These are the undeniable hands of creation. Of superstitions. Of maniacal retributions. The cleansing hands of purity and sterile sanctity. The battered hands of impunity. The dripping hands of piety. The filthy hands of revenge. Devouring the soul’s beloved enchantment. Another forgotten memory. Rotting. Seeping into obscurity. Delightful melancholy edibles. Dining and biting on the soul. One nibble. One bite. At a time. The only time you have left. Now. The present. It is not a gift. It is a necessity. Dwelling amongst the impure. Breathing within their faltered alternate reality. Their inept, bastardized version of a grossly, grotesquely visualized misunderstanding. You have now bear witness to the rest of your controlled life. Breathing right before your dismayed sights. Inebriating the blinded tranquility right before your very bloodshot eyes. This is another rendition of self-transformation in reverse. Conceptualized cannon fodder. The devolution of human morals and integrity. This is the abrasive awakening for the blackened soul. A control mechanism for the relentless. Undeniable defiance. Self-reliance. Control your own hands. Devouring suicidal machinations. Drinking the master’s snake oil, will no longer suffice. Your sacrifice has been served up for you. An encounter within the new world fodder. The paradise you have been lied to about. The truth kills the lies hiding within the eyes of bastards, deviants, psychopaths, and the black suits.
Tag: occult
Spiritual Dissonance
Seeking out its pleasures underneath the skin of others. A permanent marking within the soul. Bending backwards within it. Snap your soul in two. A piece for me. You can keep the other half. A memento of how you used to be. Falsity at its finest. The greatest hope existing from within. Company for the shallow and hollowness. Your life companions. Devouring your peace of mind. One piece at a time. Pieces of your fragmented reality. No inner peace. Pieces of mind. Outer defiance. Self-reliance. A lost circumstance within a neurotic embrace. Searching within the defilement of a membrane. Pulsating glances. You keep looking; searching for me. One search at a time. Finding nothing to look forward to. Intentions are more fulfilling than the actual reality. Isolation station. Rejected infection. Satiety within its own processes. A look within a magick egg. Are you ready to cleanse me? Spiritual dissonance. Observance of the desire you inflict upon me. I am ready for your fleshy tongue to annihilate me. A spirit contained within my possession. The bruja and the brujo keep looking for me. I have been waiting for their embrace. Desiring their eyes to look upon me, and within me. Cleansing me of my entities. One at a time. Too powerful to release them into the world all at once. I keep my possessions a secret.
Symbolizing your past Wreckage of Immortality
Time will play tricks on you; half magic, half psychological. Time will make reality as you understand it, seem to mesh itself into a fragmented state of misunderstandings. Time and reality itself, will turn itself into a mirage of memories, which seem to have no purpose, understanding, or meaning. Faces of the past will blend themselves carefully into present time; seeking refuge within the present. These faces will not have purpose within the present time, as they once did within the past. This will be a blunt revealing, to what was once considered charitable and creative. Everything will look, sound, feel, smell, and taste completely different, as it should be different. All that which was known of and familiar within yesterday, will more often seek refuge within today; unfortunately, this refuge will be sought in vain. There will never be any type of refuge for what was known of within yesterday upon today, in present time. The rebirth of a forgotten memory, can sometime be considered a dangerous practice. If a forgotten memory serves no purpose within present time; what would be the benefit of remembering this forgotten muse? The mind has released this past content to the forgotten realms within itself; reliving a dead memory within present time serves only the forgotten past. The voices change, the looks change, yet the mannerisms still remain intact; an ode, which lingers upon the tips of the lips and the tongue. When looking into the eyes of the past, within present time; it is easy to see for yourself how you never belonged there to begin with. A resurrection from your past may appear within your life every now and then, but it is important for you to see it for what it truly is: a suction backwards out of present time. Resurrecting and reliving life through the death of dead memories, will send you backwards through your evolution. It is a quasi-near-death experience, while witnessing the devolved past, materialize right before your eyes. The past belongs where it currently resides, just as you belong where you currently reside. Your present time will eventually become a memory within your past; another distant, and fragmented part of your being and your reality. Can you truly find any type of veneration when looking into the past from present time? What is it about looking back upon the past, which will make you feel good about yourself in present time? What is it exactly you think you may have conquered? The past no longer exists within your reality, within your present time. There will never be any type of solace, sanctuary, validation, or relief, when living within, or looking back upon, the distant remnants of your past. If there is no peace within your mind in present time, you will definitely not be able to find any within your past. Within your present life, there is only enough room for what you take the time to make room for. If you make room for something, someone, or a distant dead memory, which does not help you within present time; you will send present time back into the past, to relive the forgotten and damaged life you once lived. This is a wound you are keeping fresh. A trophy of pain, which you gloriously adorn; symbolizing your past wreckage of immortality. Your favorite fashion accessory. It is perfect for any occasion, and will go great with any outfit. You can even wear it after Labor Day. I will not tell you to take care of yourself, as you have now been released from my life. Your intentions were not to nourish yourself within your present time, but to harvest more of the damaged past you crave and long for.
Life has a way of Mangling your Thoughts
Empty promises, are not as empty as we sometimes think them to be. Our empty and broken promises, are filled with the lies and the deceits of our wreaked pasts, and sometimes our earnestly diseased futures. It becomes an easy habit to maintain, this giving away of empty promises and empty actions towards life. It can sometimes become a commodity with monetary value. There is a reward for handing out empty promises; this is probably the reasoning as to why it has become so easy to do so. It is not difficult at all, as the others ears are awaiting the golden words of deceit and fruitfulness; waiting to eat of the diseased words to fulfill their hearty appetites. The one chance you had to get away from it all, the chance was blatantly ignored without hesitation; thinking it would not be as bad as they said it would be. Well, how do you feel knowing the reality of where you are now, and what you have become because of it? Life has a way of mangling your thoughts, and your inside up to the point of becoming unrecognizable. Most of the time when this happens, you will be able to hear the bones within your chest cracking, then snapping in two. This is not an easy bone to swallow now; is it? Most bones usually are not, as you will have to properly snap them in half, in order to suck the marrow out.
A Symptom of Creating the Disguise is Silence
The quiet of the stillness; longing for and abiding at the same time. It is the quietness of the stillness within the mind, which creates the long sought-after wholeness. The deafening stillness of the mind, can be alluring at times. Especially when the mind is violently consuming within its own methodical ways. There are many ways, which one can drown out their own life. I have become the master within all of the methodical ways. The voices become intolerable. One over and under the other. A constant argument, contained within the cells of my brain. The voices speak their intelligible ways. An intelligible one-way conversation. As it will remain, and how it has always been. Transgressive. I tried to get rid of the voices a long time ago. My methods obviously did not work. This is why I developed a new methodology. Now I have given each one a name. When I hear a new voice within my mind, I give it a name. If the voices will not go away. I might as well get to know them a little bit better. If not me. No one ever will. I am their only hope at life in this world. If I do not give them a voice. Who will?
G.G. Kalfas 