Ask the questions that truly matter,
Let the answers of others scatter—
It's not the answers but questions, see,
That unravel life's mystery.

In "knowledge," distortions creep,
Spawned by fiends in shadows deep,
Crafted lies to keep us bound,
In the dark, where truth's not found.


In Russian:

Ставь главные вопросы и похерь чужие ответы на что бы то ни было

Не ответы, а ВОПРОСЫ:
В многих "знаньях" перекосы.
Это ТВАРИ постарались,
Чтобы мы во Тьме скончались.


Мягкий вариант: вместо "скончались" - "остались".
Ещё вариант: засрались.

The tune stays, persistent,
a ghost in my mind,
hovering just out of reach—
not a song,
not yet,

just a rhythm I hum
into the hollow of memory

I try everything:
apps that listen,
algorithms that promise
I hum and hum,

my voice shaky, uneven,
but no machine knows the language
of longing
I scour playlists,

search through archives,
type fragments into search bars,

grasping for something
I’m not sure even exists

Each failure makes the tune sharper,
louder, crueler
Years pass, and it lingers
A quiet ache folded
into the back of my thoughts
I stop searching,
but it doesn’t stop following
Then one day, in a café,
the song finds me
It slips from the speakers,
so soft I almost miss it
And then—there it is,
every note, every beat,
the rhythm I have carried for so long
I freeze
The world tilts as I listen,
fingers trembling on my cup
I am there,

back in the mustard fields,
the mango trees,

the laughter
I don’t cry,
but something deep inside me shifts,
like a door opening
to let in the light
The song
The song
The song
is Real

Get to work, you fools, and hurry!
Not the rats in suits or jury,
Not the spies or schemers hollow,
Not the media’s mad to follow—

Work for crumbs and shaky shelters,
“By God’s will!”—or so they tell us.
Bow and break until you’re dying,
Truth ignored, with fools complying.

Never grasping all the LYING:
To the rulers, sheep’s worth buying.
Sheared and slaughtered, just like cattle,
That’s all nations in this battle.

Monsters rule us, servile masses,
Politicians kiss their *****.
Bribed or blackmailed—slimy dealings,
Anger boils past all concealing.


In Russian:

Беспросветное рабство

На работЫ, идиоты!
Не чинуши, не сексоты,
Не предатели-уроды
И не СМРАДов сумасброды —

За еду и кров убогий,
Правда, всё "во имя бога",
Аж до смерти надо гнуться,
Ведь придурки не очнутся.

Не поймут всю суть ОБМАНА:
Для правителей бараны,
Что для стрижки и для мяса,
Все народы. Без прикраса:

Правит нелюдь. Холуйки
Все политики. Легки
Их пути под компроматом...
Дальше — лишь ругаться матом.

Obey as a dog
Copy as a cat
Hand licker
Copy paster
Please stop ******* from me

You misunderstand?
I repeat and repeat until
...
Silence
Please stop taking from me

Dilute
Pollute the good will
Respect that you did not build
Respect that you attempt to drain
Respect that you do not deserve

In a shambled
And impoverished future
Life
Was a series of rooms
Which we inhabit

Knowing
Or
Failing to

And
[ in an old folks home, I overheard a dying  man say :

I don’t remember her face
But I remember she used to hold me tight
And we’d sway
Sway
Sway.]

I don't need all these words
I don't want all the proofs
The things which have occurred
Are turning to absurd.

Emotions do refute,
Experience is true,
These souls all are ****,
Not enemies for you.
And what you did you knew.

You broke all laws
Whilst envy our moral
This grief you caused
Is evil of beyond.
Why waiting no response?
Explosions of your bombs
Are patiently calmed.

You say that black is white
And call us for negotiation
You name it's situation
No wrong no right
You call my land location
Depreciate my nation.
The only questionʼs why.

oh right... no social criticism... just a bomb will do? mm, yes, a bomb will fair much better... no social criticism... and only the political class are allowed a backdrop of satire... now i have to be thankful for a 7 year old schizophrenic simulator, the "inability" of the medical profession to misdiagnose... oh yes... i'm really thankful for all of that.

philosophy and its rigid vocabulary,
clutters up the range of ******
expressions, scientific atheism
is still measuring the non-existence
of something via the occator crater
of ceres as: ah... look at that... a cute puppy!
enlaraged eyes of a kitten pleading!
ooh ah! so so cute! mm.
actually, in #a, philosophy is the original
divination of divisions - centimetre in man
to distinguish him into a spider-web
project of thinking, feeling, consciousness,
sentience, animate, zombie,
it cuts cuts in, slashes away at so many
meanings, you end up with shorthand
of 140 character allowances -
so this scientific negativism - i can't
see any scientific positivism right now,
calling something cute as a puppy will
not really do justice to the measure of things,
unlike atheism in humanism,
where the projection of will is paramount
to define life, of how one human influences
another, if at all, atheism only matters in
how humans politicise, i love the fanciful
individualist definition that does not
really wish to congregate... and there we have it:
atypical to the English, the invention of
utilitarianism, the best moral action is
to be polite, or simply *nice, to say
'yes, thank you' and 'no, thank you',
to say sorry a lot when commuting in the
tube... ah, mm, oh... and the other grand
pillar of utilitarianism? REMEMBER PERSONAL
SPACE... well spinoza could tell you a lot
about this principle when the rabbis
****** him: about how people were not
supposed to stand at a certain distance
near him... sardine **** of human sweat
on the tube during rush-hour.