Dig deep. Look for it underneath the skin. In search of the remnants of what was previously lived. The new skin is not that comfortable. Not as thick as the skin previously worn. Give it time to callus. Given enough time, it just might suffocate. I have been called every name in the book. It’s funny how I was the one whom authored the book. It is a slow process. So slow it will peel the skin straight from the facia. In a strange way, we are all searching for something to connect with. Unfortunately, purpose and meaning cannot survive without a connection to be nurtured from.
Author: ggkalfas
G.G. Kalfas is an American born author and publisher. He is also the noted author of many books, which encompass his experiences within life and death, as these experiences are displayed through the subject matter of his short stories. His intention for writing these books, is to display the importance of philosophy and psychology, as they play an integral part of the development contained within the experience of the human condition. Within his development, G.G. was compelled towards music, poetry, art, philosophy, and psychology. He was also the lead guitarist in a Houston based metal band, as well as the owner of an underground art gallery. He now spends his time writing about the darkness within the human expression, while exploring the hidden knowledge contained within the depths of life, death, and what may or may not exist beyond human consciousness.
Inevitably
The anxiety might set in, as the nausea will soon make an appearance. One may ask themselves; is it worth it? No; it rarely ever is. One may also ask themselves; how did I get here? You unknowingly brought yourself here, or life quietly brought you to this arrangement, as there is usually a purpose and means for the unexplainable. Nevertheless, you are now here. The only way to heal this wound is to kill every last one of those mother fuckers. Not literally, but in the metaphorical sense (eye wink).
Necrotic Whispers
It is as delicate and solitary, as the night is dark and indulgent. My mind. You have prodded at it enough. Callused membrane. Futility exists, when trying to comprehend its contents. There is no use to indulge yourself within the realms of honesty and purity. There are no thoughts for you to reflect upon, or to bathe within. The sweet sad notes of your voice; lingering and tingling within the shards of broken glass you swallowed. There is no future here for you to dwell within. There only exists the past of consecrated misfortunes and prior devastations, which will only know your broken words and thoughts, for your consideration. The tingling of shattered nerves, seem to scratch and itch within themselves. Ready to ignite the soulmates and the soul’s fates. You were speaking empty words, with a native tongue, within the singularity of tempting the masses. Your people. Sweating and wetting upon your unguarded fleshy mind. A doormat for strangers to walk over. Welcome. Come on in. Make yourself at home. The song within your beaten heart, will never be sung nor heard. The stinging within your words, will forever linger upon your dripping tongue. Another shattered and lathered bedtime story. Waiting for me to tuck you in; tucking you back into your coma. Time flies when you are unconscious, as this is the best way to travel. Dead weight as carry-on luggage. Dead weight for others to carry-on. An inconsideration you will always consider. I can hear your necrotic whispers in my ears. You thought they would sound sexy in my ears. My ears have heard it all.
Humanities Downfall
I referred to them as those unidentifiable cravings. You know; those specific desires one may have to go out into the world, and simply live within it. How does one go out into the world to live within it, when there no longer seems to be any type of emotional connection to it whatsoever? The disdain for the external is becoming more and more difficult to live with. It is as though I am watching the humans larping through their daily lives. Authenticity seems to have perished, along with any type of morals and ethics, which the majority of humans possessed at one time during their evolution. Yeah, you’re right; the humans never did have much to do with morals and ethics. Yes; it does seem as though humanity is simply a slideshow of narcissistic buffooneries; maintaining some type of equilibrium through finding importance with everything in life, which really does not have any type of importance associated to it. Do you think this is the new humanity; the final evolution of the human race? Yeah, but, how did we go from Aristotle to social media influencers? Yeah, you’re right; larping was humanities downfall.
A Name With No Meaning
It might be necessary to simply let go of wanting to achieve hopes, dreams, aspirations, and goals. It might be necessary to simply let go, and to live life within one’s true self. There is no external world, for hopes, dreams, aspirations, and goals to live within, as these types of paradigms only exist within the external, not the internal. I am my own internal and external. I am my own consciousness. I am my own reality. I am beginning to see just how frivolous the external world of achievement truly is. Achievement within the external is measured by what you can get, how much you can get, and how one may look within another’s eyes. What a waste of energy that is. Living one’s life, has truly become a lost artform. Not many of the others possess any type of comprehension of what consciousness truly is. It is another lost regimen, an informal specimen within the cracks and crevasses of the human soul. Life without a purpose or a goal. Living deep within a self-created hole. It is the living manifestation within fear and hesitation, which creates the worthless glorification of life’s cessations. There is no more life to live or to give, within a name with no meaning. The robin has always flown alone, searching hurriedly for his lost home. Looking for a place he can fit in, but has not found a place where he can begin. Life began a long time ago, yet Death has pulled a thread, which Life forgot to sew. Rip, torn, and spread, the life which was once lived and read. Another sarcasm, another phantasm, another reason, another internal treason. When eyes have the power and possess a taste which is sour, dirt shall be all which is left to devour. Another truth with no worth, another psychological mishap, another verbalized jaw strap. The conclusion to a life once lived. It died a long time ago, along with the goodness in me.
Dark Auras
Sifting within the glistening sin. Hands bound without a sound. Disdain for the profound and profane. There is nothing else sweeter than the putrid embrace of your pain. Release the deceased living from within. Bury the dead with the rest of the words, which have already been said. A new Aeon arrives, as it can see thorough your illusory disguise. Embrace the dark aura of wilted indolence, as this will be the only way you will find your internal independence. Words can be enchanting, but your Death can be more hypnotic. Yet, life has a way of becoming lost within one’s created chaotic. A Dark Aura, is a gift from the Universal. Unfortunately, many of the others, treat life as though it was some type of preparational rehearsal. I can assure you; it is not. This is it. This is all you have, as this is all you are, within this brief moment of your life. If it gets better, or if it gets worse; it is solely up to you. Now fuck off.
G.G. Kalfas 