The external type of murder will always visit us wearing a disguise. This disguise can be in the form of pain, agony, regret, mental and physical abuse, torture, indecisiveness, unfulfilled dreams, and anguish, just to name a few. These disguises are always foreboding, and never-ending. There are countless avenues in which this murder can, and eventually will reach out to you; touching and feeling you in the most intrusive manner. Never forget the murder which comes into your life, was undoubtedly invited by you. Anything which may cause you any type of pain in your life, can be relieved by focusing on it. This pain, is the catalyst needed to correct the situation, and to alleviate the pain immediately. I understand there may be some very specific situations within your life, which may not allow for you to undertake in this action, at this specific point in time. As long as there is action being taken within your life to remedy this tormenting influx, you will eventually have the ability to bypass this murderous disguise.
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.
“The Ballad of Feck” The Voodoo Industrial Komplex
Song: The Ballad of Feck
Artist: The Voodoo Industrial Komplex
copyright © 2019 The Voodoo Industrial Komplex/ G.G. Kalfas
“It’s My Mission” The Voodoo Industrial Komplex
Song: It’s My Mission
Artist: The Voodoo Industrial Complex
copyright © 2019 The Voodoo Industrial Komplex/ G.G. Kalfas
Pathological Frequencies
Spewing, renewing, and gluing your words into my ears. I have heard them before; many, many times over. I can recall all of your syllables from memory. You are a weak attempt of a soul sacrifice. A martyr onto yourself. The truest falsity within this frequency. You are sitting on the only worth you will ever be. Low expectations. None could be more relevant. Your pudgy, stubby fingers rub into your flesh, just as processed meat would rub into a bun. Your whole life has been processed into words with no meaning. The lens is the only eye which captures a glimpse into your lie. Your life. Your words. Your meaning. This is when the memories of your tarnished undertakings cease. Cradled. Intertwined. Maligned malignancy. A grown frequency living in infancy. Pathological. Eviscerate and exterminate the ingrate.
Blatantly
A whisper. A glimpse into your reality. Next time, you should probably keep it to yourself. All of it. No one wants to know about you. You may think they do, but they are really lying to your face. Blatantly. Next time, you should probably wear your own face, not someone else’s. I know what you are thinking…you are trying to understand, and figure out why I am telling you all of this. I assure you, it is not to benefit you in the slightest, it is only my sick sense of humor at work. I like to see those who project lies into the world suffer: greatly. You greatly deserve your pain. Your undecided precious agony, torment, and self-ridicule, suit you in such a seductive way. I will watch you shine, then peel away at yourself. These are the trademarks of the disgusting habits we all seem to share. This seems to be the only bond you are able to create with those around you. You are probably better off that way.
Midnight
Without a desire. We become a liar. Ourselves. Futile fertilized. A fire of your desire. Put out from black lips. Life’s silhouettes dancing within the shadows of your equilibrium. Laughing at you. Gagging on laughter. Giggling little girls. Twirls. Hair wrapped around tiny fingers. They do the most damage. Sucking in the air. Suffocating all of those who are around. Cannot breathe. Cannot seethe. Release the beast onto them all. Ripping out their equilibrium’s. Quickly devouring all of the flowers within their body’s devastated garden. Choke hold over the bold. Midnight sacrifice. This is when the tangled web begins to beg. No mercy will ever be shown. Lips sip. Torture grips. The midnight which has failed to grow.
G.G. Kalfas 