Tag: vernal fire press
Deadening a Simple Way of Existing
It is in those tiny pieces of time; those tiny pieces in between each long and dragged out second, those long and tedious seconds, which create the moments within living through a lie. They are just as painful, as they are life consuming. Too much of life has been consumed by these tiny pieces of time, which have dragged life out for far too long. It was not supposed to end this way, but it seems to be the only way I have ever known. It was never supposed to end this way; it was never supposed to end on me. There is a fist within me; clenching my insides tightly. I have been within the grip of this clenching for all of my existence, it seems to have been born within me, when I was birthed into this vibration. The clenching has been with me for so long I forget it is there, hiding within me; holding, tugging, gripping, tearing, molding me into what I have become. There is a special kind of safety, I have found within this special type of torture; a commonality, a familiarity, a deadening, a simply way of existing. I wound not necessarily call it a way of living, as much as I would call it an emotional and mental mummification of the spirit. This clenching has not allowed me to evolve beyond a certain point within my life; holding me back, pulling me down to the point of submersion. I drown within my inner thoughts, my speech, and my life within this deep, unbearable clenching submersion. I have learned over and over again to breathe without breathing. This is a life consuming task, which I have grown accustomed to dealing with. It will move on me, more and more each day, as this is how I have learned to overcome the clenching’s hold over me. Over the course of my lifetime, I have learned how to master the submersion. This is the true difference between you and I; the true difference between life and death. This is the life of the internal, as this is the death of the external. I have now mastered both life and death. I have now mastered the illusory material, and the non-cognitive external. I no longer allow the clenching to defeat me within my life, as I now swim within the black waters of its clenching darkness. Now, I am the clenching’s master; I own her darkness.
Darkness Shining Upon the Sun
Shadows upon the records. Cyclical turns make the memories burn. Scarring the adorned flesh. Face-mask-mesh. Diseased air with a deadened stare. The density between you and I. Words of a craft. The witch’s talk. Words you have heard and adorned from your cradling. A child with wild aspiration. A woman with curves of devastation. Subtle lips. Caressing hips. Dips deep into my void. I am curious, mysterious, and intriguing that way. Guessing and blessing through life’s undressing. I know you know me. Strangers of an alternate reality. I know you know me. I am the darkness within your light. A satisfaction of infernal delight. Choices are made. Words are obeyed. Lives are slaved. Living life is the deconstruction of a skin trade. I know you know me. Thought of the records turning within your mind. Where did you go when you became lost within yourself? Another secret hiding place to feel safe within. Safety is the illusion you and I dream about every night. Alternate realities within alternate deities. Another secret and safe place to hide within. It is a secret you and I will never share with another soul, nor one another. I know your secrets, only because they are mine.
This is the Game the Humans Created
You hear it and see it all the time; in movies, books, television commercials, radio, online, everywhere: the world is not a safe place. The world is not a safe place, simply because people are not safe to be around. The world is fucked up, simply because people are fucked up. Everyone is trying to kill everyone, in some form or fashion; through any means available. Where is all of this coming from, or has it been here the whole time? It has been here the whole time, only now it is socially acceptable to be socially unacceptable. Fucking the other over is the name of the game of life. This is the game the humans created, not nature. Nature uses destruction to create, as humans use destruction to create profit; even if this means the destruction of all human life. What has made itself blatantly clear, is that no one cares about you, your life, or anything about you for that matter. You are not special or unique, all you are is a means to an end, for the real owners of this world. We are constantly being monitored every second of every day. We think we are having our own thoughts, but how many of our thoughts are actually are own? At every moment, we are bombarded with some type of propaganda. It is a never-ending regurgitation of forced-fed material, through a constant onslaught onto our senses. We are so used to it, we do not even notice it anymore. Our personal biorhythms, are being read, and detailed out, by all of the technology surrounding us. There will never be an end to it; this interpersonal invasion into our full being will continue to grow. This growth will eventually consume humanity, bringing about a new way of living life through a compartmentalization paradigm. Our daily lives, our personal relationship’s with other people, and the relationship we have with ourselves, are constantly being directly monitored by this invasion; all the time, every day, all day long.
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.
One Kiss and Swallow of a Slit Tongue
A casual encounter, within a cyst to remember. Another doubt to be considered. Doubting you will ever deliver. A promise into the night. When we both witnessed the new moon bright. The glow shined bright upon you and I. All through that night. You wanted to try. That was all you could do. There was not enough motivation for you to sink yourself in. You were fighting and biting, in between your cut-up words. Maintaining a silence, which would never be heard. You cannot change the death within your past. The life you died in was never meant to last. Giving birth to future lies, while creating knots with your twisted tongue. Witnessing the cataclysm behind your eyes. Scarred skin you will never mend or blend. This is when the sleep sets itself upon you. Deviant nocturnal gestures. Remembrances of blissful suicides, while blossoming and blooming itself into extinction. Untying the knots, will only make them tighter. A pretty noose to match your slit wrists. Delighted blood feast. Dinning within your corpses delight. Mangled and tangled. Deliverance within forgiveness. Hail the western winds of frailty. Seeking their lusts from within your enchantingly tainted womb. The growling and howling. Mating call of the tomb. Impregnating its hollowed sacrificial tendencies. Regrets never tasted. Used and destroyed. This hand knows your blame. A shame you sought out. It slit your throat. Twice. Not deep enough the first time. This is when I will use my other hand. This is how they know your blame. The blood remembers, as the mind is forgetful. Including me. Our defamation. The subtleness within the way we quietly kill one another. The embrace of chains upon one another’s chest. A glistening glow of the reached for torment. Simple variations of killing within beauty’s garden. One seed at a time. One kiss and swallow of a slit tongue. Feeling and feeding the inside of your mouth. Paralyzed cries. Servitude within your bleeding thighs. A reality we have both fantasized about. The inner breeding of bondage. Longing for its suffocating embrace. One at a time.
G.G. Kalfas 