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.
Tag: blog
Pretentious Pretending
The sounds of the sirens keep knocking. The looks from their eyes keep staring. An easy distraction, which will pull you under its spell. Basic words for basic minds. I know you don’t mind. I know you do not understand my words, wordings, or meaning. A one hit wonder that no one wonders about. A cyclops-minded type of enthusiasm, which leaves you emptied, but full of guilt. Those day have now died, along with the attention you once had. And no, you will never see it again. I know you still do not understand my words, but your pretentious type of pretending suits you the best.
Happiness
The only thing which brings a glimpse of happiness into my life is writing these blog posts.
A Lie You Could Never Deny
It has now ended. All of this without having a beginning. No understanding. For what it was created for. I could see the despairing look within your eyes. Distant and ever-glaring. Your skeleton kisses. Numb, lacking conviction. There was no feeling or emotion put into any one of them. A routine you know all too well. I was just another. A man from a mother. A man you felt needed to know the power of your rejection. A man who was going to show you a deep internal infection. It was not that powerful. As the stories would allow you to believe. I have dealt with atrocities such as yourself for most of my life. One of my avid pastimes. You can provide the heartbreaking part. I will provide the breaking part. Your inner sights have been blinded; never seeing the created damage of your life. You are in fact the damaged damage. The internal and external defamation of solicited ideologies. You are the stagnation of misinterpreted philosophies. Hollow body. Life’s commodity. Everything and everyone are for sale. Sale of the century. Sale of impiety. The sale of living in betrayal. Liquidating your morals and standards. Pennies on the dollar. Auctioning your standards off to the highest bidder. You are extraordinarily protective of your lost nature. I have never held you responsible for yourself. Many of the sheeple do not know they have the power to be responsible for themselves. I know you were not always this way. I knew you before you started your exploitation expedition. You took a couple of wrong turns. Never caring to get right with yourself. This is why you have harvested the shattered memories within your burnt garden of lies. This is what created your landscape of disillusionment. There is nothing to reach out to within your psyche. There is no communication within sight. Just the shallow end of your cesspool, which may need a little bit more chlorine. Pissing in the pool. You described yourself as deep, honest, and spiritual. It was a lie you could never deny. I have caught you in many of these, many of times. I have dealt with enough lies within my life. I can smell the lies before the mouth putrefies the air with their syllables. I will allow you to maintain the belief of you being strong. You are as strong, as steel is weak. You will never again know my thoughts. I will give you exactly what you have given to me. Nothing.
I Know You Do
It is these hollow mornings that will definitely eat you alive. In one solid bite. In one solid swallow. Those softly creeping footsteps you keep hearing coming from behind you, those footsteps are the sound of uncertainty coming to pay you a visit. An old friend who would like to remind you of your life and of your past. As though you do not have enough remnants of your past haunting you on a daily basis, uncertainty wants to make sure you absorb it fully, wholly, and completely. All of it. Every tiny morsel. Family and friends are also laughing at you. They never could understand your thought process, let alone anything which makes you who you are. The voices are grading and intruding upon one’s consciousness; violating the serenity wanting to bloom from within. No one could ever understand me, but I know you do. At least you act as though you do.
I am a Realist
It can be a confining feeling; being locked up within your mind your whole/hole life. There is no escape from the prison of one’s mind. A common place I have seemed to find myself in on a daily basis. There is no shelter in here, only the confining torment of the mind’s tricks and pleasures. A carousel of regrets, self-hatred, and lost opportunities. There is no escape from one’s self. To feel special and unique; this is a daydream only dreamers and deceivers fondle themselves in. I myself am a realist, as I can taste the bloodlust behind closed eyes. I can feel the temptations draining and rotting me from within. This is why I crave the isolation chamber; to keep the beast hidden from within, away from the rest of the world. No one has ever mistaken me for one of those weak-minded or weak-willed sycophants, who constantly need to be validated by complete and total strangers. The only thing worse than that, is being a stranger within one’s own mind.
G.G. Kalfas 