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The most important thing of life is Search,
Which help you find the way to Home.
The whole life of people is big Research.
It is existence foundation stone.

 

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Rashism

What is rashism?
On the turns of degradation
That's ordinary fascism
Along with moronization.

 

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Super Trouper

"Super Trouper beams are gonna blind me
But I won't feel blue
Like I always do
'Cause somewhere in the crowd, there's you".
From the song "Super Trouper" by ABBA.

Super trouper blind the trooper -
New Pops Soldier has weakened.
Poor thing fell into the stupor -
Has destroyed the all weekend. 

 

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Simple Ways to Scare the Fools

The mechanics of panic,
Oh, so plain to see,
Yet the crowd, volcanic,
Cools, then cries, "Agree!"

Few will learn the lessons
Failure dares to teach,
While the rest, in sessions,
Burrow out of reach.

Fate’s a grim arena
For the meek to play—
Frightened, bent, and beaten
Under devils’ sway.

 

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Do not invoke the name of God
For petty woes and hollow schemes.
In seeking Truth, His path is trod,
Not through the trail of stupid dreams.

 

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Prisoners of Evil and
their slop of substitutions

Filth instead of honor,
False instead of truth.
The creatures bring a horror —
Eat their gruel uncouth!

 

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The Hidden World Dictator

Madman vile,
Beastly style:
Fascist order
Spreads like doom.
Patience border
Killed by Gloom.

 

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The Pyramid of Social Foolery

A "noble" goat ascends the tiers,
Not the last among the chain.
A wretched soul who sold his years
To Evil’s tune for fleeting gain.

He spits on those beneath his feet,
Crushes those who touch the base,
And serves the whims of those elite,
Groveling with slavish grace.

This Everest of servile grime,
A mountain built of fawning waste,
Defines the world—a hollow crime,
No room for Mind or Soul’s embrace.

Yet should such values hold their sway,
The hollow peak will quickly fall.
To those attuned, the signs convey:
Decline now looms above us all.

Degradation’s rife, unchecked;
The base will crack and pull it down.
The "summit’s" fiend, your reign is wrecked—
Weep and wail; you’ll surely drown!

 

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Stump

Moss-clad stump, decayed and old—
The mind of an elder, dull and cold:
Too lazy to ponder. To strive, to care —
Chasing wealth and trinkets rare.

 

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Parasites of Parasites

The parasite deems, "What a life!"
Feasting on its prey with zest.
Yet, in turn, it meets a strife—
Another's jaws, a cruel jest!

Presidents and bureaucrats,
Aren't atop the feeding chain.
Merely seizing moments that
Bring the creatures fleeting gain.

Heads infected by a blight—
Satanism, vast, malign.
Parasites will face their plight,
All consumed by Doom's design.

 

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Dreams in the midst of the hustle and bustle

Dreams, oh dreams,
Where is your sweetness?
Amidst the toil,
Where fear and weakness,
Where dullness, baseness, lies, and shame,
And the vile traitor sold to fame?

 

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A Doomed Little World

Lies are everywhere,
And the vile, unfair,
Is "the norm," they say—
The world's lost its way.

 

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Hockey Without the Puck

"Winnipeg"–"New York": a fierce bout!
They play rough, sticks striking out,
But not vile; and yet the schemer,
That meek politician-dreamer,
Only seems a kindly weeper,
Following orders of dark creatures,
Hidden beasts, unseen, insane,
Driving policies profane.
Genocide’s their brutal art,
The dull CowID’s a telling chart:
How "success" is carved so grimly—
In the end, most people, simply,
Are just nothing, empty-hearted.

 

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"Songs and Dances"

"Songs and dances" on command,
By advice or helping hand,
For the monsters in their masks,
Dancing on the bones grasp.

 

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The Pseudo-Scholar

Confined to a narrow realm, no time for critique,
The bigger picture lost beneath trivial haze.
Endless data clouds the mind, so to speak,
Without the vital keys to clear the maze.

These keys might set the system into place,
Or tear it down with the skill of a fraud.
But there's no need to strain or lose the race—
A grant’s like faith, and leadership’s like God.

The Spirit erased from the sciences' creed—
The very source of life, the missing key.
So theories are but opinions, indeed,
Detached from truth—where grants hold tyranny.

Those who pay decide which way you’ll be steered,
With small rewards to guide you on your quest.
People always lead, but make things unclear—
And decay prevails in what was once the best.

For those who’ve turned from science and reflection,
Seek within yourself for the keys to find.
Or else you'll fall to mindless dissection,
Lost in a world of hollow, shattered mind.

 

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Pesky bore

"Yes requires repetition."
Jacques Derrida

This nagging world instills anew
The urge to bow before its lies.
It echoes loudly: "Join the queue!"
And when you say "No," it denies,

Repeats again, with shifts in tone,
Its goal: to rot your mind and soul,
To keep you chained, to keep you prone—
Obedience, the only role.

For "Yes" is servitude’s first breath.
So sharpen doubt, let it refine,
Resist decay, that creeping death,
And master it within your mind.

Let intuition light the way
And teach you oft to answer "No."
Without it, madness gains its sway,
And nonsense in your heart will grow.

A madhouse world, a rotting pit,
Infernal forces take command;
They drive the broken, crazed, unfit,
And make them cattle, meek and bland.

Behold the farce of hollow states,
Exposed through CowID’s disguise.
The sheep submit to their cruel fates,
While others fade in shame and lies.

 

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The ship Ego sails towards the port "Trouble"

Its belly heavy, its mind a weight,
The sails are filled with winds of fear,
Оn course towards a dire fate.
Reduce the load,
Thin out the mind,
Lower the sails,
And seek to find
A different goal—
A distant blue,
The Soul will yearn for that horizon true.

 

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Change of Ideologies

Nonsense reigns now—
"Passion" fades somehow.
They'll justify
New foggy lies,
And loyal fools, grotesque and tame,
Will send to new, unwelcome shame.
For woes are born from bitter schemes,
Born from cruel, destructive dreams.
By fear, but not by their might,
The tyrants bend the world to blight.
The road to Hell is paved with dust,
In words, not faith, they place their trust.
Few dare resist, the rest comply,
While watching nature's truth slip by.
Look within, and cast off lies—
Your mind will clear, your spirit rise.
For light’s not found in things you see,
But deep within, in truth and free.

 

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Talent grows in the Soul’s vast domain, not in the genes

Do genes define a gifted mind?
No, talent from a different kind.
Through muses’ breath, the spirit soars,
Far from the world’s mundane shores.

On the edge, where danger calls,
Unbowed beneath deceitful thralls,
Keep your heart untainted, pure—
Return to the Source to endure.

Beyond the Source, all art is vain;
Creation turns to hollow strain.
So cast off lies, embrace what’s true,
And let insight and grace renew.

 

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The Problem of Restoring the Mind

Hardy, crazy dolly Daisy
is a mind pliant to Evil.
All in it is very hazy.
The most problem is retrieval.

 

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The Decline of Poetry

Freedom from rhyme, to hell with the beat,
Forgetting the meaning, the soul's in deceit.
Deceived by the crowd, now a slave to it all,
The Lyre abandoned, few poets stand tall.
A world of hack writers —  fools' joy, they will thrive.
"What’s Sense for sheeps?" —  to serve Vile and contrive.
And for distraction, petty verse is the deal.
A world in decay, where Reason grows still.

 

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In the Dark

A poem drifts through darkness space,
Its crafted lines, a fleeting trace.
Poet, work only for the space alone,
Because most "people" is a stone.

 

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Suicide by Absence of Creation

The rhythm's in me, yet I'm in the mire,
Enough of verses, they're not required.
Down in the depths, where hunger stews,
Creation's spark is of no use.

Earn, indulge, kill your brain,
If crumbs of thought still remain.
Don't write—let boredom's noose draw tight,
Snapping the neck in endless night.

 

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Stupidity

Ignorance reigns, such a force!
Most are fools, devoid of course.
For the wise, no place to stay —
Silent death awaits their way.

 

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Verse Crafting

Swift and sharp, a clear decision,
Hide away? That’s no ambition.
Stillness brings you to decay,
Start to craft your verse today!

 

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Tyranny

A plucked and broken bird
On the final crest remains—
The rule of tyranny endured,
Not hate, but "order" reigns.

This "order" brings despair -
A silent genocide.
The bird claws is laid bare,
Though rot lurks deep inside.

 

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Mountains, Both Great and Small

The Mount of Woe, its base unwise,
A fool’s creation, made to rise.
But death will raze it; then, once more,
Hills sprout anew. If World explored,

Its Everest, a grim device,
Where perches Beast on peak of lies.
Deceitful heights, no hope ahead,
No vision prospers—dreams lie dead.

Yet time’s great sweep will level all;
For ignorance ensures the fall.
The Chasm of Verse stands in defiance,
To scorn a world in dutiful silence.

Deep in its mind, a poet hides,
Condemned by lies, where truth subsides.
His themes of Spirit soar ignored,
While fools demand their joy restored.

 

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Total madness

For madness,
No sharp sadness—
It has reached its peak, no doubt!
Feel free to let your curses out!

 

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The Malady of Poetry

Composing poetry is akin to an illness, governed by its own laws. One must yield to them, enduring the fever to arrive at a result—not “health,” but a “case history.” For some, it’s a stormy affliction—casting everything into verse; for others, it’s a perpetual self-assessment: “Do I have something new to say?” There are countless variations. The key is to heed intuition, as this “illness” depends on it—unless you’re a hack. Many athletes, in maturity, regard their sports careers as a kind of ailment but still take pride in their “case history.” Poetry is a super-sport, with far finer gradations of mastery than ordinary athletics.

A fever’s blazing heat—
And verses start to flow.
With burning eyes, they greet
The world. Fools never know

How craftless scribes will cater
To win their shallow praise:
The more the lines seem later,
The louder is the craze.

A simpleton might linger,
Entranced, yet blind to grace.
An artist lifts his finger
And laughs at their embrace.

Trust only intuition;
It guides with steady hand.
Ignore all old tradition—
It helps you understand.

Your “history of illness”
A future soul may find.
But if you seek vain stillness,
Your worth is left behind.

 

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TNT in the Veins

It all comes down to TNT,
It must flow in your veins, you see.
This dim-wit world — just say the word,
And they'll charge forth, like a blinded herd.

To the ravine, they'll blindly tread,
Blood-stained hands, by banners led.
Write in law new fascist codes,
March to hate on darkened roads.

Not a fool, nor lost in haze,
Spill your blood, ignite the blaze.
In the Ravine of Evil deep,
With TNT, no soul shall sleep.

Stock your veins with fire’s might,
Hesitate, you'll lose the fight.
Gather strength, for soon they'll call:
“Fools, charge forward, give your all!”

Only TNT feeds reason now,
It arms the heart, it shows you how.
To perish with it, pure and true,
Redeems the soul, renews its hue.

 

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Sterility, or The Coming Digital Concentration Camp

A meek and brainwashed nation,
By rulers’ whim transformed,
Embraced its sterilization,
By cleanness now conformed.

Sterile minds—no thought infection
Will ever take its toll.
All turned to data sections,
Each zero under control.

The only pressing matter—
To multiply by none.
Through memes, the masses shatter,
Their thinking overrun.

In the World Camp’s formation,
Evil will have no stress—
For numbers need no station
Beyond a charted press.

The Machine will ever mandate
Its orders, cold and stark,
And thus the Camp’s grim fate
Will crumble into dark.

 

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Freedom of speech is the foundation
Of the world’s illusions—where is it now?
Once more, we face the chains of deception,
And with them, we've fallen to the depths somehow.

 

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Dreaming of the American Dream

“The Free World.” A pub. A rental home.
A fleeting shelter—your life’s frame.
A waitress, striving, yet alone.
For some, this dream’s the world’s acclaim.

Yet chains of slavery never slacken,
A truth the blind will not believe.
They cling to myths, their reason blackened—
The “free world” lie they won’t perceive.

 

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"The Golden Mean" for fools who grovel

Beer corrupts, as does the liquor,
Lies destroy, and “balanced figures”
Lost among a crowd of creeps—
Madness rules where darkness seeps.

True worth lies in deviation,
Breaking chains of degradation.
Global madness reigns supreme,
While villains call their rot the “mean.”

CowID exposed their fraud,
Wars ignited—gnats applaud.
Once again, the lies will gather,
"Healing", warring—does it matter?

Till they “heal” us into ruin,
Under tyrants’ thumbs pursuing
Nothing good, no path to glory—
Just grim years of sorrow’s story.

Only battle saves your soul:
Be yourself and take control.
Kill you, they might—but spirit’s whole.
In Sodom’s grip, this is the goal.

All else fades—a hollow chase,
A “life” that’s lost in petty waste.
You’ll reap dark karma, feed despair,
And turn the world into a lair.

We’re all to blame, each one complicit,
Through apathy, we make it explicit.
“To the golden mean!” they cheer—
Where beasts are made of those they jeer.

 

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The Smokescreen for Reason

"Religion is the chief bridle for the masses, the great intimidation of fools, a towering screen that blocks people’s sight of earthly deeds, forcing their eyes to the skies."
— Alexander Herzen

A "heavenly" haze,
A stifling maze,
It cages the mind,
Enslaves humankind.

No fetters can bind,
Nor blinders confine,
As tight as this veil—
A fool’s doomed trail.

To munch and to pray,
Then sink all the way
To darkness below—
It’s all they know.

This shameful charade
Forever has stayed.
To wake up the fool?
Just dash him 'gainst a cruel...

 

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Russia’s Friendship with North Korea

"Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you who you are."
— Proverb

Who calls you "friend"?
Is it Korea?
The lies descend,
Their pace grows speedier.

In Russia, where deceit runs wild,
They race to match Juche’s beguiled,
Outdoing them in pompous tone—
Where cruelty chills to the bone.

Both lands degrade the "people’s" name,
Reducing them to beasts in shame.
Yet fools still trust the tyrants' lies,
And build—what? Hell for demon ties?

For in such lands, as truth decays,
Few Human souls remain to blaze.

 

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Prison of the mind

Reason –
prison:
bound wi'thin,
every man – phantom's kin.

 

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Stagnation in a city and in a village

City's hole. And a village
Is a barren and a pillage.
Seek within a hermit’s lair,
If your Mind is bruised but fair.

 

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Decay

The Poetry "sickness" fades away,
And yearning turns to bleak decay.
This "normal life" — or so it's named —
Is but the snare of order tamed.

 

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Mawkishness

The murk of metaphor and flair,
Adorning verse with hollow airs,
Is like a colon placed with care,
While meaning’s lost in distant lairs.

Imagery and lyric’s worth
In vile, profane, and broken lands
Is cheap. We need colossal work
To fight as Reason makes its stand.

Leave to fools the syruped line
That drips with verbal diarrhea.
Still, time draws the final sign —
The world spins faster toward its fear.

Monstrous BEASTS have set the pace,
CowID revealed the fools' charade.
A world of madness, blind disgrace —
Where Reason's light begins to fade.

 

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Lying Madhouse

Trash on screen, it’s pure deception,
Lies so vile, my ears take flight,
Media’s stench—no redemption,
Like a madhouse day and night.

 

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The Global Corral

To perish, to vanish
In fear and false treason.
The sheeps bear the savage,
Their minds plagued with poison.

Through the brain — a vile flood,
A foul stench left to linger.
The herd writhes in the mud,
Dragged down by its wringers.

 

 

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So-Called...

A "so-called Ukraine," they claim,
A term in Kremlin's vile refrain.
But what I found was grief and shame,
In a foreign land, through war’s disdain.

A "so-called shell" tore through my flesh,
Left me with stumps where legs had been.
Yet still I trust their lies afresh—
Without them, Hell I’d never "win".

 

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The Herds

I believe! Though little knowing—
Facts mean naught to herds below.
To the barking, snarling, crowing
Dogs, they yield and blindly go.

Herds are tightened, penned in places,
Marked for slaughter, bound to fail.
Faith persists, as time erases—
Sheep comply with darkened tales.

“Laws” decree: the shears are needed
For the health of every lamb.
Rotting hay by rain is seeded,
Mud-soaked pastures—who gives damn?

Shepherds, wise, intend no sorrow
For their docile, woolly throng.
Blades are honed, and come the morrow,
Neighbors fall—the weak, the wrong.

And the nearby flocks are trembling—
War returns to claim its due.
Drink your fill, oh beasts assembling:
Blood will flow to sate the few!

 

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Spawn of the Horned One

"Teachers, professors, parents—all members of this society, are more or less corrupted by it. How can they give students what they do not possess themselves?"
— Mikhail Bakunin.

Their "good" is vain attempt,
By twisted means it’s bent,
In "teaching’s" cruel intent,
To lead the innocent.

Fools have bowed to vice,
Calling it God's sign.
They shape beneath their guise,
The spawn of goat malign.

 

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Inhumans

Do I live here, or just decay,
With fear and lies to cloud the day?
The "government"... — I curse, berate,
Without knowing: inhumans shaped our Fate.

 

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Our Horned Father

If you've trudged through life's cruel school,
Bowed to power, played the fool,
Scared and blind, in lies you wallow,
Trading soul for dreams so hollow.
Signed by beasts, your mind betrayed,
A witless pawn, no price too great.
For such "scholars," meek and broken,
Satan reigns—the god they've chosen.
Call him "Father," praise his glow,
Blindly cheering a false light's show.

 

 

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"Marines"

What is an automatic gun?
A sender of bullets, swift and grim?
A servant of Evil, a deadly one,
Listening to what CREATURES spin?

Believing lies, obeying commands,
A soulless machine of ruthless design—
Through poisoned minds, by unseen hands,
They corrupt humanity, line by line.

The stronger the CREATURES' hold grows,
The more of these machines arise—
Now, as the tide of darkness flows,
"Marines" are legions in disguise.

 

 

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The Land under Evil

Fools believe they're something greater,
Than feedstock for insane "creator".
If all fools will fall  in Evil hand,
Cretinism grips all Unhappy Land.

 

 

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Work

To be a fool — a heavy chore,
For fools abound, and more, and more.
Idiocy now reigns "supreme",
World Fascism’s ever-growing scheme.

Darkness laid the ancient base,
An idiotic, boundless space.
Let them crush "ideals" anew,
False idols flood the wretched view.

If vile seems trite, worn to the bone,
A fresh grotesque will soon be grown.
Devour neighbors, one by one,
And thus, the path is clearly spun.

Once again, the Overton Window
Widens wide, like open sin.
Laws will follow, signed and sealed,
To make the World a wasteful field.

Fools, decay, vile powers that be,
Mark the world’s identity.
Idiots rise in false elation,
Ever easy for their station.

They’ll gather all, erect anew
A global camp of poisoned hue,
Tripling lies with weary breath,
Leading minds to living death.

 

 

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