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Демагогия в марксизме

Владимир Кузьмич

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В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз"). - Вторые всегда стремятся стать первыми. Но ресурсы власти – у п...

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Артем Тюльников

Год написания книги

2023

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With amorality engrain

And desolation underlain.

Debauchery is their swain

While loathing is demimondaine.

To utter chaos those damned aspects are germane.

The only thought born in my brain

Can sprout rifts upon my lane.

So it’ll be like sprinting with an ankle sprain,

Or fishing with a ragged seine,

Or trying to catch your image in a mirror that has known no tain.

It’s something I’m contriving to contain.

Since stimuli fail to response, I can’t complain.

As my disguise is soaked with halothane -

The thing’s addictive as cocaine.

It won’t get through this wrap, this cellophane.

And after all I can’t be fain.

To do the things that desecrate my fane.

Just like a trickster who could never deign

To say: “You have been strangled by chicane

My art’s your trust and my legerdemain”.

With ease my path I preordain.

I’ll always be non-flammable propane.

My grip is that of polyurethane

To travel on against the grain…

I’m out of breath, though run amain.

Leaving the trench of my champaign,

Trying to save what you profane.

Oh, what a hopeless scatterbrain!

To nihilism you are a counterstain.

That is the time when I under great strain

Watch everything go down the drain.

Oneness of Two Is Halved Once They Are Turned Moirе

A crew of order and shambolic disarray -

Two factions that’ll never stop their fray,

One’s in the lead after another’s clandestine endplay -

Perpetual, skewed and so agley -

A blatantly recurrent, maddening stairway.

It’s reminiscent of a sinuous byway,

Or rather a refracted ray.

And surface flat becomes a brae.

The foundation proves to have a thin backstay.

The main road infiltrates subway,

Where conscience is too firm to slip away,

And chaos strives for holding sway.

Waging a battle on a tray

That will be served to feed “Dismay”.

Was ordered to reveal love’s hideaway.

We were to find a needle in a heap of hay,

To go against the grains of time and leave unscathed with walkaway.

To claim permissiveness the order of the day,