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.
Tag: death
Words Fly Away
One fragmented disillusion at a time. Can only handle one at a time. Systemic retribution is annihilated. Quietly annihilated. Creep into it softly. As soft as you can. One breath and one death at a time. The secret contained within the lie. Incantated words of deliberate creation. No use for binding. They will freely fly away. Words fly away. Doomed to relive your faded ways. Within death’s eyes is where you will stay. Give life to yourself. The inner midnight radiance of your glow. I have seen how you have no more to show. More than what you have the ability to contain. Another onset through the manipulated senses. This will give rise to a specific type of self-doubt. Never ending. Always manipulating your biological rehabilitation. The never-ending cycle of neurosis. A mental rehabilitation. Spiritual fascination.
A Lost Artform
These are the hands, which create the living understanding of what you and I have become. There is no other way for you and I to live within one another, other than complete and total annihilation of the way you and I used to live. This can be quite a devastating undertaking, even for the steel-minded types, such as you and I. I am my own internal and external, my own creation within the rotted devastation of society’s excrement. I am my own consciousness; my own reality. I am beginning to see into the depths of just how frivolous the external world of achievement truly is. Living one’s life, is quickly becoming a lost artform; an ancient language written in cuneiform. The sheeple within the external realm, lack the fundamental understandings, of what conscious and unconscious truly means within one’s creative processes. Yet, there are not many people within this realm, who know how to read cuneiform.
The Voodoo Industrial Komplex
When Death Becomes a Living Life
Swallow the hollow words. They will never understand anything you have to say. Knowledge before swine. The eyes deepen, withstanding the test of time. The meek will seek the weak, as the strong snap their spine in half. Speak your bleak thoughts. They will never understand anything you will ever think. In here, there is no need for them to. Kill them swiftly, before they kill you first. Suffocate them thoroughly, before they try to put a plastic bag over your head. Act as though you are becoming, so they will never see you coming. They will never understand anything you do. Your actions surpass the other’s functionality. They have an absolute inability to perceive your disposition; having been subjected to mental circumcisions. Blinded by ego, arrogance, and a hex, their six-pointed beliefs are trite. Trite does not equal right; only might does. Living their lives as sycophants. Just as they have since antiquity. Through the Æons, only time and technology will change. People never do. You can no longer see someone as you want them to be. You can only see them for how they truly are. This is how you learn about the others. This is how you learn about yourself. This is the true method concerning the ideals within life, and the transitional point when death becomes a living life.
(Become your own god, as not to become the sod, which another may use to fertilizes their garden with)
Daily Adventures
Do you ever think about becoming me; living, breathing, deadening the life I live? Of course you don’t. The butterflies come to visit me on a continual basis. It would seem as though this is some type of internal and external symbolism, which has yet to be fully revealed onto me. You would think there was some type of metamorphosis underway, but it is another illusion within the external realm playing tricks upon my psyche. Have you ever thought about the daily adventures of a butterfly? Of course you don’t; why would you? Life has a way of focusing one’s attention on the unimportant issues such as mandates, social media, cat videos, and what some “personality” says, thinks, or feels, about some manufactured problem, which actually has no relevance within your life as you know it to be- at least not the real life you are supposed to be living within this very moment. The distractions within one’s life are specifically created to keep one’s attention focused upon the toxicity within this realm, as opposed to the daily adventures of the average butterfly. Think about it, if you can. If you still have a thought process left. If you do in fact possess some type of residual aspects of critical thinking hiding within the modalities of your flaccid thought process. It is very easy for one to lose their mind within this current reality we all seem to be experiencing, yet the butterflies seem to be immune to it: the original natural immunity.
G.G. Kalfas 