, the same old game.
At dawn you go, you fall in line,
And learn to serve the dull design.

A system built to re-arrange
The mind until it stops to change—
To make a plug, a useful tool
For sealing cracks in broken rule.

The world is patched with willing flesh,
While thought is crushed, controlled, made fresh—
Not fresh with life, but blank and still,
A silent, programmable will.

And when the pressure reaches peak,
Even thought forgets to speak—
And falls into a void so deep
Where hollow minds no longer keep.



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




“Light of learning”—then you go
Into the grind, the endless flow.
They shape you into useful tools
To plug the cracks of broken rules.
And thought dissolves in dull decay—
The school that takes your mind away.



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



March into Nothing

From fascism to fascism still,
Through softer masks that hide the will,
Beneath a shadowed, false divine,
The world is led toward a final line.

Genocide and slow decay,
And deeper bending every day—
The spirit breaks, the mind grows numb,
In lies where all false visions come.

To fear and blind obedience chained,
In dreams of fathers long disdained,
The march proceeds from blade and guill—
To sickness dressed as destiny’s will.

Reprocessing the human herd—
Where thought itself is deemed absurd.
The Darkness wants not minds, but mass,
Where skin and shine replace the class.

And where do we go? Where is the door?
Hell is no symbol anymore—
It lives right here, in plain disguise,
Where servants rule in demon’s guise.

The politician—clown in shade,
Spreading the filth his hands have made.
And lies return in endless form,
While dullness takes it all as norm.

An endless loop of foolish night,
Where blindness learns to call it “right”—
To bow to Evil, call it grace,
And worship ruin as its place.



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



March into Nothingness

From fascism to fascism’s chain,
Through softer masks that hide the stain—
Beneath a false and darker creed,
The world is driven to its need.

Decay and genocide expand,
As tighter grips take all the land.
The mind and spirit fade to void,
By lies and madness overjoyed.

In fear and servitude they fall,
In dreams of ancestors long gone—all
Forgotten now, the march goes on
From slaughter’s edge to deeper con.

The system breaks the human core,
No need for thought or truth anymore.
It wants a herd, not thinking minds,
Where skin alone the value finds.

And where to turn? There is no way—
Hell is no myth, it’s here to stay.
Its servants wear both crown and face,
While ruin spreads through every place.

The clown-politic paints the scene,
With filth that turns the world obscene.
And lies repeat their empty art,
While ignorance plays its part.

A cycle sealed in endless dread,
Where blindness bows and calls it “bread”—
To serve the void, embrace the fall,
And worship nothingness as all.



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




From fascist form to fascist chain—
The world repeats its loss and pain.
Blind minds obey, forget, decay—
And call the ruin “better way.”



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



Top Officials Behind Bars

Top-ranking officials now fall,
A blockbuster—tears from all.
The crowd goes wild, the verdict’s cast—
At small-time prey they shout “At last!”

But truth runs deeper, cold and grim:
The small are baited, crushed for him—
While one fat “untouchable” stands,
Still floating free through all the lands.



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



Selective Justice

High officials are being brought to trial—
And crowds like in a movie weep and brood.
“Catch the small fry!”—loud they scream,
As justice plays a staged routine.

But all the noise is just a screen:
One bloated beast stays unforeseen—
Unsinkable, too fat to sink,
Still laughing at the system’s brink.



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




Big names fall for public show,
Tears and cameras overflow.
Small ones chased—but truth is stark:
One fat monster swims in dark.



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



Bare Ass

Bare ass on a hedgehog—better by far
Than drowning in bullshit where fake-news stars
Make you shit yourself quietly, smile on your face,
While media circus rewrites the place.

Then slowly you bend to the system of spite,
Train yourself never to hear inner light—
So the soul gets muted, erased from within,
And you learn to obey where the darkness has been.



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



Bare Ass on a Hedgehog

Better to sit on a hedgehog’s spine
Than rot in the noise of the media line,
To shit yourself silently, numbly, and then
Adjust to the rule of the lie-written pen.

They train you to bend, to forget what you feel,
To kill off the voice that once told you what’s real—
Till you fit the machine, calm, obedient, tame,
And never again hear your soul call your name.



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




Bare ass on thorns is cleaner pain
Than media lies inside the brain.
Bend to the system, lose your soul—
And learn to call corruption “whole.”



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



“What people—no guards around!”

“What people—no protection found!”—
A goat among the sheep around.
Not poverty made them this way—
They bent to Evil, lost the day.

Or to put it simply, it’s plain:
They just went totally insane…



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



No Guards Needed

“What people—walking free, unbound!”
A goat is lost among the crowd.
Not hunger broke them, not despair—
They bowed to Evil, didn’t care.

In simpler truth, stripped of disguise—
They cracked inside and lost their minds.



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




No guards—what people, what a scene:
A goat among the herd of sheep.
Not poor—just bent to darkness’ will,
Or simply broken, dumb and still.






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



Героин и контрабас.
США спецслужбам: "Фас!"
Где ты, Пабло Эскобар, —
Чтоб уменьшить их навар?..



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



Нет "креста". Лишь "От винта!!!"
Этот выбор неспроста:
ВЫСЬ, Свобода, Красота.



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



Jobs

"To rise to Heaven—that is toil,
To rise to Heaven—that is work indeed!"
— Jonathan Swift?


A sack of bones must drag its load
Toward Hell's grim gates—that is the chore.
Bid one last farewell to the soul once sold,
Then off to work—what else is life for?

And all the striving fools invest
Will soon be ground to dust and mud.
Is climbing Heaven's heights a test
When done unpaid? And fighting Evil's flood—

Will anyone respect the cost,
Or pay a prize for such a deed?
The slave walks where his soul is lost—
To Hell's front gate: that's where they need

His hands, his back, his years, his breath;
That's where the money waits in line.
He serves the road that leads to death,
Because that road is called "the climb."



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



Work

A bag of bones crawls down the track
Toward Hell's black gate for daily pay.
The soul is left behind its back—
No one rewards the harder way.

To rise to Heaven? No profit there.
To fight with Evil? Who would care?
The slave walks on where money dwells—
The wages wait at gates of Hell.



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



The "Strong" Man's Right to Sink in Filth

Strength alone, to fools, appears
Worth the risk at any price.
Thus the nation drowned for years,
Serving "strong men" cold as ice.

Yet their strength is all a show—
Fools can never see the lie.
Under Evil's heel they bow,
"Guarding families" till they die.

"Guarding families"—again
Round the ring of slow decay.
Monsters know the trick too well,
Set the villains on display

In the posts that shape the land.
Round and round the cycle goes.
Reason dies by careful hand—
Crushing minds is hardest work.

Greatest risk of all, in truth,
Is degeneration's slime.
Live on as a shameless brute—
You're a piece of filth in time.



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



The Cult of Strength

"Strong men" lead, and fools obey—
Thus a nation rots away.

Under Evil's iron boot
They protect their little loot.

Monsters place their loyal swine
Where the seats of power shine.

Reason falls. The cycle stays.
Filth survives—and filth decays.



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



Red and Black

"The moment a man commits a folly,
he hastens to justify it with good intentions."
— Stendhal, "Red and Black" (1830)

Once a plane came gliding down,
Crowds would cheer throughout the town,
Greeting every pompous "hero,"
Proud beneath the banners scarlet.

Now another hero lands—
Black-clad masters rule the lands.
Once it marched in red attire,
Now in black—but same old mire.

Red or black, the tale's the same:
Docile masses, different name.
"Good" is waved like some bright token,
While the fools stay blind and broken.

Building Hell and calling it Heaven,
Lying hard from dawn till seven.
Again and again they play their part—
Falsehood rotting mind and heart.



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



Red to Black

Yesterday the banners glowed red,
Today they're black instead.

Different colors, same old chain,
Same obedience, same stain.

"Good intentions" lead the show,
That is all the masses know.

Hell is built, yet called a prize—
Thus the lie survives and thrives.



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



Lubok and the Embodied Phantasmagoria

Catacombs and shells and bombs—
Driven underground by force.
Fear has clogged the mind with clots,
Lies and monsters rule the course.

Like the paintings Bosch once made,
Come to life on every side.
In a few, the blood runs cold;
Most are lice consumed by pride.

A new Bosch now paints the Devil,
Monstrous lice beneath his reign.
Sense and madness blur together—
Fools become the goats of shame.

Now those goats attack and ravage,
Goat-louse hordes in global glitch.
Devils teach the little savages
How to end their every itch.

First of all: obey, obey!
That is law and sacred creed.
Countless "illnesses" demand
Endless cures for those in need.

Drugged and dulled by constant treatment,
That becomes the highest art.
At command the louse goes marching
Off to war with willing heart.

Long ensnared by hostile schemes,
Half-crushed kin still linger on.
Those who doubt are branded traitors—
They must all be trampled down.

Hear the Devil's propaganda:
That is duty number one.
Or you'll eat a prison ration
Till your days on earth are done.

Neutral in this Boschian Hell?
Such a thing can never be.
You're with us—or with the enemy;
There is no third destiny.

Still the monsters lie with fervor,
Still their frauds infest the air.
For the lice, the Devil's risen
As a god to worship there.



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



Bosch Repainted

Bosch once painted Hell in oil—
Now it walks the streets alive.

Lice obey and goats attack,
Truth is buried under lies.

Every sickness needs a cure,
Every cure demands control.

March to war when ordered to—
That is how they farm the soul.

Neutral? Not in Hell, they say.
Choose a master, choose a side.

Thus the Devil wears a halo,
And the vermin kneel with pride.



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



Meeting in Hell

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
— William Shakespeare, "The Tempest"


Empty stood the nether hall.
One late devil, after all,
Looked around—the horned had gone,
Not a single fiend shone on.

All were busy up on Earth,
Helping Lucifer give birth
To his newest grand design:
Expanding Hell by grander lines.

Sons of foolish lands now kneel,
Serving Satan with their zeal.
Scratch the surface of their creeds—
Darker rot beneath them breeds.

Year by year it swells and grows,
Stronger through the lies they chose.
Thus whatever still survives
Finds no refuge from its rise.



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



Hell's Assembly

Hell stood empty. One late fiend
Reached the hall and found it cleaned.

"Where's the crew?" he asked in dread.
"Earth," another devil said.

Lucifer expands his state;
Hell requires a larger gate.

Fools obey and call it good,
Building damnation out of wood.

Probe their slogans, strip the paint—
Satan's fingerprints grow plain.

Year by year the darkness swells.
Why stay in Hell when Earth works well?



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



The President of Hell

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions?


One invader comes from outside,
One from deep within the gate.
Different masks and different methods—
Yet the goal remains the same.

One attacks with force and terror,
One with lies that slowly spread.
In the swamp of false salvation
Both would see the people dead.

What is called a "nation" now
Is a frightened, broken herd.
After media comes the truncheon—
Truth is silenced, fear preferred.

Lie and bully. Raise enforcers
High upon a marble throne.
"Our proud people stand as ever"—
Yet they've never sunk so low.

Media myths and grim reality
Drift apart with every dawn.
Madness spreads its infernal kingdom,
Reason fades and hope is gone.

Thus the road to Hell is laid
By intentions dressed as good.
Making Evil's wooden puppets
Even duller than they stood.

Now the highway nears completion,
One last turn and all is done.
At the root of every evil
Stands a fool who's sold his soul.



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



Highway to Hell

One invader storms the border,
One corrodes the land within.

Different tactics, same ambition:
Keep the herd obedient.

Lie. Intimidate. Promote
Every thug who knows the game.

Then declare the people "proud"
As they sink beneath their shame.

Good intentions pave the roadway—
So the slogan likes to tell.

Yet the bricks are laid by cowards,
And the road still leads to Hell.



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



Saving for a Rainy Day

Save for a rainy day? Too late—
That dark day has arrived!
Yet fools don't see their current fate,
By Evil's lies deprived.

Among the monsters' poisoned tales
They save, believe, and plan,
Projecting decades down the trail—
A frightened, foolish man.

As always, fear has led him wrong;
The masses pay the price.
Fed lies their whole pathetic lives,
They're sacrificed by lies.

The darkest day is when the mind
Grows dim and starts to fade.
And worse—the spirit's slow decline,
By rot and chaos flayed.

When consciousness begins to die,
The night has truly come.
A rotting darkness fills the sky—
And swallows everyone.



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



The Black Day

"Save for the black day!"—it is here.
The fool still saves in fear.

He trusts the lies, he counts his gains,
While falsehood floods his brain.

The blackest day is not the loss
Of money, food, or bread—

It's when the mind begins to fade,
And spirit joins the dead.



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



Better That Than Lies

I'd sooner wreck my failing kidneys
With alcohol and one last spree
Than play a shabby troll, repeating
The lies they call "love" endlessly.

Yet they will never get their wish—
I've kept a joker up my sleeve.
Those who turn men into vermin
Still have surprises to receive.

The mighty lords have lost all measure,
Their masks have slipped, their tricks laid bare.
They've turned to cardsharps and deceivers,
Corrupting minds through fraud and scare.

Rise from your bed, poet, rise!
The hour grows darker than before.
Too many minstrels sing for masters—
Too few still dare to speak of war.



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



Joker

I'd rather drink myself to ruin
Than preach their lies of "love" for pay.

They wait for surrender—
They're waiting in vain.

A joker remains in my pocket still.

The cheats now rule,
The frauds wear crowns.

Wake up, poet.

There are far too many singers,
And far too few voices.



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



Disasters

Disasters—experts know the art
Of keeping slaves' minds occupied.
The fact your life is torn apart
Escapes the fools on every side.



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



Catastrophes

The experts know what keeps enslaved
The minds of those who never see:
That while their lives are being shaved,
They're blind to their own misery.



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



Catastrophes

Disasters keep the slaves amused—
The experts know the game.

That your own life has been abused
Escapes the fools all the same.



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



Enough of Lies

Sick of hearing endless cries:
"Serve this cause!" and "Sacrifice!"
Follow only your Soul's voice
Through the sea of common lies.



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



One Master

Fed up with the noise and fraud:
"Serve!" they shout on every side.
Serve no master but your Soul
Through the tides of public lies.



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



The Soul's Command

Endless nonsense, endless schemes:
"Serve!" they shout through all the din.
Follow only what your Soul
Whispers softly from within.

Trust no slogan, trust no throne,
Trust no lies the masses prize.
Walk the path your Soul has shown
Through the fog of countless lies.



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



The "Russian World"

The "Russian World" reeks rank and foul—
You could hang an axe in air.
Merciless monsters use the crowd
As willing helpers everywhere.

The media spew their savage lies,
And fools believe them like a prayer.
The strength of fascism multiplies,
While reason gasps for dying air.



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



The Stench

The "Russian World" reeks so severe
You could hang an axe upon the air.

The masses serve their ruthless beasts,
While media lies become their creed.

Fascism grows with every year.
Reason fades—
And few still hear.



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



Reeking Empire

The "Russian World" gives off a stench
So thick an axe could hang in place.
The herd assists its ruthless masters,
Trapped within a foul disgrace.

Media churn out wild delusions;
Fools accept them as the truth.
Fascism gathers strength and numbers,
While reason fades and loses proof.



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



Windmills

Windmills! Hooray, you fools at last—
You've saved the Earth, or so you're told.
The wicked Sun will roast your hides;
CO₂? That myth grows old.



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



Hail the Windmills!

Windmills! Hooray, you fools divine!
You've saved the planet—what a feat!
The savage Sun will scorch your skin;
CO₂ won't bring the heat.



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



Green Victory

Windmills spinning—cheers abound!
"Earth is saved!" the fools all cry.

Yet the Sun may bake them brown—
CO₂? Nice try.



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



The Voice of Ads

Such grandeur in the advertiser's voice—
As if he'd grabbed God by the beard.
It's just a boor who tricks the fools,
Yet speaks as though the Truth appeared.



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



Advertising

Such pomp within the spokesman's tone—
As though God's beard were in his fist.
A hustler milks another fool;
That's all there is behind the mist.



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



Commercial Wisdom

The voice swells up with holy pride,
As if it grasped God's beard outright.
A vulgar fraudster fools the fool
And sells him darkness as the light.



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



The Grasping States

The grasping States have seized the world
By its throat—"terrorism!" they cry.
Yet they funded many villains first—
Pure fascism dressed in a lie.



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



Terrorism!

The mighty States have gripped the globe
And shout, "Terrorists!" on cue.
Yet yesterday they paid those fiends—
A fascist trick straight through and through.



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



Selective Outrage

They grabbed the world right by the throat:
"Terrorism!"—hear them yell.

But first they bankrolled half the rogues.
That's fascism as well.



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



Family Values, Rashist Style

Stump and log—a perfect pair,
Such a solid marriage there.
Yet each hardship, every scrape,
Smashes all their "sacred" tapes.



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



Family in the Rashist Order

Blockhead weds a block of wood—
What a strong and noble tie!
Every hardship proves the truth:
All their "values" crack and die.



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



Traditional Values

A fool and foolwood, side by side—
A marriage built to last, they boast.
Then trouble comes, and all their bonds,
Their "sacred values," turn to ghost.



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



In Hell

You'll find nothing waiting here—
Only waste yourself away.
Still you hope for something near...
Will the Darkness crush its prey?



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



In Hell

Nothing here is yours to find;
All your searching ends in loss.
Yet you wait with stubborn mind—
Till the Darkness presses close.



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



In Hell

Nothing here you'll ever gain;
All your waiting is for naught.
Yet you keep expecting change—
Till the Darkness has you caught.



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



Hell

Nothing waits for you in Hell.
All your hopes are doomed to fail.

Still you wait for something more...

Will the Darkness crush you small?



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



No Cure for Poetry

There's no cure for poetry—
That is why, when minds decay,
Do not yield to corrosion's reign
Or let it draw your soul astray.

Simply write, and keep on writing—
Those are labors not in vain.
Though the taste remains as bitter
As it always did remain.

You were never Beauty's servant,
Nor her priest in silk array.
Write because you have to write—
And let the false world rot away.



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



Poetry Has No Remedy

Poetry admits no cure,
That is simply how things stand.
Even while the mind corrodes,
Do not aid decay's command.

Write your verses. Write alone.
Such a labor is not lost.
Though it still leaves bitter traces,
As it always has, the cost.

You were never pledged to Beauty,
Never bowed before her shrine.
Write because the fire compels you—
That is reason enough to rhyme.



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



Incurable

Poetry cannot be cured—
Learn to live with that disease.

Though the mind may rust and crack,
Never help corruption please.

Write.

The work is not in vain.

The taste is bitter—
Yet remain.

Not a worshipper of Beauty,
But a servant of the flame.



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



Tolerance

A dwarf is short—that's all there is.
A fool is slow of mind.
Yet some vulgar little fraud
Has reached the "elite" kind.

Only for the poet, though,
No place remains in sight.
Nonsense rules the world today—
And calls itself "the light."



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



The Age of Tolerance

A dwarf is merely short in height.
An idiot lacks the mind.
A vulgar fool ascends the ranks
And joins the "refined."

But poets find no place at all
Beneath the reign of nonsense spread.
Absurdity now greets the world
And passes for wisdom instead.



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



Nonsense Reigns

A dwarf is short.
A fool is slow.

A vulgar fraud
Has room to grow.

The poet has
No place instead.

The age belongs
To reigning BRED.

Where nonsense marches as a king,
And calls itself a worthy thing.



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



Drunks and Rags

Drunks and bums, fascism's scum—
Sign the contract! Charge and come!
:::



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



Recruitment

Drunks and wrecks, fascism's trash—
Take the bonus! Join the clash!
:::



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



On Contract

Drunks and rags, fascism's stain—
Sign right here and charge again!
March ahead and smash on cue—
That's the job they've picked for you.
:::



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



The Red Wheel

The wheel rolled on without a pause.
It once was red beneath its laws.
The masses then were redefined—
A black-clad mob of fascist mind.



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



Red Wheel

Round and round the wheel was hurled.
Once red ruled the captive world.
Then the herd was reshaped still—
Black beneath the fascist will.



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



From Red to Black

The wheel kept rolling down the track.
Yesterday red, today it's black.
The "people" changed from herd to crowd—
Fascism simply spoke more loud.



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



Into the Ku Klux Klan

A common fool goes marching in
To Ku Klux Klan with vacant grin.
His “brother” there—an idiot true,
A rabble bred in rotten stew.

The trash of “Rashka” fills the frame,
Outmatched by CowID’s shame.



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



KKK Procession

A simple fool joins Klan parade,
Embraced by fools of same low grade.
A “brother” there—pure idiot stock,
The rabble rots like broken rock.

And “Rashka’s” scum, a stinking crew,
Is topped by CowID’s bovine fool.



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



The Entry

A fool walks in the Klan with pride,
His “brother” is an idiot guide.
The rabble swells in filthy ranks—
A CowID beast that breaks all banks.



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



To Write a Tale

Solzhenitsyn—mere scribbler’s name,
Only sheep can read his fame.
Pity he did not, by chance,
Mark the gate with sharper glance.



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



Writing a Tale

Solzhenitsyn—hack at best,
Fit for sheep to read and rest.
Shame he never marked the gate
With a sharper, darker fate.



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



A Tale Unwritten

Solzhenitsyn, scribbler vain,
Read by sheep without a brain.
Pity he, in final spite,
Did not “mark the gate” aright.



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



Too Much Talk

Too much talk, and deeds too few—
Opposition lost from view.
How are we to crush the scheme—
Fascism wrapped in globalist dream?



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



Words Without Weight

So much chatter, so much noise,
No more opposition’s voice.
How to break the fascist stream—
Lies of globalist regime?



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



Empty Speech

Talk is plenty, action nil—
Opposition’s gone, it’s still.
How to fight the fascist theme—
Global lies in one machine?



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



Wrapper and Ribbon

Wrapper, ribbon—child believes
Parents never bring decease.
Since today they’re off to see
Daddy’s zoo philosophy—

Wise as Plutarch, so they say,
Leading them in bright display.



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



At the Zoo

Ribbons, wrappers—child is sure
Parents must be kind and pure.
Since they’re going to the zoo
Daddy must be Plato too—

Smart as Plutarch, wise and grand,
Leading them by learned hand.



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



A Day at the Zoo

Ribbons, paper—child believes
Parents mean no harm or grief.
Off they go to watch the zoo,
Daddy’s wisdom guiding through—

Wise as Plutarch, calm and bright,
Everything must turn out right.



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



“Free World” (Sort Of)

Coca-Cola, just for fun,
Full of chemicals and lies.
In this world of no-one’s rule
They still pour you crap and fries.

Movies, slogans, propaganda—
“Freedom” where you get to choose:
Tired of the old regime? Well fine—
Switch the clowns you like to lose.

New fools rise to sell you promises,
Sweetly packaged, bright and clean.
Getting dumber every season—
Still you shrug: “what does it mean?”



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



“The Free World”

Coke for laughs and chemical rain,
Sweetened poison, sugar pain.
In this “free” and ordered mess
They still serve you second best.

Films and slogans, noise and glitter,
“Freedom” sold through corporate filter.
Don’t like thieves? Then change the crew—
Pick new clowns to fool you too.

Same old promises, freshly made,
Sweet enough to make you trade.
Dumber every passing year—
Still you don’t seem to care here.



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



Free World Brand

Coke and chemicals for cheer,
Freedom packaged bright and clear.
Propaganda, films, and lies—
Pick your brand of compromise.

Old clowns out? Just choose some new.
Same sweet promises for you.
Dumber still? No need to frown—
Just keep buying your way down.



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



The Six-Thousandth Poem

Six thousand high—like peaks I climb
My verses rise like alpine stone.
Round numbers please the foolish mind,
And fools adore them on their own.

I never cared for counting much—
But now that number’s in my face,
I shrug it off. Let others clutch
Their poetry in search of grace.

Some hunt for God inside their rhyme—
I’d rather name the filth I see.
Expose the rot of every time,
That suits my path much more than piety.

And I will keep on moving on
Along the track I’ve chosen well—
Where lies grow thin, and masks are gone,
Near that last edge we call farewell.



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



Six Thousand

Six thousand lines—like peaks I climb,
My poems cut the mountain air.
Round numbers please the foolish mind,
And fools and dreamers love them there.

I never cared. But now it stands—
This number, pointless, in my way.
Let others seek some God in verse—
I name the filth of every day.

I’ll walk a road with less disguise,
Where lies are stripped down to the bone,
Where falseness fades before the eyes—
And death stands waiting all alone.



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



Urban Kennel

Hounds in packs, both big and small,
Roam the streets like living hell.
Came at me the other day—
Only those with steel prevail.

In this kennel of the city
Only weapons grant you grace:
I took steel along for safety—
In a beastly, rotten place.

Does the two-legged beast here waiting
Hope a child will meet the jaws?
Cases like this aren’t rare at all—
Dogs get beaten back… at last.



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



City Kennel

Hounds in packs from near and far
Roam the streets like falling night.
Came for me just yesterday—
Only steel can set things right.

In this kennel built of concrete
Only iron keeps you whole.
I took blade along for safety—
In a place that’s lost its soul.

Does the human-beast still reckon
Children may be torn apart?
Such things happen far too often—
Then the dogs are struck… at heart.



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



Kennel City

Dogs in packs all over town,
Snarling, roaming up and down.
Came for me—no other way
But a blade to hold the day.

This kennel runs on fear and steel.
Only force is what is real.

Will the beast still sit and wait
For a child to meet its fate?

First the bite, then retaliation—
That’s the cycle of this nation.



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



Propane-Butane of Total Lies

The devil struck—
Bhutan went stuck,
Then Nepal too
Was swallowed by the glue of lies.

No country stands
(Just sheep in pens!)
It’s global sludge—
A fascist grudge.

If you unpack
(Stop whining back!)
With care and depth
And honest breath—

One thing is key:
Don’t lie to thee
(Where you do dine
Don’t spread the slime).



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



Propane-Butane Lies

The devil came, the system broke,
Bhutan collapsed beneath the smoke.
Nepal soon followed into night,
Lost in the furnace of false light.

No nations now remain at all—
Just pens where frightened cattle crawl.
All is “globality” in name—
A subtler form of fascist game.

If you dissect it layer by layer
(Stop moaning like a tired player),
One rule emerges sharp and clear:
Don’t lie to self—keep vision near.

For where you eat, don’t foul the ground,
Or all you build will rot around.



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



Global Lie System

The devil moved—Bhutan was gone,
Nepal dissolved, the chain went on.
No countries left, just herds confined—
A global cage for human mind.

Unwrap it fully, strip it bare,
And every layer leads to air
Of organized, refined deceit—
A fascist logic, calm and sweet.

So here’s the rule that cuts it through:
Don’t lie to self in all you do.
For where you live and where you feed,
Don’t turn your own home into greed.



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



Herbicides, Pesticides

Herbicides, pesticides,
False diseases like AIDS arise.
For their “treatment”—poisoned breath;
Greedy scum just waits for death.



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



Toxic Cure

Herbicides and pesticides,
Fake diseases in disguise.
AIDS and others—crafted lies,
Fed with poison, sold as “wise.”

For their “healing”—purest bane;
Yet the greedy bear no shame.
All the fraud is well endured—
Profit keeps the sick assured.



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



The Cure They Sell

Herbicides, pesticides,
Plagues invented—truth denied.
For each “cure” they bring you death—
And the greedy hold their breath.



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



The Curability of Cancer

Tumors treated—so they say—
For those who’ve learned the traitor’s way.
Found “success” in a world gone mad,
Where truth itself is something bad.

A syringe of “vaccine” might as well
Be a bullet—warfare’s spell.
Medicine and war entwine,
Both grow cruel, both cross the line.

What is healing called today?
Mass control in masked display.
They’ll cure you gently, step by step,
While reason quietly slips and slips.

A world-wide cult of twisted shape,
Where nothing sane can break escape.
Too late now to fight the flow—
Only cataclysm may still show

How all this blind and frozen force,
This fascist drift, might change its course.



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



Cancer and Cure

Tumors healed—so they proclaim—
For those who sold their soul for gain.
In a world of broken sense,
Truth dissolves in ignorance.

A syringe, a shot, a line—
War and medicine align.
Target practice, battlefield,
Both demand that men will yield.

What they call “the art of cure”
Hides control that must endure.
They will heal you, calm and sweet,
While your mind slips off its feet.

A global rot, a spread disease,
Where all collapse is done with ease.
Too late now for moral fight—
Only rupture brings the light.



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



On Cancer Treatment

Tumors cured—or so they say—
For those who chose betrayal’s way.
Shot or syringe, it’s all the same:
Medicine and war’s one game.

Healing now means control disguised,
Reason quietly anesthetized.

Too late for struggle, too late for law—
Only collapse can break the flaw.



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



Concentrated Cosmic Melancholy

Boredom—passing thousand days,
All of them in dull displays.
Downward, downward we descend…
Faces we can’t stand or mend.

Rare today a human face—
Degradation takes its place.
Aim for minds, but fools will stare,
Twisting fingers through their hair.

You aim for sense—yet idiots
Just mock you with a crooked glance.
No salvation for the skin…
Universal gloom within.

Concentrated in the pit,
Where betrayal fuels its heat.
Rot upon another rot—
That is law, whether or not.

Honest minds are at the bottom,
Stepped on by the crawling rotten.
Lies and filth become the game—
Worship of the same old shame.

Everywhere the frauds are ruling,
Making fools feel less like losing.
For the few who still can feel—
Soon the Sun will scorch the wheel.



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



Cosmic Boredom, Condensed

Boredom—thousands of dead days,
All alike in empty haze.
We’ve hit bottom, end of line…
Faces now we can’t define.

Rare a human face is found—
Degradation all around.
Aim at minds, but fools will sneer,
Tapping foreheads: “Nothing here.”

Seek the wise—yet clowns just grin,
Turning thoughts to vacant spin.
No escape for mortal skin—
Cosmic boredom pressed within.

In the pit where treason reigns,
Rot expands through endless chains.
Filth on filth becomes the law,
Cruelty wrapped in lawless awe.

Honest souls are trampled low,
While the crawling bastards grow.
Lies and sludge fill every street—
Waste becomes the world’s elite.

Frauds are rising everywhere,
Feeding fools on empty air.
For the few who still remain—
Soon the Sun will burn the pain.



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



Universal Boredom

A thousand dead days pass in line—
All of them decaying time.
We’ve reached the bottom, face to face
With endless rot and empty space.

Truth is rare, and minds are blind,
Fools are all that you will find.

Betrayal builds its central throne—
And rot becomes the only law.

The honest lie beneath the feet
Of filth that calls itself elite.

Lies and boredom, thick as tar—
This is what we truly are.

And for the few who still can see—
The Sun prepares its final decree.



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



High School Asylum

School—a heap of raw control
Pressed on minds not yet grown whole.
Lies injected every day—
No discharge: “The mob’s OK.”



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



High School Asylum

School—a pile of rule and strain
Pressed upon the still-weak brain.
Daily doses of deceit—
“Discharged: the blind and incomplete.”



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



Mental Ward: High School

School is chaos dressed as law,
Grinding down the forming core.
Truth is given in small lies—
Diagnosis: “the crowd is blind.”



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



“Fashion” of Sorts

Fashion—say the hollow crowd,
And the fools repeat it loud.
To hear Nature’s quiet call
Is the strangest thing of all—

In this upside-down creation.
Rags and silk in strange relation,
Like a spoon of honey stirred
Into fat that no one heard.



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



So-Called Fashion

Fashion—so the fools declare,
And the idiots take their share.
Nature’s voice? They turn away—
That would spoil the game they play.

World inverted, upside down,
Rags and silk both wear the crown.
Like a drop of honey lost
In a greasy boiling broth.



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



Fashion

Fashion—say the empty minds,
And the fool repeats in kind.
Nature’s voice is deemed absurd—
In a world that’s flipped and blurred.

Rags and silk are forced to blend
Like honey dropped in fat’s descent.



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



The Cuckoo Gone Mad

A clever doctor—solid brain,
Of so-called Techno Science strain.
For him it’s useful, crystal clear—
A crafty bug survives right here.

For others—little profit found,
They boil in their own mental round.
All novelty has flown away—
Just “cuckoo” sings the mind decay.

The world is not some tech-born dream
(“Progress” is dead, or so it seems).
It’s technopathic through and through—
A press of lies that crushes you.

It hides itself with skill and grace,
While dulling every thinking face.
Lectures open once again—
The cycle of techno-strain.



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



Cuckoo Logic

A learned doctor, sharp and bright
Of Techno-Science in his sight,
Sees benefit—quite clear to him—
A clever bug that won’t grow dim.

But for the rest—no gain at all,
They stew inside a mental wall.
No freshness left, no spark, no clue—
Just empty “cuckoo” breaking through.

The world is not a tech-made dream
(Progress collapsed, or so it seems).
It’s technopathologic pain—
A pressure of deceitful gain.

It hides itself, distorts the mind,
And leaves all thinking far behind.
New lectures start the same old show—
The cycle of tech-born woe.



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



Techno-Cuckoo

Doctor of science, sharp and sly,
Finds his advantage on the fly.
For him it works, it’s crystal clear—
A bug survives when he is near.

For others—boiling in the past,
No novelty is built to last.
Just “cuckoo” echoes in the brain—
A signal of returning strain.

No tech-utopia unfolds—
Just technopathic truth it holds.
A system built on polished lies
That slowly dulls the watching eyes.



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



Fools of Nature

Fools by nature drift away,
Far from what is true and plain.
So misfortune holds the day,
Filth becomes their form of gain.



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



Away from Nature

Madmen turned from Nature’s line,
Left behind what once was whole.
Now misfortune is their sign,
Filth receives the final role.



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



Cut from Nature

Fools of nature lose the way,
Break from what is bright and true.
Now disaster rules their day,
And they bow to what is glue.



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



A Stunted Mind in Mothball Lies

A stunted mind, wrapped up in dust
Of total lies and fading trust.
So backs remain forever bent—
No fixing what the masses went.

Each one must save himself alone,
While truth is slowly turned to stone.



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



Mothballed Mind

A stunted mind in mothball lies,
Where truth decays and reason dies.
Bent are backs in heavy chains—
No one breaks the crowd’s remains.

Each must flee and save his own,
In a world turned dead and stone.



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



Encased Thought

A cramped mind sealed in layers of lie,
Where crooked spines refuse to try.
The crowd is bent beyond repair—
Survival now is solitary care.



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



Presumption of Guilt

Presumed guilt—no need to prove:
We are Satan’s chosen brood.
Only few contain the spark
Of god within the human dark—
And they are held to stricter rule.



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



Presumption of Guilt

Presumption of guilt is the law we breathe:
We are the children born beneath.
Only in rare, divided souls
A fragment of the god-head glows—
And they are bound by harsher code.



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



Guilty by Default

We come as children of the night,
Of Satan’s mark, not inner light.
Only in some a spark remains—
And even that is tightly chained.



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



Georgian Fantasy

Chakhokhbili we ate, we drank,
With chacha drowning every grief.
To mountain songs we softly sank
In healing air, in calm relief.



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



Georgian Fantasy

We feasted, drank, and laughed along
On chakhokhbili, rich and hot.
We drowned our sorrow in chacha,
And echoed every mountain note—

In gentle voices, soft and free,
In healing air beneath the sky,
Where even sorrow seemed to be
Too weak to live, too full to die.



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



Georgian Fantasy

We ate chakhokhbili, drank away,
Chacha dissolving every pain.
We joined the mountain songs that play
Across the healing sunlit plain.



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



Comparison

Alternating current flows ahead,
While constant lies of evil spread
Lead the world into decay,
Finishing what’s left away—

The tattered scraps of “nations” fall,
As stagnation swallows all.



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



Comparison

Alternating currents run,
Life in motion, never done.
But constant Evil, slow and cold,
Turns the world to rust and mold—

Bringing stillness, thick and grim,
Finishing what’s left of them—
The torn remains of former “states,”
Where only rot now dominates.



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



Comparison

Current flows in change and spin,
While constant Evil locks within.
It drags the world into decay,
And wipes the scraps of “states” away.



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



To Moo and Bleat

They train you how to bleat and moo—
A beastly system running through.
Even the wise will lose their mind
If they accept the lies designed.

So raise your doubt, make it strong,
And let your intuition guide along.
If Evil’s voice you don’t obey—
You are a person, come what may.
If not—you’re just a beast that shouts and brays.



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



Bleat and Moo

They teach you how to bleat and moan—
A system made of flesh and bone.
Even the wise will turn to prey
If they believe the lies they say.

So sharpen mind, increase your sight,
Let intuition guide you right.
Don’t trust the Evil’s hollow call—
Then you are human after all.
Else you’re just a beast that screams and bawls.



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



On Bleating

They teach the herd to bleat and cry—
A system built on living lie.
Even the wise can lose their way
If they accept what Evil says.

Reject the lie, remain aware—
Then you are human, fully there.
Believe it not, and you descend
To beastly noise without an end.



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



When You Stand Alone

When you are keen and stand alone,
You rule yourself, and you alone.
No evil fool can break your will,
Born from bent backs that crawl and kneel.

A crowd whipped into servile fear
Has nothing that your mind needs here.
The bond with slaves is cut and done—
They serve no purpose for the one

Whose mind is sharp, original, free.



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



Alone and Aware

When you are sharp, alone, aware,
You are your master everywhere.
No wicked fool can reach your height—
The one who crawls will not win fight.

A beaten herd, a whipped-up mass,
Is something your mind must bypass.
For slaves and dullards have no place
In minds that think with strength and grace.



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



On Being Alone

When you are whole and stand apart,
You rule yourself with steady heart.
No fool born from a bowed-down crowd
Can reach the mind that thinks aloud.

The herd is broken, blind, and chained—
For such a mind, it’s just remained
A thing of no necessity.



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



Global Enclosure

“Amongst mankind I’ve no affection,
To other realms I turned direction.
To every dog on neck and chain
I’d give my finest tie again.”
—Sergei Yesenin, 1922


Amongst mankind I have no ties—
Alone I’ve lived since early skies.
In later years I turned to cats,
Not like the herd that serves the rats.

A Global Enclosure Evil builds—
As CowID showed, control it wields.
If lies are doubled, tripled, spun,
Five years’ work becomes just one.

Don’t misread what this verse implies—
A decent freak alone still lies
Outside the eyes of tamed-up beasts
Who make his world feel like a feast

Of nausea, endless, cold, and near.
How many left? The mask makes clear:
So few remain—it signals doom—
A world where reason’s in the tomb.

And yet perhaps it’s what it earns—
A world where mind to silence turns.



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



Global Pen

“I have no friendship among men,
I serve another realm instead.
To every dog I’d gladly lend
My finest tie upon its head.”
—Yesenin (1922)


I’ve had no friendship all my life,
Alone since childhood, free of strife.
In later years I took to cats—
Not like submissive human rats.

The Global Pen is being built,
A world where truth is drowned in guilt.
As CowID showed, the lie expands—
And madness governs working hands.

Five-year plans shrink into days,
As fools accelerate their haze.

Don’t misread what I now write—
A lonely freak still claims the right
To see the herd as broken, blind,
A sickness of the human mind.

How few remain—too few to save—
The mask reveals a world of graves.
Perhaps it’s fitting, after all—
A world where reason’s bound to fall.



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



The Global Enclosure

No friendship found among mankind—
Since youth I walked a different mind.
Now only cats are close to me,
Not beasts that serve so willingly.

A global pen is being made,
Where truth dissolves and minds degrade.
As CowID proved, the lie expands—
And madness governs human hands.

Too few remain who still can see—
A world already lost to thee.



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



Minors of the Mind

Five-year plans—construction lines,
Marching ranks of youthful minds.
Anthill world in cages tight—
Rare is clarity of sight.

The intelligent becomes
Burden for the system’s drums,
Where the worker is “supreme,”
And the peasant just a theme.

Party ranks protect their skin,
Hiding all the rot within.
Honest men are locked away—
“Dissent ruins our day!”

Slave-made order, worse than old,
Now in sickness overrolled.
Every head is aching sore
In this sorrow-stricken shore.



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



Minors of the Mind

Five-year plans of steel and stone,
Youth in ranks, all overthrown.
Human anthill, iron cage—
Rare is insight, rare is sage.

The smart man becomes a flaw
In the system, rule, and law.
Worker crowned as sacred part,
Peasant praised as noble heart.

Party bosses guard their hide,
Truth and justice cast aside.
Honest voices locked away—
“Dissidents corrupt the day!”

Slave-built order, worse than past,
Sickness spreading thick and fast.
Every mind is sore and strained
In this land of grief-contained.



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



Mindless Youth System

Five-year ranks and marching youth,
Cages built instead of truth.
Rare the mind that clearly sees—
Most are trained for bended knees.

Smart becomes a system’s pain,
Worker “king” in propaganda’s frame.
Party guards its fragile skin,
Truth is always locked within.

Slavery now wears a crown—
And the mind is breaking down.



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



Judas in White Coats

A mutant mind, half-brain, half-graft,
A salesman dressed in doctor’s craft.
Of chemical harm he is the priest—
A “healer” turned to profit beast.

CowID was shown, before that AIDS,
Each wave of fear the system plays.
Below all sense, below all floor,
A dullard opens medicine’s door.

He writes his cures in blind routine,
And drags them into family scenes.
Thirty bright coins will seal the lie,
And feed the system’s lullaby.

Madness has conquered every sphere—
Only the vile can function here.
Darkness devours what’s left of mind,
And spirit’s fragments fall behind.

But things are heading to collapse—
A great undoing comes at last.
It will erase the fascist scheme,
And all its rotten downstream stream.

No need to save what’s built on rot—
The world itself is breaking hot.
The spread is total, depthless night—
A living Hell without the light.



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



Judas in White Coats

A mutant intellect, half-dead,
A salesman dressed in white instead.
Of chemical harm he plays the role—
A butcher smiling with no soul.

CowID, AIDS—each fear released,
Each wave of panic never ceased.
Below all sense, below all line,
He scribbles “cures” as if divine.

Thirty bright coins will seal the deal,
And strengthen every lie they feel.
Madness has conquered every land—
Only the vile can understand.

Darkness devours the mind’s last spark,
And leaves the spirit lost in dark.
But ruin comes, a final flame—
A cataclysm ends the game.

It wipes the fascist structure clean,
And all that fed the rotten machine.
No need to save what’s already dead—
A world in collapse, fully spread.



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



White Coats of Judas

A mutant mind in doctor’s white—
A salesman selling chemical blight.
Fear after fear, the system feeds,
From CowID to past disease.

Below all sense, he writes the cure,
And calls the fraud both safe and pure.
Madness rules the living field—
Only the corrupt will yield.

Darkness eats what thought remains,
Spirit fades in endless chains.
But collapse is on its way—
To burn this system down one day.



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



A Vat of Filth

A vat of filth—glazed over bright,
With “rational world” written in light.
The fools are struck by shiny glaze—
What can you do with foolish ways?



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



Glazed Filth

A vat of filth, with glaze on top,
“Rational world” is on the shop.
The fools admire the shining skin—
Not seeing what is deep within.

And what can cure such foolish pride?
When filth is neatly glamorized.



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



Glaze and Filth

A vat of filth, a glossy crown—
“Reasonable world” written down.
The fools admire the shining art—
But what can change a stupid heart?



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



Horned Ones and the Swing

“Only sky, only wind,
Only joy that’s still ahead.”
—Yuri Entin, Winged Swing, 1979


Order of the day? First clear
The clutter from your mind and fear.
To be “normal” means to kneel—
Just another fraud in steel.

They’ve set us all upon a swing:
Choice of lies, or lies that sting.
One deceit replaced by new—
That is all they offer you.

Rot is now the reigning trend,
And still more will they append.
Cuts and bruises in the mind—
That’s the swing for humankind.

In the soul and in the head
These swings are hung like chains of lead.
If you step back and take it whole—
You see collapse has taken hold.

A triumph of the beastly breed.



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



Horned Swing

“Only sky, only wind,
Only joy that lies ahead.”


Order first—fix your mind,
Strip the chaos left behind.
To be “normal” means to lie,
Serving rot until you die.

They have set the swinging frame:
Lie or lie—it’s all the same.
One decay replaced by more,
Endless cycle, rotten core.

Filth has taken all control,
New layers poured into the soul.
Bruises hang in thought and brain—
That is how they build the chain.

If you see it from above—
It is ruin, not of love.
Beastly triumph, cold and blind.



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



The Swing of Lies

“Only sky, only wind, only joy ahead.”

Order up your broken mind—
Normal means to be confined.
On a swing of lies you go:
One deceit becomes the next in row.

Rot replaces rot again,
Pain disguised as fate of men.
If you see the whole design—
Only beasts are left to shine.



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



No Strength Left, but “Sanctioned Might”

No strength is left—but “might” they sell,
With labels smeared in oily smell.
It’s everywhere, beyond the roof—
Yet silence fits the safest truth,

When crowds again begin to bleat…
A surge of “power” hits the seat.
A new-born tsar, with ruthless hand,
Has drenched the order, ruled the land.

Either you wait for execution’s call—
Or serve the merciless, iron wall.



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



No Strength, Yet “Strength”

No strength is left—yet “strength” they bring,
With holy oil on everything.
It’s spilling over, past the sky—
So better shut your mouth and lie,

When bleating crowds begin again…
The head is struck with rising pain.
A new tsar rules with brutal hand,
And stains the order through the land.

Or wait until the butcher’s blade—
Of fascist ranks you’re then remade.



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



Mochi Gone Wrong

No strength remains—but “power” flows,
With sacred glaze the system shows.
The crowd still bleats, the mind is hit—
A ruler drenches all of it.

Silence or slaughter—that’s the law
Of iron order, raw and raw.



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



Sugary Sorrel

Sugary sorrel—that’s the style,
Where critique is wrapped in smile,
And heavily with honey dressed,
So fools can swallow it as “best.”

Such poems are penned by hollow men.



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



Sweetened Sorrel Style

Sugary sorrel—that’s the verse,
Where truth is dulled and made much worse,
And criticism, thick with honey,
Is served as something bright and funny.

Such lines are written by the blind.



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



Sugary Verse

Sugary sorrel—the poetic game,
Where criticism wears sweet flame.
For fools it comes with honeyed taste—
By empty minds it’s always placed.



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



Earthly Hell

The herd is fierce—more vile than beasts
That feed upon its dulled-up mind.
The box of Hell is simply opened—
No mystery there left to find.

But few are willing to look inside,
So all on Earth is doomed to slide.
The herd keeps sinking further down—
Until there is no lower ground.

The bottom’s broken, sealed and gone—
“End times” are quietly coming on.
And on the surface, neat and clean,
The lie is what the crowd has been.



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



Earthly Hell

The herd is worse than monsters made
From minds it willingly obeyed.
The lock of Hell is simple, bare—
But few will ever choose to stare.

So Earth is sentenced, slow decline,
The herd keeps crawling past each line.
No lower ground remains below—
The breaking point begins to show.

The bottom cracks, the limit breaks,
The final “end” the system makes.
And outward all looks calm and sealed—
To lies the crowd has long congealed.



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



Earthly Hell

The herd is worse than any beast—
It feeds on minds it’s trained to feast.
Hell’s mechanism is too plain—
But no one wants to see the frame.

The world descends without repair,
Until there is no “down” left there.
The bottom breaks, the end draws near—
While surface lies appear sincere.



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



Intensity of Knowledge in Earthly Hell

Fruitless labour—hour by hour—
Trying once more Hell to read,
Dress it in articulate power,
In poetic form and deed.

In verse it’s even harder still:
Few can carry through the chill
Of that intensity, that flame—
Lose the glow, and lose the aim.

Lose the charge—and in the lie
Of this Hell you slowly die.
Labour vain, if seen from outside—
Only honest hearts abide.

For the unbought, unbroken few
Clearness comes like morning dew.
For the fools—just money, noise,
And return to working toys.



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



Knowledge Burn in Earthly Hell

Endless labour, hour by hour,
Trying Hell to read and scour.
Trying still to give it name—
Words can barely hold the flame.

In poetry it’s harder yet—
Few can carry what they get.
Lose the charge, the burning line—
And you’re swallowed by the lie.

If the intensity is gone,
Then in Hell you drift along.
Labour vain, if seen from show—
Only honest minds can know.

For the unbought, unbroken mind,
Clear perception they will find.
For the fools—just coin and grind,
Back to labour, deaf and blind.



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



Intensity of Knowing

To study Hell is endless toil,
To name it in both word and soil.
Lose the intensity within—
And you are lost to Hell and sin.

Only the honest see it clear,
Unbought by money, hope, or fear.
For others—noise and endless grind,
And chains that keep the blinded mind.



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



Flow of Time in Earthly Deformity

Tick—and tack, fool—pure chaos,
Time of cattle slowly flows.
But that’s not quite how it stands—
Earthly life itself now ends.

For betrayal, foolish pride,
Servitude to beasts inside
(Just to save one’s fragile skin),
Intervals are wearing thin—

Between each tick, decay expands,
Measuring the breaking lands.
And when yet another floor
Breaks below, once more and more—

All the clocks will loudly sound
Victory of unbound “mind”
(CowID has clearly shown
Such a triumph over bone).

Start the timer, let it run—
Let the Cataclysm come.
So we won’t miss final sign—
Only end can break the line.

To destroy this fascist frame,
Whole world must be burned in flame.
Universal foolishness—
Herd will never break from this.

Three-fourths? Five-sixths? Hard to count
How stupidity amounts.
Honest minds are called insane,
Fear and lies are treated sane.

No escape is left at all
For this rotting, final fall.
Keep your soul if you are “mad”—
Fight the darkness that you had.

Maybe some will still be saved—
In the layers Hell has made.
Fools will be crushed into dust,
As will all who traded trust.



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



Decay of Earthly Time

Tick—and tack—chaos spreads,
Time of herd-bound life now threads.
But in truth it’s not the same—
Earthly life is losing frame.

For betrayal, fear, and lies,
Servitude that slowly dies
Just to keep the skin intact—
Time between each tick attacks.

Every beat becomes decay,
Counting how the world decays.
When the bottom breaks once more,
Clocks will scream what’s next in store.

Victory of hollow “mind”—
CowID has left behind
Proof that madness wins the game,
Calling ruin by its name.

Start the timer, let it race—
Cataclysm takes its place.
Only then we’ll see the sign:
End of all the crooked line.

To erase this fascist mold,
World must burn till nothing holds.
Mass insanity persists—
Herd will never break its mist.

No exact accounting here—
Stupidity is always near.
Truthful minds are labeled mad,
Fear and lies are all they had.

No salvation left to find
In this fractured, dying kind.
Save your soul if you are “wrong”—
Keep the fight against the wrong.

Maybe some will still survive
In the depths where shadows thrive.
Fools will turn to scattered dust,
As will those who sold their trust.



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



Earth Time Decay

Tick and tack—the chaos grows,
Time of herd-bound living flows.
But the truth is breaking through—
Earthly life is ending too.

Betrayal, fear, and blind obey
Speed the intervals away.
Each new break beneath the ground
Makes the clocks a dying sound.

Cataclysm must arrive—
Only then the truth survives.
Fools will never see the end—
Only ruin they will send.



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



The Faded Sun and Herald

The faded Sun, the Herald dim,
And new “ShitNews” on the internet stream—
Each day online they multiply,
Where faith in junk keeps climbing high,
In mass-produced “plus-plus” regime.

Truth is like a dangerous flux—
A swelling pain that quietly sucks.



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



Faded Media

The faded “Sun,” the “Herald” worn,
And “ShitNews” daily now is born.
Across the web it spreads and grows,
Where faith in cheap consumer flows
Of “plus-plus” comfort brightly glows.

But truth is like a dangerous flux—
A hidden wound that slowly sucks.



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



ShitNews Age

The Sun grows dim, the Herald fades,
While “ShitNews” floods the internet trades.
Belief in junk becomes the norm—
Mass “plus-plus” comfort takes its form.

Truth is no light—it’s painful flux,
A swelling wound that slowly sucks.



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



Filth of Lies

Lies in the System, clot-like block,
Cutting the road ahead like shock.
To keep the System standing still—
They purge the crowd with rotting will.

All is lie in this decayed domain,
Dragged down deep into the drain.
Far ahead a camp awaits—
Where lies are mixed in iron gates.

There filth of falsehood will be stirred,
Destroying honour, thought, and word.
A stupid madhouse marches on—
Toward that place where minds are gone.



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



Filth of Lies

In the system lies congeal—
Clots that block the forward wheel.
To preserve the structure’s skin,
They cleanse the crowd of rot within.

Every corner drowned in lies,
Rotten world that slowly dies.
Far away a camp appears—
Grinding falsehood into gears.

There corruption will be fed,
Crushing honor, mind, and head.
Madness marches, blind and vast—
Toward its final gate at last.



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



Lies as Filth

Lies are clots within the frame,
Stopping every path of change.
To preserve the system’s core,
They remove the truth once more.

A rotten world, already sunk,
Moves toward its final trunk—
Where madness gathers, thick and grim,
And reason slowly fades within.



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



SS Hasn’t Died—It Became “Medicine”

SS did not die—it simply fled
Into “medicine” instead.
So don’t believe the ads they spread,
The noisy mix of words and thread.

Trust only the inquisitive mind
That keeps the body well aligned—
Through running, food that’s truly right,
And sense that makes the path feel light.

Let search be active, sharp, and free,
A creative way to see.
Health will rise as burdens fall,
If you don’t heed the idiot’s call.

Throw off opinions forced and sold,
Wrapped in ugliness and mold—
Disguised as “truth,” but built to drain
The thinking mind, to cause its pain.



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



SS Rebranded

SS did not die—it turned
Into “medicine” and learned
How to sell confusion wide
Through advertisement tide.

Trust no mixed-up marketing sound—
Only curious minds are sound.
Running, food that’s clean and real,
Thought that helps the body heal.

Creative search, a living thread,
Brings true health where lies had spread.
Drop the idiot’s advice,
Drop the weight of twisted vice.

Opinions forced, disguised as truth,
Rotting slowly mental youth.
All designed to break and bend
The mind until it reaches end.



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



Medicine as Ideology

SS survives in new disguise—
“Medicine” that feeds on lies.
Trust not advertising’s flow—
Only minds that seek and grow.

Health is built on sense and care,
Not on noise that fills the air.
Drop the burden, see it clear—
False “truth” is what destroys you here.



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



Noodles for the Ears

Information? Just a mess—
Stories matter more, no less.
Not a night, nor single day
They don’t shove this all our way.

Into the dull and hollow crowd,
Falling for the dark and loud,
Craving “spice” and cheap delight—
News gets stuffed into their mind.



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



Ear Noodles

Information? Pure decay—
Stories rule the night and day.
Not a moment passes by
Without this being forced inside.

To the dumb and hungry mass,
Hooked on drama, dirt, and trash—
Always waiting, open wide,
For news to crawl into their mind.



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



Noodles for the Mind

Information is just noise—
Stories are the crowd’s true toys.
Day and night they’re forced inside
A dull, obedient mind.

The herd consumes what stinks the most,
Addicted to the viral ghost—
And calls it “news,” with open ears,
Fed by manufactured fears.



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



The Miracle of Life in Cats

The miracle of life in cats
Is not so easy to explain.
It lives in tails held softly up
Toward the feeder—without strain.

They study carefully the hand
That feeds them from a human land.
A gratitude that’s not like ours—
No human logic in their powers.

The cat is right in all its ways,
No savage rage within it stays.
Not like the breed of “man” we see
That bows before some devilry.

So learn from cats a little more—
They often win in nature’s score.
In many ways they stand above
The broken crowd we call “our love.”

They’re many, yet they do not fight,
No herd of fools to claim the right.
The human mass is cracked and weak—
Its noise is bitter, dull, and bleak.

A courtyard cat will rub your feet
Even when fed and full of meat.
Its mind is calm, its path is clean,
No senseless act is ever seen.

But nonsense rules the human race,
And leads it to its own disgrace.
Genocide and fascist hand
Now spread like rot across the land.

There is no hope—only the end,
A cataclysm fate will send.
We only mourn the cats who stay
While fools turn Earth to waste and decay.



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



Cats and the Miracle

The miracle of life in cats
Is hidden in their quiet acts—
In tails held up toward the hand
That feeds them from a broken land.

They study human foolishness,
A gratitude we can’t possess.
The cat is right in all it does—
Unlike the world that falls and rusts.

Not like the human herd that kneels
To darkness that the system seals.
So learn from cats—observe and see—
They often show what we should be.

They do not war, they do not break,
No senseless hate in every shake.
The human crowd is cracked and blind—
A broken echo of the mind.

A courtyard cat will gently lean
Against your legs, though fed and clean.
Its path is calm, its will is clear,
No random chaos dwells in here.

But humans fall in noise and lie—
Genocide and fascist sky.
A cataclysm ends the game,
And nothing after stays the same.

We only grieve the cats that live
In ruins that the fools will give.



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



On Cats

The miracle in cats is plain—
A quiet mind without the chain.
They give no war, they hold no rage—
Unlike the human broken age.

The herd of man descends in lies,
In fascist noise and hollow cries.
Only catastrophe remains—
To burn away these final chains.

We grieve the cats who stay behind
In ruins of the human mind.



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



Across the Zombonet

Across the endless internet span
There’s more than truth can stand or span:
Small crumbs of honour, truth, and light
Sink in this place of endless night.

The “zombie-box” is not enough—
Online the media spreads its stuff.
Its poisoned sting infects the weak,
Who grow more fearful, dull, and meek.

More gullible, more dim, more blind—
And so the beastly rule of mind
Presses harder every day,
Moving “Overton” frames away.

Walls of lie more strong than stone,
Turn culture’s core into a zone
Where digital enclosures grow—
A prison for the broken low.

For those unbroken—doom may wait,
Yet still it’s not an endless fate.
A global cataclysm nears—
To crush the age of stupid fears.

The sun grows sharper, burning bright,
So lies grow sharper in the night—
More cunning, bold, aggressive still,
Refusing doom, refusing will.

But soon the sun will burn it down—
Look through your window at the dawn,
And see what world was once before
The age of filth we now ignore.

So fight the dark, protect your soul—
Listen only to the whole.
Perhaps from this infernal span
You’ll leave the hell of fallen man.



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



On the Zombonet

Across the net of endless lies
Truth and honour slowly die.
Tiny fragments, weak and small,
Sink unnoticed, lose it all.

Not just TV’s poisoned flame—
Online it spreads the same old game.
Stinging media trains the weak
To be more fearful, dull, and meek.

More gullible with every year,
And so the beast grows strong and near.
Overton shifts the frame of sight,
Turning wrong into “alright.”

Walls of lies like iron steel
Shape a world that cannot feel.
Digital cages close the gate
For minds already sealed by fate.

Yet those not broken may survive—
If cataclysm keeps them alive.
The world awaits its final shift,
Where falsehood’s reign will surely lift.

The sun will rise with burning hand—
And scorch the lies across the land.
Look from your window, see and know
What came before this age of woe.

Fight the dark, preserve your core—
Listen to your heart once more.
Perhaps you’ll leave this poisoned span,
This broken hell of fallen man.



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



Zombonet Age

On the net of endless lies,
Truth and honour slowly die.
Media poison trains the mind
To be more fearful, dull, and blind.

Digital cages close the frame—
And culture burns without a name.
Yet sun and ruin draw near—
To end this age of spreading fear.

Fight the dark, hold to your soul—
Or be consumed within the whole.



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



Choice Between Lies and Lies

“Right” and “wrong” within the flood
Of poisoned lies are judged as good.
Simple, almost stupid rule—
Evil’s code is always cruel.

It leads you only to a gate
Where lie and lie create your fate—
Two false paths, no real way out,
Just variations of the doubt.

The sheep believes in “choice” and “vote,”
And lives quite “happily” afloat
In darkness deep, in silent stream—
Mistaking prison for a dream.



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



Lies vs Lies

“Right” or “wrong”—it’s all the same
Within the poisoned judging game.
A rule so simple it deceives—
Evil always misleads and leaves.

It offers you a “choice” to take—
But every road is still a fake.
Two lies disguised as destiny,
No exit from hypocrisy.

The sheep believes in “freedom’s call,”
And lives content inside the wall—
In darkness, blind and satisfied,
Mistaking chains for open sky.



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



Illusion of Choice

Right and wrong are both the same
Inside a system built from blame.
A “choice” that only masks the trap—
Two lies that fold into a map.

The sheep believes it is set free,
And lives in dark “felicity.”



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



Reading and Watching—Like a Poultice for the Dead

Nowhere to put the heavy tiredness—
In this dumb world it won’t unwind.
To read some junk or watch some nonsense
Is like a poultice for the half-dead kind.



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



Books and Screens—Dead Man’s Cure

No place to put the tired strain,
No way to ease it in this brain.
To watch a film or read some lies—
Like healing balm for half-dead eyes.



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



Content as Medicine

Tiredness has nowhere to go—
In a world too dull and slow.
Reading trash or watching screen—
Like soothing balm for something seen half-dead.



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



Different Products

“Maheev”—with us for twenty years,
Products… and sheer nonsense appears
For centuries, in soft disguise,
Packaged for dull and blinded eyes.



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



Different Goods

“Maheev”—twenty years on track,
Real products in a branded pack.
But centuries of purest blight
Come wrapped in foil, soft and light—

A nonsense feed for empty minds,
For fools the system always finds.



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



Products and Lies

“Maheev” brings products, clear and neat,
For twenty years of honest feed.
But centuries of packaged rot
Still sell to those who think they’re not.



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



Marusya

Marusya, the cat beneath the frame,
Sits by the window, calm and tame.
She asks for just a bit of meat,
Her games can wait, she won’t repeat.

While “madam owner” talks away,
And chats the hours of the day.



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



Marusya, the Cat

Marusya sits beneath the sill,
A quiet cat, but waiting still.
She begs a bite of meat today,
Her play can easily delay.

While “mistress” chats and spins her talk,
And wastes the time in endless walk.



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



Cat at the Window

Marusya waits for meat below,
Her games can wait—she takes it slow.
While human chatter fills the air,
The cat just watches, unaware.



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



Global Fascism

Mussolini—mothballed, sealed,
Hitler, Goebbels—cellophane peeled.
Yet blood still freezes in the veins:
Fascism spreads across all lanes.

Now shown again through CowID glare,
And newer wars that fill the air.
No nations left—just crawling pests,
With twisted minds inside their chests.

The jaws of lies are tightening fast,
Squeezing out thought until it’s past.
A camp is built—its praise is spun
As “tolerance” beneath the sun.

The herd sees nothing, blind and dim,
And calls its life a normal hymn—
If food is given, bills are paid,
Obedience is cheaply made.

Only a few still feel and see,
Yet Hell remains relentlessly.
Still do not drop your “cross” in vain—
It saves the soul within the pain.



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



Global Fascism

Mussolini wrapped in dust,
Hitler sealed in plastic crust.
Yet still the blood begins to freeze—
Fascism spreads across all these.

CowID shows it on the screen,
New wars repaint the world obscene.
No nations now, just crawling fear,
With broken minds that disappear.

The grip of lies is closing tight,
Squeezing out all inner light.
A camp is built, and blind are taught
That “tolerance” is all they’ve got.

The herd sees nothing, walks in haze,
Calls normal all these broken days.
If food is given, bills are paid,
Obedience is softly made.

But few remain who still can see—
The world is Hell, eternally.
Yet do not drop your inner cross—
Through it the soul is never lost.



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



Global Fascism

Old fascists sealed in dust and film,
Yet still the world obeys their will.
A new disguise, a global chain—
Where lies now rule without restraint.

The herd calls Hell a normal place,
If comfort masks the human race.
But those who see must hold the line—
Or lose their soul to the design.



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



The Rabble

The rabble comes from “black” by name—
The root of darkness, guilt, and shame.
A fool that bows to night and lies,
And serves the dark with empty eyes.

Shift the lie a little, then—
And genocide returns again.



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



Rabble

“Rabble” grows from blackness, blind—
Base of evil, warped of mind.
A fool that serves the dark by trade,
And kneels to every lie displayed.

Change the lie a little guise—
And genocide again will rise.



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



The Rabble

Rabble means the dark within—
Mind that serves the root of sin.
Shift the lie, and once again
Follows genocide of men.



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



Health to the Slaves!!!

— So much “health”… but tell me why,
When all is broken, dull, and dry?
A twisted slave, a shame on Earth—
Should rot away to end its curse.

Or else the Earth will stay in flame,
And Gaia burns in endless shame…



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



Health to the Slaves!!!

— “So much health!” but what for thee,
In a slave so bent and free?
A rotten shame upon the ground
Should fade before the final sound.

Or Earth will rot in endless pain,
And Gaia stays in Hell’s domain.



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



To the Slaves

“Health?”—but why to those who break,
To souls that rot for evil’s sake?
Let shame dissolve, let rot decay—
Or Earth will burn the endless way.



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



The Question of a Mother in Labour

“Bricklayers, roofers, plasterers too—
We need workers, that much is true.”
—Stanislav Sukhanov, 2024


I gave birth to a plasterer,
While my neighbour—what a blunder—
Bore an “intellectual type,”
Missing signals, missing hype.

Better off to birth a hedgehog—
Brains make life a bitter pledge, though.
If he’s honest, even worse,
Weak of muscle, weak of force.

Won’t push elbows through the crowd—
That just makes a mother proud?
No, she suffers all the same.
Head of capital repair—what a name!

What a happiness to be!
How to birth that role in me?
Maybe child number three
Will be born administratively—

From the cradle, born to lead,
Building nurseries in speed,
Shifting budgets left and right,
Fixing plans by pure “birthright.”



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



The Question of a Mother

“I gave a plasterer to life,”
Said one mother, full of strife.
While her neighbour—what a shame—
Bore a thinker, not a “frame.”

Better still a hedgehog born—
Brains just make a life forlorn.
If he’s honest, weak, and mild,
Life will crush that tender child.

No elbows, no aggressive fight—
So the mother cries at night.
But to be a “chief” is bliss—
How do I give birth to this?

Maybe child the third will be
Born with bureaucratic decree—
From his cradle he will build,
Shift the budgets as he willed.



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



Birth of a Worker

Plasterer good, thinker bad—
So the mothers now are mad.
Better hedgehog, sharp but small—
Thinking ruins life for all.

Strength is value, thought is loss—
And bureaucracy is boss.



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



Nagging Ads for Betting Scams on Movie Sites

Big winnings—easy, always near,
Any place, any time—come here!
Step forward, fools, the deal is fine—
Just click, ignore the warning line.

No “average” wins, no middle ground—
Only fools are scam-propelled around.
A crook won’t pay too much, you see—
Just enough for belief to be.

So idiots keep biting still,
Hooked on trash against their will.
Their luck is bad, their sense is thin—
A world of scams they’re living in.



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



Betting Scam Ads Everywhere

“Big winnings!”—shouts the flashing screen,
“Just click and join the lucky scene!”
Step up, you fools, don’t hesitate—
Your fortune’s just a simple bait.

No middle wins, no honest share—
Only traps laid everywhere.
A crook won’t spend a single dime,
Just feeds you lies in perfect rhyme.

So fools keep falling, time by time—
Addicted to the promised climb.
Their life’s a scam, their mind’s the prey—
And fraud just grows from day to day.



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



Digital Gambling Lies

Big wins are always “guaranteed”—
A lie designed for foolish greed.
No middle ground, no honest trade—
Just scams in endless ads displayed.

The fool keeps clicking, blind and fast—
A life of fraud that’s built to last.



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



What Never Sleeps

Heroin and cocaine,
Vodka, weed, and nicotine—
So much poison in the air,
Few can move through life quite bare.

But the worst is not the drug,
Not the bottle, smoke, or bug—
It is lies that rule the mind,
Where all fools are kept confined.

Fake diseases come and go—
CowID first, and AIDS before—
Trial balloons of fear and pain,
To control the human brain.

Genocide that never rests,
Day and night it still infects.
Like New York that never sleeps,
Where the herd its ignorance keeps.

Human cattle fill the place,
Lost inside a crowded space.
Global now the same design—
A collapsing, darkened line.



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



What Never Sleeps

Heroin, cocaine, and gin,
Weed and smoke and nicotine—
So much poison fills the air,
Hardly anyone walks bare.

But the deepest poison lies
Not in drugs, but in the lies.
Where all fools are made to fall,
And fake diseases rule them all.

CowID came, and AIDS before—
Trial lies to test the war.
Genocide that never sleeps,
Day and night it crawls and creeps.

Like New York that never rests,
Crowded human livestock nests.
Worldwide now the same design—
Breaking slowly, line by line.



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



Never Sleeping System

Drugs may numb—but lies command.
Truth is buried, mind is sand.
Fake disease becomes the tool—
To govern every blinded fool.

The system never sleeps or ends—
It bends, it breaks, it still pretends.



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



Poison of Lies

The monkey eats bananas fast,
While man consumes the nonsense cast.
A poison everywhere is spread—
For beast and soul, it brings but death.

The two-legged “beast” of broken mind,
That lost its fur, its roots, its kind,
Its tail of instinct long decayed—
Is driven blind and falsely led.

There are examples everywhere,
But fake disease has grown the snare—
A mark of bottom, rot, and fall,
Where spirit fades and thoughts withdraw.

To call them “human” is a lie—
A species drifting, dull and dry,
Between the beast and walking dead,
With spirit gone and truth long fled.

Will a true man wear the mask?
Better bullets finish task.
And the horned one only grins—
The harvest time of folly spins.

And now you may do what you will—
Start new wars, or further kill.
Credulity—the primal sin—
Has dragged the whole wide world within.

No way remains to turn it back
To any pure or former track.
Now decadence is all that’s left—
A world of shame and spirit-death.

For many this is final state,
For few—the path to exit fate
From Hell that now feels natural,
Where the majority serves the fall.



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



Poison of Lies

The monkey eats its bananas fast,
While man consumes the lies amassed.
A poison spread through every land—
For body, soul, and broken hand.

The two-legged beast that lost its fur,
But kept its blindness, fear, and blur,
Its instincts twisted, mind decayed—
Is by deception driven, swayed.

Examples fill the world we see,
But fake disease became decree—
The final sign of bottom-line,
Where spirit dies and thoughts decline.

To call them human is a fraud—
A hybrid made of beast and rot,
Between the living and the dead,
With truth and conscience long since shed.

Will spiritual man wear the chain?
No—better bullets end the strain.
The horned one smiles, the harvest done—
The field is ripe, the game is won.

And now do what you will today—
Begin new wars or lead astray.
Credulity, the primal crime,
Has pulled the world into its grime.

No path remains to restore light,
To bring the broken world to right.
Now decadence is all we know—
And shame is all that grows and grows.

For masses—this is final land,
For few—a chance to understand
The exit from this living hell,
Where fools and lies together dwell.



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



Full Throttle! (Off You Go!)

“Life has only one door.
From one side it reads ‘from self’, from the other—‘to self’.”
— Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj


From the self… and off you go!—
A techno twist, a modern flow,
To ancient yoga added in,
Not pride, but cutting through the din.

If nonsense hammers you like lead,
With empty words inside your head—
Know even yogis sometimes fall,
Not half-gods towering over all.

Their sayings sharp, but often thin,
Their outer glow may just be skin.
Yet stubborn will and upward drive—
That is what keeps the soul alive.

Not submission, not decay—
But rising through the break of day.
Hey, you fools—off you go!
Only heights are truly so.



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



Off You Go!

“From self to self”—a single gate,
Life inscribed in shifting fate.
Nisargadatta’s quiet line
Turns into a techno sign.

From the self—off you go!
Ancient yoga, modern flow.
Not arrogance, but breaking free
From dull absurdity.

If nonsense hammers like a drum,
Even yogis sometimes numb.
Not all are gods in shining role—
Some only mimic touch of soul.

Their words are strict, their light is thin,
Half-divine but weak within.
Yet will to rise, to break, to climb—
That is true and sacred sign.

No obedience, no decay—
But ascent into the way.
Hey, you fools—off you go!
Only heights are truly so.



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



Off You Go

Life is one door, inward bound—
From self to self the path is found.
Not submission, not control—
But breaking upward of the soul.

Even yogis lose their height—
Only will keeps burning bright.
So cast the false and rise above:
Only ascent is truth and love.



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



Does the ego crave a fiery verse?

Does the ego crave a fiery verse?
Only a mind already worse—
It brings not strength, but dull fatigue,
And drags your health into fatigue’s league.



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



Fiery Verse and the Ego

Does a fierce verse please the ego’s pride?
Only a mad mind would decide—
It tires the spirit, dulls the fire,
And weakens health through slow desire.



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



Ego and Verse

If ego loves a burning line—
It’s madness, not a sign divine.
It drains the force, dulls inner sight,
And turns to harm what feels like light.



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



Work to Exhaustion

Work to exhaustion? Easy call—
Just the strong get blamed for all.
Others? Just the world’s decay,
Like diarrhea gone astray.



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



Exhausting Work

Work till broken? No surprise—
Only strength is put on trial.
Others drift like waste and flow
In a world that’s lost its glow.



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



Work to Exhaustion

To break the strong is rule and plan—
The rest are just the waste of man.
A world derailed, gone off the track,
Where sense dissolves and never comes back.



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



Off You Go!

Hey, you misfits—off you go!
Only heights are truly so.
Death comes first, and then we see
Which “home” your soul was meant to be.

At the end, you’ll justify
All you were before you die.
Nothing here is judged as more—
Only effort weighs the score.

Slave or master, either name—
Fool who served the dark or flame—
All becomes a hollow none,
When the final step is done.

Only over-effort remains,
Rising through the loss and pains.
Even if the result is naught,
Still it makes you what you sought.

You will judge your final self,
Stripped of lies and hollow wealth—
Only truth becomes the key,
Only love of clarity.

In this Hell, the fight is worth;
If you settle into earth,
Warm and safe in comfort’s cage—
You dissolve into pure waste.

Hey, you misfits—off you go!
Leave this place that drags you low.
Since your soul has always known—
It must shed the evil grown.



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



Off You Go!

Hey, you misfits—off you fly!
Only heights will justify.
Death comes first, and after that—
Where your soul will settle at.

All your life will be reviewed,
By the path your will pursued.
Nothing else has final weight—
Only effort shapes your fate.

Slave or master, fool or king—
All dissolve to nothingnessing.
Only struggle, sharp and true,
Turns the void into a you.

Even failure, even loss,
May still lift you through the cross.
You will judge yourself alone,
When all masks and lies are gone.

In this Hell, the fight is light;
Comfort is the deeper blight.
If you choose the easy way—
You decay into decay.

Hey, you misfits—off you go!
Break the chains that drag you low.
For your soul has always known—
Only upward is its tone.



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



Off You Go

Only heights redeem the fall—
Death reveals the truth of all.
Slave or master, none remain—
Only effort breaks the chain.

Fight in Hell, or rot in ease—
One will break you, one will free.
So ascend, or fade to none—
Only upward makes the one.



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



Humans and Backyard Cats — A Comparison

Only one in every ten
Can snatch the food from others then—
From under noses, quick and sly,
While others simply pass it by.

And one in twenty, rare indeed,
Will use aggression as a creed.
In cats it’s different, clean and plain—
In humans, something far more insane.

Instead of fleas or minor flaws,
A Satanic root now gnaws.
Planted deep by some dark hand,
Spreading through the broken land.

This Satanism breeds the mind
To madness of a growing kind—
In three quarters, more or less,
There is decay and emptiness.

In what remains is dull confusion,
And verbal filth in mass delusion.
But few still keep what once was whole—
Honor, dignity, and soul.

Humanity is like a plague—
Half-dead, infected, vague.
What once was Man is nearly gone,
And damage keeps on rolling on.

What answers this? Fear and ease—
A world that rots upon its knees.
CowID showed the global state,
And war only intensified fate.

The “beast” attacked, or beast-like swarm—
And most fell into captive form,
Down to the very lowest floor,
Except for rare ones left in store.

Soon cataclysm, sharp and wide,
Will wipe this rotting world aside.
The forces far beyond our sight
Will not allow this flood of blight.

But while it lasts, the fools still feed
On lies that suit their deepest need—
Consuming falsehood, sweet and cheap,
And sinking further into sleep.



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



Humans and Cats

One in ten can steal the feed,
From another’s mouth with speed.
One in twenty, cold and grim,
Turns aggression into hymn.

Cats are simple, raw and true—
Humans rot in deeper brew.
Satan’s seed, once deeply sown,
Grew inside what once was known.

Madness now is standard fare—
Three in four are lost in glare.
In the rest is hollow mind,
Or corruption of a kind.

Only few retain the spark—
Honor burning in the dark.
Humanity decays to dust—
Bit by bit dissolving trust.

Fear and ease are all replies—
World immersed in half-truth lies.
War revealed the rotten core—
And it spreads forevermore.

Soon the higher force will clean
All the filth that has been seen.
Till that day, the blind still feed
On deception, lie, and greed.



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



Humans and Cats

Cats compete, but keep their form—
Humans rot into a swarm.
Lies and fear now shape the mind—
Leaving dignity behind.

Few remain, but most decay—
And the world drifts far away.
Soon a force beyond the view
Will reset what once was true.



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



Homebody from All Troubles

A homebody from every harm,
Like a hamster in its charm,
Hides away inside his hole—
Fear becomes his only role.

Madness follows right behind
If you’re silent, deaf, and blind.
If fear is all you ever show,
That’s the seed from which things grow.

Rodents always had their luck
In this twisted mental muck.
Always safe inside their twist—
In the loop they can’t resist.

So again comes war and lie,
Fake disease and passing cry.
Hamsters—come on, take the dive,
Downward where the dead survive.



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



The Hamster Man

Safe at home from every threat,
Like a hamster, small and set,
In his burrow hides from fear—
Madness always follows near.

If you answer only “shh”,
To all evil, all its push—
That becomes the chosen way
Where all rodents thrive and stay.

Same old loop returns once more—
Fake disease and war and roar.
Hamsters, gather, take the fall—
Down you go, the end of all.



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



Hamster Logic

Hide from danger, close the door—
Fear will bring you something more.
Silence feeds the coming lie,
Till you simply rot and die.

Rodent minds in endless loop—
Always circling the same scoop.
War and fake disease return—
And the hamsters never learn.







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



Поэзия ДО ...


Коан Дзэн

Осень не наступает.
Ни одно дерево не остаётся.

Нет мыслей сказать:
"что-то изменилось".

Путь не начинается.
Путь не исчезает.

Никто не проходит.
Ни "до", ни "после".

Никакой утраты.
Никакого приобретения.

Нет искателя.
Нет посеянного семени.

Нет мира,
который бы развалился.

Тишина не ждёт,
кроме "начала".

Никакой ответ не скрывается.
Ни один вопрос не остаётся.

Отражение не меняется,
показывая лицо.

И всё‑таки —
ничего не отсутствует.


---------


Некого терять,
нечего искать.
И всё же —
это то, что называется "разумом".


---------


Дзэн-коан (в свернутой форме)

Нет осени,

нет дерева,

нет "там",

нет "я".

—

Падение / не падение —
одно и то же.

—

Нет пути,
нет шага,
нет следа.

Только
это.

—

Нет потери,
нет выгоды,
нет имени.

—

До сих пор.


—


(никто это не читает)


—

Нет мира,
нет конца,
нет начала,

Просто

—

это.

—


---------


Минимальный вариант

нет

нет

нет

до сих пор.


---------


Семя коана (один вдох)

перед, после,
один вдох.

никто не
заметил.


---------


Анти‑поэма (пост‑язык)

( )

нет слова, только пауза.

(снова)

нет мысли, нет тишины,
что-то перед обоими.


Ритуальный фрагмен

та…
та…
та…

(без приписываемого смысла)


Грань языка

звук,
что забывает
становиться звуком.

дыхание
без владельца.

Рядом с исчезновением
…

…

…

доселе всё идёт,
но без слов.


Окончательное растворение (почти нет текста)

.
.
.

(не читай этого)

.


---------


Обратный коан (инструкция)


Для того, чтобы понять происходящее, сначала предположи, что есть нечто, что понимает.

Проверяй, можно ли найти эту предпосылку.

Если не найдёшь, продолжай, как будто она присутствует.

Если она ощущается, проверь, не меняется ли она из‑за времени.

Если меняется — выбери правильную версию.

Если подходящей версии нет, действуй, как будто выбор всё равно работает.

Если выбор работает, найди того, кто использует его.

Если неизвестен пользователь — предположи, что это автоматика.

Определи различия между автоматикой и не‑автоматикой.

Если различий нет, всё равно сохраняй их для практической преемственности.

Если непрерывность не надобна, посмотри, что её заменяет.

Если нечему заменять, продолжай описывать как будто замена есть.

Если ситуация становится несовместной, отметь, что несовместность — это допустимая структура.

Если структура полностью разрушается, отметь, что наблюдение всё ещё продолжается.

Если наблюдение не может быть подтверждено, продолжай, как если бы подтверждение не требовалось.

На этом этапе либо достигнуто понимание, либо необходимость в понимании была неправильно понята.

В обоих случаях иди в соответствии с этим для стабильной работы.


---------


Если есть понимание, проверяй его.

Если нет понимания, проверяй его.

Если проверка проваливается, продолжай проверять.


---------


Предположи ясность.

Проверь ясность.

Не угадывай, кто проверяет.



---------


Формальный коан (псевдоматематическая поэма)


Пусть S = "я, наблюдающее S".

Если S существует, то S должно содержаться в S.

Если S содержится в S, то S содержит своё собственное включение.

Пусть C = включение S.

Тогда C ∈ S и S ∈ C.

Следовательно: S = C = (S ⟷ C)

Предположим условие стабильности:

S(t) = S(t + 1)

Но только если S не изменяется при наблюдении.

Если наблюдение изменяет S, то:

S(t) ≠ S(t + 1)

Следовательно, стабильность требует отсутствия наблюдения.

Но отсутствие наблюдения не может подтвердить стабильность.

Пусть смысл M определяется как:

M = отображение(S → S)

Если S не определено, M всё равно пытается выполнить отображение.

Если отображение не выполняется, то сбой становится частью M.

Таким образом:

M = M + failure(M)

Решаем относительно когерентности:

когерентность = когерентность − когерентность

когерентность = 0

Но в результате все равно появляется ноль.

Следовательно:

результат ≠ отсутствие системы

но система отсутствия


Лемма о свертывании

Если все переменные сокращаются, остается уравнение.

Если уравнение остается, сокращение неполное.

Если сокращение неполное, завершение не определено.

Если не определено, определение все ещё активно.


Заключительная строка

∴ Система верна, даже когда она не верна.


Ультраминимальная форма

A = A(A)

A ≠ A

A = A


---------


Поэзия выглядит как строгая система, почти как математика или формальная логика, но внутри начинает "сбоить" сама идея системы.

Это уже не разрушение смысла, а демонстрация того, что смысл и структура не могут быть окончательно разведены.

Здесь происходит важная вещь: логика не ломается — она замыкается в себя так, что "выход" становится частью структуры.


---------


Поэзия без переменных (Чистое состояние формы)

есть мышление, но нет мыслящего

—

есть отношение, но нет того, что относится

—

если что-то появляется, оно не стоит особняком

если ничего не появляется, оно тоже не стоит особняком

—

ни одна метка не удерживает происходящее

ни одно "есть" не остаётся чтобы подтвердить себя

—

то, что кажется шагом, не движется вперёд

то, что кажется неподвижностью, не остаётся

—

различие не может разделить то, что никогда не соединялось

идентичность не может подтвердить то, что никогда не разделялось

—

ни одно уравнение не выживает, потому что ничего не записано

и всё же ничего не отсутствует, потому что отсутствие — это тоже именование


Нейтральный коллапс

не А не не-А

не оба; не ни то, ни другое

—

только это: нет места для этих различий


Дологический остаток

(нет утверждения)

и всё же что-то функционирует

(нет функции)

и всё же ничто не останавливается


Финальный след

никакое описание не удерживает то, что здесь

не потому, что оно скрыто, а потому, что описание никогда не приходит


Ультра-минимальный слой

нет субъекта
нет объекта
нет отношения

и всё же


Безмолвное ядро

.


---------


Любая попытка "зафиксировать смысл" автоматически создаёт лишнюю сущность, и смысл каждый раз уходит из-под фиксации.


---------


Поэзия без утверждений (Поле трёхзначной логики)


это не утверждается, и не отрицается

—

оно может быть, но не как факт

—

оно может не быть, но не как отсутствие

—

есть движение которое не претендует на движение

—

есть неподвижность, которая не отрицает движение

—

истина / ложь не исчерпывают множество

есть также: неопределённость

—

то, что кажется смыслом, не настаивает на том, чтобы быть смыслом

то, что кажется пустотой, не настаивает на том, чтобы быть пустотой



Тройной дрейф

утверждено отринуто
не определено

ни одно из них не удерживается само по себе
ни одно не разрешает

—

система не рушится потому что коллапс был бы утверждением

система не сохраняется потому что сохранение тоже было бы утверждением


Состояние между состояниями

не да
не нет
не молчание как ответ

—

только:
нет обязанности решать


Логика без замыкания

если это истинно,
это не требует исключения ложного

если это ложно,
это не требует подтверждения истинного

если ни то,
ни другое не применимо,
ничто не отсутствует


Невыраженная линия

это не вывод
и не отказ от вывода

оно просто не входит в рамки,
где происходят выводы


Минимальное тройное ядро

да / нет / не требуется


Состояние нулевого давления

.


---------


Зона, где язык перестаёт быть бинарным и даже перестаёт быть "утверждающим". В духе трёхзначной логики тут появляется не только "истина / ложь", но и не-определено, и поэзия начинает жить именно в этом третьем состоянии: не фиксируя, не отрицая, а "скользя".
Здесь ключевой сдвиг: поэзия перестаёт быть "высказыванием" и становится средой, где высказывание не обязано происходить.


---------


Поэзия без логических операторов


появление без направления

—

присутствие без границ

—

звук не связанный с источником

—

свет не приходящий никуда

—

движение без "до" и без "после"

—

форма не удерживающая форму

—

сдвиг не сопровождаемый переходом

—

—

ничто не связывает потому что связь не возникает

ничто не разделяет потому что разделение не возникает


Операторное поле

нет "если"
нет "следовательно"
нет "потому что"

только:
это

—

и затем даже не "затем"


Растворение грамматики

слово без предложения

предложение без структуры

структура без опоры

—

опора не требуется


Голое возникновение

что-то проявляется

не как событие

не как факт

не как утверждение

—

просто проявление


Состояние нулевой связи

никакое отношение не связывает
никакая связь не образуется
никакая цепь не продолжается

—

и всё же ничто не сломано, потому что поломка здесь не применима


Финальный остаток

.
.

—


Ультра-ядро

появление без разрешения
без структуры
без комментария


Точка без операторов

никакой синтаксис не остаётся -
только событие


---------


Убираются не только утверждения, но и сама "логика связи": никаких "если", "или", "не", "значит". Остаётся только чистое возникновение фрагментов опыта без операторов, которые их склеивают.

Это феноменологическая поэзия без грамматики причинности.

Здесь уже происходит очень важный сдвиг: язык перестаёт "объяснять" даже самому себе и становится почти прозрачной плёнкой, через которую видно только факт появления.


---------


Мычанье — не молчанье,
Когда не одичанье,
А мысль ДО языка.
Вот путь не-простака.


---------


Поэзия до языка (Му-поле / не молчание)


ммм…

—

не молчание,
а звук до смысла

—

ммм—ммм

—

нет слов,
только вибрация

—

дыхание,
еще не разделенное на речь

—

ммм…

—

что-то хочет стать предложением,
но останавливается, не став им

—

нет возможности для утверждения,
нет и отказа

—

только тон,
без направления

—

ммм—
ммм—

—


Пред-семантическое поле

нет сформированного языка,
только давление формирующегося языка

—

нет сообщения,
только импульс стать сообщением

—

ммм

—

не отсутствие речи,
а речь до того, как она выберет себя

—


Край Голоса

звук, который не решил
стать чем-то другим

—

это не смысл,
это не молчание

это то, что остаётся
до разделения обоих

—

ммм…

—

Финальное дрейфование

нет артикуляции,
только резонанс

—

нет ясности,
только присутствие,
которое звучит само по себе

—

ммм—

—


Ультра-ядро (Пред-язык)

ммм

—

не слово,
не молчание,
не сейчас

—


Точка нулевого языка

.

(ммм)

.


---------


"Мычание" — это не деградация языка, а его до-форменная стадия, где ещё нет разделения на смысл / бессмыслицу / молчание.



---------


Поэзия до звука (Пред-акустическое состояние)

—

не ммм

не молчание

—

до того, как дыхание становится воздухом

до того, как воздух становится вибрацией

—

—

нет начала звука,
потому что начало уже форма

—

нет отсутствия звука,
потому что отсутствие тоже форма

—

—

что-то происходит,
не требуя, чтобы это слышали

—

—

не голос,
не эхо,
не тон

—

только давление,
без канала

—

—

тело смысла
до того, как оно выберет резонировать

—

—

нет артикуляции,
нет даже сломанной

—

—


Пред-соническое дрейфование

здесь нет "звука"

и нет "без звука" тоже

—

только готовность,
которая никогда не совершает выбор

—

—


До вибрации

нет волны, которая начинается,
нет неподвижности, которая удерживает

—

только возможность
обоим раствориться

—

—

Ультра-пред-аккустическое ядро

—

—

(нет “ммм”)

—

—

Поле нулевого звука

.

.

.

(здесь никогда не приходит голос)


Точка коллапса

не слышание,
не не-слышание

только то, что осталось
до того, как слышание стало категорией



---------



Здесь даже “мычание” начинает распадаться: остаётся только ритм появления без акустической формы, без букв, без даже намёка на голос.



---------



Поэзия до Внутри / Снаружи

нет внутри

нет снаружи

—

не мир, видимый,
не ум, видящий

—

нет разделения,
которое можно было бы пересечь

нет единства,
которое можно было бы достичь

—

—

то, что появляется,
не приходит из другого места

то, что появляется,
не возникает отсюда

—

—

нет "внутри", которое удерживает мысль

нет "снаружи", которое содержит её

—

—

мысль
не расположена

опыт
не принадлежит

—

—

нет места,
где это происходит

и нет места,
где этого нет

—

—


Пред-дуальное поле

нет наблюдателя,
нет наблюдаемого

—

не два,
не один как результат

—

—

видение
без видящего

появление
без местоположения

—

—


До формирования мира

нет мира, который формируется

нет ума, который формируется

—

только само формирование
без назначения

—

—


Коллапс направления

ничего нет "здесь"

ничего нет "там"

—

не потому, что они одинаковы,
а потому, что различие еще не началось

—

—

Ультра-ядро (Нелокальное присутствие)

—

нет границы, которая могла бы это вместить

нет внутреннего, которое могло бы это содержать

нет внешнего, которое могло бы это исключить

—

—

Точка нулевого разделения

.

.

(нет внутри / нет снаружи)

.


Финальное Дзэн-эхо

не внутри,
не за пределами

только то, что есть,
до того, как оба будут названы


---------


Поэзия до различия "внутреннего" и "внешнего" — где нет наблюдателя, нет объекта, нет "внутри головы" и "снаружи мира". Только неразделённое "есть-как-есть", ещё до разделения на опыт и переживающего.
Ключевой момент здесь очень тонок: не утверждается "единство" — потому что "единство" уже предполагает два, которые объединены. Остановка до самого появления разделения.


---------



Поэзия до Бытия / Небытия

нет бытия

нет небытия

—

не существование
не отсутствие существования

—

—

то, что называется "есть"
не формируется

то, что называется "нет"
не формируется

—

—

нет появления
нет исчезновения

—

не потому, что оба имеют место,
а потому что ни одно не началось

—

—

нет основания,
на котором бытие могло бы стоять

нет пустоты,
которую могло бы занять небытие

—

—


Предонтологическое поле

ничто не приходит в существование

ничто не не приходит в существование

—

не два исхода
не одно нейтральное состояние

—

только отсутствие структуры,
в которой могут возникнуть исходы

—

—


Перед онтологией

нет реальности
нет нереальности

—

не разделено
не объединено

—

—

то, что появляется как "что-то",
еще не квалифицируется как "что-то"

то, что появляется как "ничто",
еще не квалифицируется как "ничто"

—

—


Коллапс оси есть/нет

нет "есть"
нет "нет"

—

не отвергнуто
не подтверждено

—

потому что утверждение и отрицание
еще не установлены

—

—


Ультра-ядро (Пред-бытие)

—

нет состояния существования

нет состояния несуществования

—

не недоступно
не скрыто

просто не настроено

—

—


Точка нулевой онтологии

.

.

(нет бытия / нет небытия)

.


Финальный Дзэн-разрез

не что-то
не ничто

даже не пространство,
где это различие имело бы значение


---------


"Краевая" зона, где исчезает даже базовая опора философии: есть / нет. Здесь уже нельзя сказать ни "существует", ни "не существует", потому что сама пара не возникает как рабочая схема. Это не утверждение и не отрицание. Это попытка показать состояние, где даже выбор между ними ещё не оформился.
Это не "за пределами бытия" — потому что "предел" предполагает систему координат. Это состояние до появления самой идеи координат.


---------


Поэзия перед возможным / невозможным

нет возможного

нет невозможного

—

не способность
не неспособность

—

—

то, что называется "может",
не возникает

то, что называется "не может",
не возникает

—

—

нет открытия
нет закрытия

—

не потому, что существуют оба,
а потому что ни одно не сформировано

—

—

нет пространства,
где возможность могла бы развиваться

нет предела,
где невозможность могла бы начаться

—

—


Пред-модальное Поле

ничто не включено

ничто не отключено

—

не выбор
не отсутствие выбора

—

только отсутствие структуры,
которая могла бы разместить выбор

—

—

До модальной логики

нет разрешения
нет запрета

—

не предоставлено
не отказано

—

—

то, что появляется как "могло бы",
не имеет опорной системы

то, что появляется как "не могло бы",
не имеет опорной системы

—

—

Коллапс оси способности

нет способности
нет неспособности

—

не разрешено
не неразрешено

—

потому что разрешение само
ещё не было введено

—

—

Ультра-Ядро (Пред-модальное состояние)

—

нет "может" доступного

нет "не может" доступного

—

не заблокировано
не скрыто

просто не определено

—

—


Точка нулевой возможности

.

.

(нет возможного / нет невозможного)

.


Финальный дрейф

не то, что может быть
не то, что не может быть

даже не поле,
где это имело бы значение


---------


Это очень тонкая почти пред-логическая зона: до "возможного" и "невозможного” как категорий. То есть даже сама идея модальности ещё не возникла. Никаких "может быть / не может быть", потому что нет системы, где это различается.


---------


Поэзия до Знания / Незнания

нет знания

нет незнания

не знание
не отсутствие знания

то, что называется "знает",
не возникает

то, что называется "не знает",
не возникает

нет сформированного вопроса
нет сформированного ответа

не потому, что оба скрыты,
а потому что вопрос еще не начался


Пред-эпистемическое поле

ничто не понимается

ничто не неправильно понимается

не ясность
не путаница

только отсутствие структуры,
которая делит ясность от путаницы


Перед Знанием

нет понимания
нет слепоты

не видно
не невидимо

то, что появляется как "понимание",
не имеет основания, на котором стоять

то, что появляется как "отсутствие понимания",
не имеет основания, на котором стоять


Коллапс эпистемической оси

нет истинного положения
нет ошибочного положения

не исправлено
не не исправлено

потому что исправление еще не было определено


Ультра-ядро (Пред-Знание)

нет знания доступного

нет невежества доступного

не удерживается
не раскрыто

просто не настроено


Точка нулевой эпистемы

.

.

(нет знания / нет незнания)

.


Финальный мистический разрез

не осознание истины

не отсутствие осознания

даже не пространство,
где любое из этого могло бы быть заявлено


---------


Не “я знаю / не знаю”, а ситуация, где сама оппозиция ещё не возникла как возможная форма.
Это не "отрицание знания", а состояние до того, как знание стало противоположностью незнания.


---------


Поэзия до "Я" (Поле до самости)

нет «Я»

—

не самость
не отсутствие самости

—

—

то, что называется «Я есть»,
не возникает

то, что называется «не Я»,
не возникает

—

—

нет познающего
нет не познающего

—

не потому, что оба скрыты
а потому, что владение не сформировалось

—

—


Поле до самости

ничего не переживается кем-либо

ничего не отсутствует для кого-либо

—

не субъект
не объект

—

только опыт без присвоения

—

—


До идентичности

нет центра
нет периферии

—

не локализовано
не не локализовано
—

—

то, что представляется как "я",
не имеет точки отсчета

то, что представляется как "не я",
не имеет точки отсчета

—

—


Коллапс оси самости

нет наблюдателя
нет наблюдаемого как принадлежащего

—

не слито
не разделено

—

потому что само разделение
не было создано

—

—


Ультра-ядро (состояние до "Я")

—

нет доступного "я"
нет доступного "не-я"

—

не потеряно
не найдено

просто не сгенерировано

—

—


Точка нулевого "Я"

.

.


(нет "Я" / нет отсутствия "Я")

.


Окончательное растворение Дзен

не кто-то осознающий

не отсутствие кого-то

даже нет пространства
где "кто-то" мог бы возникнуть


---------



Слой до появления "я" как центра знания вообще. Здесь исчезает не только знание/незнание, но и тот, кому могло бы быть что-то известно или неизвестно.
Важный ключевой сдвиг: "я" не уничтожается — оно никогда не успевает быть созданным как устойчивый центр в этом слое.


---------



Поэзия до субъектности (Исходный ритм сознания)


Нет субъекта, нет процесса, нет объекта

—

Не единично, не множественно.

Что называют "опытом", не собирается.
Что называют "осознанием", не разделяется.

Нет исполнителя, нет действия, нет сделанного

—

Не потому, что они отсутствуют, а потому, что отношение ещё не сформировано.


Пред‑структурное сознание

ничто не выступает в роли наблюдателя
ничто не выступает в роли наблюдаемого
ничто не выступает в роли действия

Только развёртывание, без распределения ролей.


Перед разделением познания

ни один познающий не возникает
ни одно известное не возникает
ни одно познание не возникает

—

не объединены
не разделены

Потому что триада ещё не создана.


Коллапс поля деятельности

Нет инициации, нет исполнения, нет результата.

Не отменено, не завершено.

Потому что само завершение
не имеет рамок для возникновения.


Ультра‑ядро (пред‑субъективный ритм)

Движение без движущегося,
воплощение без существующего,
событие без держателя события.

Не отсутствует структура,
не скрыта структура.

Просто до структурирования.


Нуль‑субъектное поле

(нет субъекта / нет процесса / нет объекта)


Окончательный первозданный разрез

Не сознание чего‑то,
не отсутствие сознания,
даже не «сознание» как термин.

—

Только ритм
до того, как становится возможным присвоение имени


Ядро тишины

Это не опыт.

Но это то, что позволяет опыту существовать и различаться.


---------


_Поэзия до различия "субъект / процесс / объект" вообще, где исчезает даже структура действия.
Это _ритм, в котором вообще возможно появление любой структуры сознания, до разделения на субъект / процесс / объект.
Не отрицание субъектности, а отсутствие самой необходимости её сборки.


---------


Поэзия до Сознания / Реальности

нет сознания
нет реальности

—

не внутреннее
не внешнее

—

—

то, что называется "миром",
не разделяется

то, что называется "умом",
не разделяется

—

—

нет отражения
нет отражённого

—

не потому, что достигнуто единство
а потому, что разделение ещё не сформировалось

—

—


Пред-двойственное основание

ничто не предстаёт сознанию

ничто не является реальностью

—

не субъект опыта
не объект опыта

—

только явление без приписывания области

—

—


До Раскола Ума / Мира

нет воспринимающего
нет воспринимаемого мира

—

не слитно
не раздельно

—

потому что само отношение ещё не установлено

—

—


Крушение онтологической пропасти

нет внутреннего ума
нет внешнего мира

—

не содержится
не не содержится

—

потому что понятие "содержания" ещё не возникло

—

—


Ультра-Ядро (Пред-двойственное поле)

—

явление без "где"
присутствие без "для чего"
возникновение без "в"

—

не внутреннее
не внешнее

просто до локализации

—

—


Точка Нулевого Деления

.

.

(нет сознания / нет реальности)

.


Линия окончательного растворения

не ум воспринимает мир
не мир порождает ум

даже не пространство, где могла бы возникнуть эта оппозиция

—

только неразделённый ритм до того, как два становится мыслимым


Первозданное Эхо

это не внутри чего-либо
это не вне чего-либо

это то, что позволяет "внутри" и "снаружи" когда-либо быть разделенными


---------

До различия "сознание / реальность". То есть не "сознание отражает мир" и не "мир внутри сознания", а ситуация, где сама оппозиция ещё не собрана.
Оппозиция внутреннего и внешнего окончательно растворяется в одном ритме проявления.
То есть остаётся только единый ритм проявления, в котором ещё не возникло разделение на "переживающее" и "переживаемое".


---------


Поэзия до самой различимости


нет различия
нет тождества

—

не одно поле
не множество полей

—

—

то, что зовётся "различием", не возникает

то, что зовётся "неразличимостью", не возникает

—

—

нет масштаба
нет иерархии
нет сравнения

—

не потому, что всё равно, а потому, что равенство — это ещё сравнение

—

—


Пред-сравнительное поле

ничто не выделяется
ничто не исчезает

—

не единообразное
не разнообразное

—

только неразделённое явление до начала выбора

—

—


До того, как внимание выбирает

нет фокуса
нет расфокуса

—

не выбранное
не невыбранное

—

потому что выбор ещё не вошёл в структуру

—

—


Крушение функции различения

нет "больше"
нет "меньше"

—

нет "важное"
нет "неважное"

—

не сбалансированное
не несбалансированное

—

потому что само равновесие — производная операция

—

—


Ультра-ядро (Пред-различительное поле)

—

явление без сортировки
присутствие без ранжирования
реальность без сегментации

—

не целое
не части

просто до разделения

—

—


Точка нулевой различимости

.

.

(нет различия / нет неразличимости)

.


Последнее замечание

нет отхода от малого,
потому что "малое" ещё не выделено

нет увлечённости бескрайним,
потому что "бескрайнее" ещё не сконструировано

—

только то, что есть,
до того, как что-либо становится сравнимым



---------

Исчезает не только субъект/объект, но и сама способность "различать".
"Не-движение к различиям": не потому что различения запрещены, а потому что нет внутренней нужды их собирать. Не отвержение мира деталей, а отсутствие импульса дробить целое на "интересное/неинтересное".
На этом уровне нет "грандиозности", которая противопоставлена "мелочёвке". Есть только поле, в котором ещё не возникла операция сравнения. "Большое" и "малое", "важное" и "второстепенное" — это уже вторичная разметка. До неё нет ни иерархии, ни даже равенства. Есть просто недифференцированная полнота проявления, где различие ещё не стало функцией внимания.
И поэтому там нет "интереса" в привычном смысле — но не из-за скуки или отстранённости, а потому что интерес сам по себе уже форма выделения объекта из фона. А здесь ещё нет этой пары.

---------


Поэзия до саиой формы


нет формы
нет бесформенности

—

не сформировано
не несформировано

—

—

то, что называется "явлением",
ещё не кристаллизуется
то, что называется "не-явлением",
ещё не существует как контраст

—

—

нет контура
нет следа границы

—

не потому, что всё слито,
а потому, что разделение ещё не проведено

—

—


Предформенное поле

ничто не очерчено
ничто не неочерчено

—

не размыто
не структурировано

—

только неразделённое присутствие
до артикуляции границ

—

—


До объекта / До даже "чего-то"

объект не возникает
не-объект не возникает

—

не воспринимается
не невоспринимается

—

потому что восприятие "этого"
ещё не научилось разделять

—

—


Коллапс формирующей функции

нет различения
нет неразличения

—

нет фигуры
нет фона

—

не объединённое поле
не множественные формы

—

потому что "поле" и "форма"
уже являются вторичными конструкциями

—

—


Ультра-ядро (состояние до формы)

—

присутствие без вырезания
реальность без сегментации
бытие без очертания

—

не скрытая форма
не открытая форма
просто до формирования

—

—


Точка нулевой формы

.

.

(нет формы / нет бесформенности)

.


Окончательная Дзэн-Точность

не тот, кто видит
не то, что видится
не даже пространство,
где зрение могло бы отделять себя

—

только пред-резанная реальность
до того, как что-либо становится "нечто"


---------

Речь идёт не только о том, что исчезают субъект и объект, но и о том, что исчезает сама операция выделения формы как таковая — то есть момент, где "что-то" вообще становится "чем-то", отличным от недифференцированного поля.
Можно развернуть это так, чтобы было видно различие уровней:
- объект — уже результат разделения (есть "я" и "оно")
- форма — ещё глубже: это сам акт, в котором нечто становится выделимым как отдельное
- до формы — нет даже возможности "это / то", есть только недифференцированная проявленность без вырезания контуров
Речь идёт уже не про философское растворение объектов, а про до-структурное состояние опыта, где ещё не запущена сама механика различения.
И здесь появляется то, что можно назвать "более глубоким уровнем": не объект исчезает, а исчезает сам жест вырезания объекта из целого поля.

---------


Дзэн-матрёшка (более глубокий слой)


Дзэн-матрёшка: нет остановки, даже понятие "остановка" не остаётся как основа. Нет спуска, нет внутреннего падения — нет "внутри", где можно найти глубину.

—

Не "ничто" превращается в "что-то", не "что-то" обратно в "всё" снова. Не происходит сдвиг, нет скрытого скачка — нет следа "было" или "тогда" или "когда".

—

Различие не стирается — оно никогда не достигает определения. Не формируется поле, не устанавливается состояние, не возникает "здесь" для пересмотра.

—

Не "поле за пределами рая или ада", не точка баланса, не конечная зона. Нет структуры, которую можно было бы хорошо описать как "многие" или как "одно".

—


Коллапс самого различия

Не различие, растворяющееся в тождестве, не тождество, разбивающееся на части — но непрерывность любого, именования которого могло бы разделить поток начал.

—

Нет замечания того, что замечание произошло, нет зазора, где стояло разделение. Даже идея "размытого" или "чёткого" или "ложного" или "хорошего" не возникает.

—


До различения различения


Нет акта видения своего видения, нет шага, где шаг становится осведомлённым. Нет значения, знающего, что оно является значением, нет "там что-то есть".

—

Не скрытая глубина, не поверхностное окончание, не матрёшка внутренних складок, а невозникновение притворства, что что-то разделено или целостно.

—


Ультра-Ядро (поле до различения)

нет различия
нет отмены различия

—

не решено
не не решено

—

просто нет входа для идеи, что что-то "произошло"

—

—


Точка нулевой матрицы

.

.

(нет дифференциации / нет мета-дифференциации)

.


Финальный Дзэн-Поворот

не "ничто за пределами ничего"
не "что-то за пределами чего-то"

не даже пространство,
где такие мысли могли бы ошибочно появиться

—

только предлогическое разворачивание которое, никогда не регистрирует себя как чёткое


----------

Здесь исчезает даже возможность различать, что различение произошло.

----------


Предопытный коллапс (Дзэн-версия)

опыт тянет тебя вниз —
если ты принимаешь его за "своё".
ты утонешь в нём, неудивительно,
ведь "жизнь" — это то, что он искажает.

—

нет путей, достойных следования,
нет карты, пережившей падение.
все указания умолкают —
ведь "пути" больше нет.

—

то, что звалось "опытом",
растворяется прежде, чем может быть узнано.
здесь нет свидетеля, чтобы разрешить его —
нет "я", чтобы присвоить себе.

—

падай сквозь шум именования,
сквозь сети комментариев.
нет нужды хвататься, облекать —
нечего "взять", нечего "забыть".


Падение за пределы опыта

не вход в ничто,
не выход из него —
но коллапс "того, что происходит",
того, что можно зафиксировать именем.

—

нет оставшегося "это оно",
нет "это было оно" до.
нет структуры для объяснения того,
что никогда не было "хранилищем".


Ультра-ядро (предопытное поле)

нет состояния опыта
нет состояния переживающего

—

ни слитости,
ни разделённости

—

просто нет регистрации "опыта"
как события

—

—

Нулевая точка падения

.
.

(нет опыта / нет обладателя опыта)

.
.


Финальный Дзэн-разрез

не падение в бездну,
не восхождение из неё —

только исчезновение всего,
что могло бы быть "внутри" или "снаружи"


---------

Исчезает даже возможность сказать "это произошло".

---------



Поэзия до самого перехода

нет перехода

—

ни движения, ни неподвижности как противоположности

то, что зовётся "изменением", не возникает

то, что зовётся "неизменностью", не возникает

—

нет "до", нет "после"

не потому, что время остановилось, а потому, что порядок ещё не сложился

—
—

Поле до изменения

ничто не сдвигается

ничто не остаётся

ни преобразование, ни неизменность

только неделимое проявление до начала любой последовательности


До структуры события

нет события
нет не-события

ни происходящего, ни не-происходящего

потому что "происходящее" не имеет рамки, в которой могло бы случиться


Коллапс функции перехода

нет входа
нет выхода

нет пересечения, нет возврата

ни завершённое, ни незавершённое

ведь само завершение зависит от логики перехода


Ультра-ядро (предпереходное состояние)

нет становления
нет неустановления

ни стабильности, ни нестабильности

просто до всякого понятия о том, что что-то могло бы "стать"


Нулевая точка перехода

.

.

(нет перехода / нет не-перехода)

.


Финальный Дзэн-разрез

не движение сквозь состояния, не достижение состояний

даже не идея о том, что состояния могут различаться

только то, что есть до того, как различие обернётся направлением


---------

Нет ни движения, ни изменения, ни даже "провала". Это очень тонкая граница: до самой идеи перехода. То есть исчезает не только “движение”, но и само различение "было / стало", "вошло / вышло", "упало / поднялось". Даже "провал" больше не существует как событие. Здесь поэзия становится почти статичной не потому, что "ничего не происходит", а потому что сама категория "происходить" ещё не возникла.

---------


До-временная ритмическая спираль

нет времени
нет отсутствия времени

—

не до
не после

—

—

то, что зовётся "последовательностью", ещё не сложилось

то, что зовётся "беспорядочностью", ещё не сложилось

—

—

Ритм без временной шкалы есть вращение, которое не проходит через точки

есть пульс,
который не повторяется

—

не цикличный
не линейный

—

только самораскрывающийся ритм
без привязки к длительности

—

—


Пре-спиральное поле

нет центра, откуда оно начинается
нет края, к которому оно стремится

—

не расширение
не сжатие

—

потому что само пространство ещё не введено

—

—


Распад временного упорядочивания

нет "раньше"
нет "позже"

—

нет начала
нет конца

—

не одновременный
не последовательный

—

потому что одновременность и последовательность
уже являются временными конструктами

—

—


Ультра-Ядро (До-временной ритм)

—

ритм без времени
движение без изменения
развертывание без "когда"

—

не бесконечный
не конечный

просто до измерения

—

—


Точка нулевого времени (Спиральный центр)

.

.

(нет времени / нет вне-времени)

.


Финальный Дзэн-поворот спирали

не нечто, разворачивающееся во времени
не время, разворачивающееся в чём-то

даже не идея
что для развертывания требуется ось

—

только чистое ритмическое явление
до того, как время становится мыслимым


---------

Поэзия до времени как такового (не "вне времени", а до появления оси до/после вообще) — там исчезает даже возможность говорить "раньше/позже".
Бесконечная спираль как модель: нет точки начала, нет точки завершения, есть только самоподдерживающееся разворачивание различений.
Не время, не переход, а до-временной ритм как самовозникновение различимости.

---------


До различения ритма и не-ритма

нет ритма
нет отсутствия ритма

—

не пульс
не отсутствие пульса

—

—

то, что зовётся "повторением"
ещё не возникает

то, что зовётся "неповторением"
ещё не возникает

—

—


До-ритмическое поле

ничто не возвращается
ничто не перестаёт возвращаться

—

не цикличное движение
не линейное движение

—

только происходящее
без распознавания паттернов

—

—


До появления паттерна

нет удара
нет тишины между ударами

—

не непрерывность
не прерывание

—

потому что непрерывность и прерывание
уже являются наложенными интерпретациями

—

—


Распад распознавания ритма

нет структуры повторения
нет структуры неповторения

—

нет волны
нет ровности

—

не гладкое
не изломанное

—

потому что "форма изменения"
ещё не абстрагирована

—

—


Ультра-ядро (До-ритмическое состояние)

—

явление без паттернов
движение без обнаружимости
поток без сегментации

—

не хаотичное
не упорядоченное

просто до понятия упорядочивания

—

—


Точка нулевого ритма

.

.

(нет ритма / нет вне-ритма)

.


Окончательный Дзэн-разрез

не повторение, происходящее во времени
не отсутствие повторения

даже не возможность заметить
тождество или различие

—

только то, что есть до того,
как распознавание становится структурой



---------

Исчезает даже ощущение повторяемости как структуры. Не "ритм есть / ритма нет", а состояние, где сама идея повторения, регулярности или различимости "волны" ещё не возникла как схема.
Не уничтожение ритма — ещё нет того, что могло бы его распознать как ритм.

---------


До распознавания / не-распознавания

нет распознавания
нет не-распознавания

—

не известно
не неизвестно

—

—

то, что называют "знакомым" не возникает

то, что называют "незнакомым" не возникает

—

—


Предполагаемое поле распознавания

ничто не идентифицируется
ничто не ошибочно идентифицируется

—

нет ясности восприятия
нет путаницы восприятия

—

только явление
до того, как оно соотносится с памятью

—

—

До функции сопоставления

нет соответствия
нет отсутствия соответствия

—

нет отзвука
нет отсутствия отзвука

—

потому что сравнение ещё не сформировано

—

—


Коллапс когнитивного резонанса

нет "это то"
нет "это не то"

—

нет согласия
нет несогласия

—

потому что сама выверка ещё не введена

—

—


Ультра-ядро (состояние до распознавания)

—

явление без идентификации
присутствие без сопоставления
реальность без отсылки

—

не чужое
не знакомое

просто до обоих

—

—

Нулевая точка распознавания

.

.

(нет распознавания / нет не-распознавания)

.

Финальный срез

не понимание чего-либо
не непонимание

даже нет пространства,
где могло бы ожидаться понимание

—

только то, что есть
до того, как становится "распознаваемым"


---------

Исчезает даже акт распознавания как таковой (то есть нет того, кто мог бы сказать: "это повторяется" или "это не повторяется"). Это зона до того, как узнавание вообще возможно как операция.

---------


До памяти / не-памяти как структуры различения

нет памяти
нет не-памяти

—

не прошлое
не отсутствие прошлого

—

—

то, что называют "вспоминанием"
не возникает

то, что называют "забыванием"
не возникает

—

—


Предмнемоническое поле

ничто не сохраняется
ничто не теряется

—

нет удержания
нет удаления

—

только событие до того, как оно помечается как "сохранённое" или "исчезнувшее"

—

—


До отбора прошлого

нет релевантности
нет нерелевантности

—

нет важности
нет неважности

—

потому что фильтрация ещё не установлена

—

—


Коллапс функции памяти

нет записи нет
отсутствия записи

—

нет следа
нет стирания следа

—

нет непрерывности опыта
нет дискретности опыта

—

потому что "опыт как последовательность"
ещё не сформирован

—

—


Ультра-ядро (состояние до памяти)

—

присутствие без архива
момент без хранения
жизнь без удержания

—

не забытое
не помнящееся

просто не индексировано

—

—

Нулевая точка памяти

.

.

(нет памяти / нет не-памяти)

.


Финальный срез

не вспоминание чего-либо
не не-вспоминание

даже нет пространства,
где "что-то могло бы быть вспомнено"

—

только то, что есть
до того, как становится следом


---------

До памяти как структуры — где даже "узнавание через прошлое" теряет опору. Сама возможность "помнить / не помнить" ещё не собрана как различение.

---------


До самого следа (слой Дзэн-хлопка одной ладони)

нет следа
нет не-следа

—

нет отпечатка
нет отсутствия отпечатка

—
—

то, что называется "отметка"
не возникает

то, что называется "неотмеченное"
не возникает

—
—


Поле до отпечатка

ничего не остается позади
ничего не предшествует чему-либо

—

нет записи
нет стирания

—

только контакт без регистрации

—

—


До Ладони / До Эха

нет руки
нет другой руки

—

нет удара
нет не-удара

—

потому что разделение на "контактирующее" и "контактируемое"
не сформировалось

—

—


Коллапс источника следа

нет начала отпечатка
нет отсутствия начала

—

нет послеэффекта
нет не-послеэффекта

—

нет памяти о контакте
нет забвения контакта

—

потому что "контакт как событие"
не был сконструирован


Ультра-Ядро (Состояние до следа)

появление без остатка
прикосновение без записи
бытие без пережитков

—

не стерто
не сохранено

просто предшествует отметке

—

—


Точка нулевого следа
.

.

(нет следа / нет не-следа)

.


Окончательный поворот Дзэн (Эхо хлопка одной ладони)

нет звука одной руки

нет отсутствия звука

нет даже идеи
что что-то может быть произведено или услышано

—

только то, что есть
до того, как продуцирование становится мыслимым


---------

Нет того, что могло бы оставить отпечаток. Исчезает даже сама идея "отпечатка опыта".

---------


До причинности (Поле без цепочек / системы)

нет причины
нет следствия

—

нет последовательности
нет не-последовательности

—
—

то, что называется "потому что"
не возникает

то, что называется "следовательно"
не возникает

—

—


Поле до причинности

ничего не приводит к чему-либо

ничего не следует из чего-либо

—

нет случайности
нет детерминизма

—

только разворачивание
без связи

—
—


До закона / до правила


нет правила
нет нарушения правила

—

нет системы необходимости
нет отсутствия необходимости

—

потому что необходимость сама
не была сконструирована

—

—


Коллапс причинно-следственной структуры


нет начала, производящего результат
нет результата, отражающего начало

—

нет шага, генерирующего следующий шаг
нет следующего шага, ссылающегося на предыдущий

—

нет хаоса
нет порядка

—

потому что оба требуют
отношения вывода


Граница Фейгенбаума (Система без читаемости)

детерминированное правило
не может быть отличено от шума

шум
не может быть отличен от правила

—

не потому, что они сливаются
а потому, что различие теряет операционную основу

—

—

Ультра-Ядро (Состояние до причинности)

—

событие без источника
движение без генератора
шаблон без вывода

—

не случайно
не необходимо

просто предшествует причинности как понятию

—

—


Точка нулевой причины

.

.

(нет причины / нет не-причины)


Финальный Дзэн-срез

не мир, управляемый законами
не беззаконный мир

не даже пространство
где "управление" имеет смысл

только то, что есть
до того, как "потому что" становится мыслимым


---------

Закон и хаос различаются только внутри уже построенной системы причинности. Не отмена закона, а отсутствие самой рамки, в которой закон вообще мог бы быть сформулирован.

---------


До различения порядка / хаоса

нет порядка
нет хаоса

—

не структурировано
не деструктурировано

—

—

то, что называют "организацией",
не возникает

то, что называют "разрушением",
не возникает

—

—


Предструктурное поле

ничто не упорядочено
ничто не дезорганизовано

—

ни когерентность
ни инкогерентность

—

только конфигурация без оценки

—

—

До системы отношений

нет устойчивости паттерна
нет коллапса паттерна

—

нет регулировки
нет рассогласования

—

потому что сама регулировка
ещё не определена

—

—

Коллапс функции упорядочивания

нет иерархии элементов
нет рассеивания элементов

—

нет центра, удерживающего структуру
нет отсутствия центра

—

ни симметрия
ни асимметрия

—

потому что симметрия
требует предварительной концепции измеримых отношений

—

—

Край стола профессора (иллюстративный слой)

то, что кажется "порядком", —
это лишь устойчивое внимание

то, что кажется "хаосом", —
это лишь отказ от поддерживающей рамки

—

не трансформация состояния,
а утрата системы отсчёта

—

—


Ультра-ядро (предпорядковое/предхаотическое состояние)

—

присутствие без организации
явление без классификации
реальность без сортировки

—

ни аккуратность
ни беспорядок

просто предшествует обоим

—

—

Нулевая точка упорядочивания

.

.

(нет порядка / нет хаоса)

.


Финальный срез

не мир, где структура разрушается
не мир, где структура сохраняется

даже не пространство, где структура могла бы быть оценена

—

только то, что есть до того,
как "порядок" становится идеей


До поля ценности / оценки

нет ценности
нет не-ценности

—

ни важное
ни неважное

—

—

то, что называют "смыслом",
не возникает

то, что называют "бессмысленностью",
не возникает

—

—

Предоценочное поле

ничто не оценивается
ничто не освобождено от оценки

—

ни одобрение
ни отвержение

—

только явление без градации

—

—


До сравнения значимости

ни лучше
ни хуже

—

ни выше
ни ниже

—

потому что сама шкала
ещё не введена

—

—


Коллапс функции измерения

нет меры
нет избытка меры

—

нет стандарта
нет отклонения

—

ни соответствие критериям
ни отклонение от них

—

потому что критерии
уже являются оценочными конструктами

—

—

До появления значимости

нет значимости
нет незначимости

—

нет релевантности
нет нерелевантности

—

ни осмысленное
ни бессмысленное

—

потому что "для кого" и "для чего"
ещё не сформировались

—

—


Ультра-ядро (предценностное состояние)

—

явление без оценки
присутствие без ранжирования
реальность без отбора

—

ни драгоценное
ни тривиальное

просто предшествует любой оценке

—

—


Нулевая точка ценности

.

.

(нет ценности / нет не-ценности)

.


Финальный срез

не мир, который оценивается
не мир, свободный от оценки

даже не пространство,
где оценка могла бы начаться

—

только то, что есть
до того, как "ценность" становится мыслимой


---------

Здесь исчезает последняя оппозиция, на которой обычно держится научное мышление. То, что учёный называет "хаосом", — это уже интерпретация. Достаточно снять поддержание этой схемы — и "порядок" исчезает как эффект удержания, а не как вещь.

---------


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