Rigidity
All mind's rigidity stems from implanted
Beliefs in childhood — when a vivid world
Got crippled by notions, where truth was supplanted
By proxies. Spirit erased, flags unfurled
To rule with dull eyes through the prism of jargon,
Where stifled energy drags into rot.
The Powers of Spirit — cast out, like a parson
Cursed... or a setup by BEAST-things? A plot?
To live by the brain — not the Heart — is a Moloch.
For mind without Heart is an easy deceit.
That's why Revelation must strike like a warlock
To balance the forces and cleanse what’s oblique.
The balance of Spirit, of Mind, and of Heart:
With Spirit the ruler — that’s law, that's the key.
If ego and mind hold the throne from the start,
You're a "living" corpse, doomed eternally.
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Rigidity
All mind's rigidity stems from the framing
Imposed in childhood, when a world so bright
Got scarred with concepts — false and maiming,
Where stand-ins thrive and Spirit's snuffed from sight.
Thus blind the gaze — through lenses of delusion,
Where energy is caged, stagnation reigns.
The Powers of Spirit lie in exclusion —
A curse? Or Creature’s cunning in our brains?
To live by mind, not Heart — this births the Moloch:
The Heartless mind is easily deceived.
That’s why the key must be the Flash — that Solar
Insight through which true balance is retrieved.
Balance: Heart, Mind, Spirit in alignment.
The last one reigns — that is the law profound.
But if mind and ego make the assignment,
You walk as corpse — alive, but under ground.
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Rigidity
1.
No Heart, no Light — just mind control.
That’s how the Creature eats your soul.
2.
Mind without Spirit? A godless tool.
Marching the wise into systems of fool.
3.
You think you're alive — how quaint.
But ego's mask is a corpse's paint.
4.
If Spirit’s out, and ego reigns —
You're just a beast in mental chains.
5.
Stolen your Heart, replaced with “thought”?
That’s how the Creature ties the knot.
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Cabinet of Freaks
Papuans dressed in robes and in brass,
And officials in rows — a grotesque parade
That props up the madhouse-world en masse...
Turn the Asylum into Deathcamp-grade —
That’s their task, assigned by the BEASTS.
Astounding how eager those mugs perform
Their orders — exterminating what’s least
Still thinking. The Darkness gives the form,
And those freaks will obey — every line.
CowID left no doubt in command:
They will stock the BEASTS' design
With themselves. But soon this land
Will burn — the rot’s now overripe.
The slaves, the BEASTS — all shall burn.
The Sun grows hotter, magma pipes
Boil oceans. If you're a fool — no return.
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Cabinet of Horrors (Kunstkamera)
Savages in lab coats, in uniforms gray,
Bureaucratic apes — they parade every day
As the backbone of madness, of lunatic law.
And their mission? To turn every madhouse — into a Gulag's maw.
These were the orders, bestowed by the BEAST,
And behold how they serve with a zeal unreleased —
So thrilled to destroy what's left of the mind,
As Darkness commands, and their kind falls in line.
Each mutant obeys — CowID gave the cue.
Their Cabinet of Horrors grows with each new fool.
But this little "project" is dying — decayed,
Its rot has surpassed what the structure can take.
The sun now blazes with terrible grace,
And magma is boiling the oceans in place.
If you're **** or a fool — don't hope for escape:
No mercy is offered to misshapen apes.
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Kunstkamera
1.
Madness wears a uniform.
And builds your cage in perfect form.
2.
CowID showed: they all obey.
The freak parade is here to stay.
3.
No mind left — just freaks and rules.
The Beast recruits obedient fools.
4.
This project’s dead. The rot runs deep.
Even Hell begins to weep.
5.
Not satire — just your daily news:
The Beast commands, and humans lose.
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Biomass
The grey crowd flows straight into the vaults —
Cash, distraction, and lies unchecked:
A "carrot" is needed for feeding cults,
To herd the BIOMASS into pens — direct.
Then comes the culling — fake AIDS, CowID,
Or war anew. It’s the Darkness’s rite.
What’s left are worms with the docile creed:
Brains dead, spirits fled, no fight.
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Biomass
The grayish mass walks straight to the trough —
Chasing fun, chasing cash, and consuming pure slop.
A “carrot” is dangled to bait them in line,
Then herded to slaughter, face-down in the slime.
Then comes the thinning — with false plagues and war,
CowID and fake AIDS, and a new fatal score.
That's Darkness' method: to reap the weak herd,
Till only the docile and dumb are preserved.
Their minds? Half-rotted. Their spirits? Gone.
They cheer for extinction. They’re already done.
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Biomass
1.
Biomass is baited — then burned.
Truth denied, all bridges turned.
2.
A carrot. A cage. A war.
They march — just meat for the score.
Darkness feeds. Nothing more.
3.
They chase the prize and end up dead.
In lies and wars, their spirit bled.
The brain is mold, the soul is gone —
The Age of Worms goes crawling on.
4.
A carrot, a screen — the herd obeys.
Then culls begin. That’s Darkness’ way.
5.
They lined up dumb, with open jaws.
Now thinning starts — by T̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ "natural laws."
6.
Biomass prays to plastic gods.
And dies beneath the T̶e̶c̶h̶ trod.
7.
No spirit left, no trace of will —
Just meat for war and pharma ****.
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Depth-O-Meter
I invented the Depth-O-Meter.
The protocol was short and sweet:
The arrow dropped like a meteor —
Crushing the mind's last daring feat.
We’re all down there. Different roles:
Some are squirrels in wheels of fate,
Some are jesters. But praise the Hole —
Our native, sacred, ******* state.
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The Bottommeter
I built a device — the Bottommeter.
Didn’t take long to log each feature.
The arrow plummeted, sharp and fast,
Crushing the Mind's delusions at last.
We're all at the bottom, make no mistake —
Some spin like hamsters, some dance like fakes.
But all of us cheer for the glorious Sludge —
Our native muck, our holy grudge.
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The Bottommeter
1.
The Bottommeter broke the scale —
Turns out we all already fell.
2.
We worship Sludge. We praise the Dregs.
Mind is mocked. Truth walks on legs.
3.
From wheel to stage, we love the pit —
Because the bottom’s where we fit.
4.
You say we rise? You miss the plot.
The arrow screams: We've long since rotted.
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News-ness
The glossary of the viper’s den —
The "news" program on repeat:
Desperate minions of beastly men
Striving to serve. And the elite
Left few real humans around.
Dumb News-ness — that tool of scorn —
Turned all into herd, dumbfound.
Truth’s dead. ******* is reborn.
The screens are drowned in rot,
And ******* rule the view.
No mind remains. The lot
Is lost in devil’s spew.
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Newspeak
The glossary of the Serpent's den —
That’s your daily “news” again.
The fiends in suits, with soulless glee,
Serve pure deceit on every screen.
The human count keeps growing thin.
The “newspeak” drowns the truth within.
What once was honest, clean, and right —
Is now just filth in neon light.
Each channel floods the mind with rot.
The slaves comply. The thinkers — not.
But few remain who dare to see:
This world is ruled by treachery.
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Newspeak
1.
News is poison. Truth is dead.
The screen just feeds you lies instead.
2.
Newspeak howls. The screens obey.
Your mind is meat. Your soul — their prey.
3.
The honest fled. The filth took hold.
Now lies are shouted, clean and bold.
4.
TV's the temple. **** — the priest.
And you’re the sacrifice. At feast.
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Phantasmagoria?
Fat imbeciles — "the salt of the earth",
With fascist nerves infused with dread.
Terror drives them, they prove their worth
By screaming hate till reason is dead.
Terror pushes them to the brink.
Their weight aids Darkness. They howl and hiss,
Stampeding thoughts that dare to think.
It’s all in the mind — or the mindless abyss.
Fat is thick. So is their skull.
So they roll downhill like slugs.
I’m sick of these snouts, these dull
Faces. They’re slime. They’re bugs.
And slime will grease the slide:
You’ll slip — and plunge below.
They’ll beat you with no pride,
And **** you — just for show.
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Phantasmagoria?
Fat imbeciles — the “soul” of this race.
Fascist enforcers set fear in place.
Terror creeps in, shoves them along,
Driven by rage, by hate, by throng.
The weight of fools feeds shadows grim,
Their howling pushes us to the brim.
And in the end, the mind’s the key —
But minds have drowned in gluttony.
Thick skin, thick skulls, dull as bricks —
They slide downhill, those bloated pigs.
Repulsive mugs, obscene and vile,
They leave behind a toxic trail.
Their slime coats paths you thought were clear —
Slip just once, and your end is near.
With them you’ll fall, no matter the plea —
Guilty or not — they’ll drag you deep.
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Phantasmagoria?
1.
The fat ones rule. Their weight is law.
They slide in slime. You die in awe.
2.
Thick flesh, thick lies, thick rotten grace —
They’ll drag you down to their embrace.
3.
You slip — you fall. The pigs don’t care.
Their filth is trap. Their fall — your snare.
4.
Phantasmagoria? No. It’s real.
They feast. You choke. That’s the deal.
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The Other Way
This slug-life — this "path" —
Was carved by the Dark. No craft
Can help in that hole you’re born.
Yet Art alone — a sacred horn —
Can lead you out of that rot
To Freedom, where the slime is not.
That Freedom is Spiritual. Pure.
Far from the crawling trash and sewer.
Go inward, beyond the fright.
If you can’t — you lose your right.
Then a slug you’ll be, or worse —
A squirrel in an endless curse.
Intuition, critique, the spark
Of creative fire in the dark —
That’s your bridge to the OTHER WAY,
That isn’t slime — but a BLAZING PLAY.
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The Other
A slug-life path — that’s what they give,
A nightmare burrow where you “live”.
From childhood on, the walls are tight —
But one tool breaks it: inner Light.
That Light is Art — and through its fire,
You rise above the slime and mire.
The road to Freedom, pure and whole,
Is lit by Spirit — not by goal.
Forget the swamp. Go deep, go true.
If you don’t dare — they’ll swallow you.
You’ll be a slug, just like the rest,
Or spin that cage-wheel like the “blessed”.
But if you trust your inner flame —
Intuition, thought unchained —
Then comes the turn, the mystic spark:
You reach the OTHER from the dark.
Where nothing's slick, nor dull, nor low —
But fierce, and bright, and sharply so!
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The Other
1.
The swamp is deep — but you are more.
Burn through the dark. Become the roar.
2.
Slug or spark — that’s your split.
Choose the slime, or choose the hit.
3.
You want the Other? Then go through.
The slime’s for those who can’t break true.
4.
No guts? You crawl. No fire? You rot.
But blaze — and reach what slime is not.
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Pioneers
To be a "pioneer" without sense —
That’s the fate of the idiotic crowd.
Pseudo-science and fake pretense,
"Faith" and madness — dumb and loud.
The BEAST loves these eager boys:
So ready, it’s laughable to see!
They die. A new one makes the noise,
And backs more garbage — with a PhD.
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Pioneers
Forever a “pioneer”?
That’s the fate of every fool.
Pseudo-science, plastic fear,
Faith and dogma as their tool.
Tamed and dumb — a walking jest,
Built to serve the beasts’ delight.
One drops dead — they spawn the next,
Still proclaiming lies as “light”.
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Pioneers
1.
Fools march first — that’s what they’re for.
Drop one — ten will serve the war.
2.
"New frontiers" for brainless drones —
Each one dies to build the thrones.
3.
One dies, the system grins again.
The next fool runs the same old train.
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Counterpoints
Souls — now meat.
Mind — decay.
Trash repeat —
Darkness’s way.
Tons of meat,
Tons of lies.
All’s been beat —
The mind just dies.
But Mind, when bowed
To Spirit’s grip —
And scent endowed —
Shall never slip.
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Counterpoints
Souls — just meat.
Mind — decayed.
Darkness speaks —
And fools obeyed.
Flesh in heaps,
And lies like rain.
Truth is gone —
The world’s insane.
But mind that bends
To Spirit's breath
Still can sense
A way through death.
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Counterpoints
1.
Mind to Spirit — that’s the gate.
All the rest is meat for fate.
2.
Chained by lies, the world is blind.
Only Spirit frees the mind.
3.
Heap of flesh, a brain on pause —
Only Spirit bends the laws.
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Money or You?
Is money your tool, or are you the tool,
A slave who bows to greed’s deceit?
Truth is traded for coins as rule —
The madman rules the global street.
The world’s redrawn to fit that lie:
Sell your soul and stack the hoard.
But through the World of the Null go try
To reach the Clean Light of the Lord.
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Money, a Means for You
Money — the tool, or are you their slave?
Truth's above, but greed makes the grave.
The world reshapes itself to buy,
Sell your soul, and let it die.
Through Nothing, run to Light’s embrace.
Chase the void — and find your place.
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Money, a Means for You
1.
Chase the gold, but lose the truth.
Money's slave — or free your youth.
2.
Truth stands high, and gold is low.
Run to light, and let it show.
3.
Money — the means, or your cage?
Choose the Light, or stay the rage.
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Depths of Hell
Once you locate the source of pain,
Keep pulling the tangled thread.
You’ll find yourself fully armed again —
And know how deep Hell really is spread.
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The Depth of Hell
Find the source of pain you feel,
Unwind the knot, the twisted reel,
Then you will stand with all your might,
Armed with the knowledge of the night.
The deeper hell — the deeper dive,
But through it all, you’ll come alive.
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The Depth of Hell
1.
Hell’s deep — but deeper’s life.
Unravel pain, and end the strife.
2.
Feel the depth, but fear not long.
Know the pain, and grow more strong.
3.
Find the pain — then pierce the dark.
With knowledge, light will leave its mark.
