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The Horror Of Existence Sunny
there are moments in time, when one's dissatisfaction with one's existence in
this cruel world is so acute that one wishes that the self would simply not
exist. one wishes to end the constant barrage of thoughts which float out of
our brain, seemingly out of nowhere, constructs of our interration with reality.
its one of those moments when i can see why a junky would want to be a junky.
there are no thoughts when one is lying passed out in one's pad. no worries
about thoughts and other petty trivialities of life when all one needs to plan
for is ones addiction. ofcourse, even a junky thinks, they do not live in a
vaccum of thought. i saw a video of a crack junky once, where he did all these
depraved acts, yet behind all that you could still see his brain working. his
lust for destruction and his addict fix still had not totally clouded his
thought factory. moments like this, one hates oneself, this world we live in
and by default all that defines existence. i used to wish i was a sparrow or an
ant in my next reincarnation but now i think i would like to be a virus. i
would like my existence boiled down to the narrowest of definitons or actions
possible. live, replicate, die.
im bummed out because my one and only friend is slipping away from me. he's
playing mind games with me because i guess he thinks he's superior. i told him
some vulnebalities which perhaps i should not have. he senses my desparation to
hold on to him my only friend. the silence of being alone is terrifying. i
know of no surer method of going mad then being lonely. papillon in his self
titled book spent three years in solitary without speaking to anyone. three
years in a cell walking back and forth. the will power of such an action is
beyond comprehension. i know or used to know, he's disappeared these days, this
guy on who you could see the ravages of loneliness. he was desperate to be my
friend and i was desperate to drink to fuel my own destructive urges. after an
experience in a bar, where he nearly got beat up he blamed me. he did not want
to be friends anymore. but, in terms of loneliness he was even more distorted
than me in his perceptions. he used to call people who he felt were not in tune
with him dilentte. i was one of the good guys until i became dilentte. i saw
him recently from a distance. it was bothering him that people were walking
behind him. he had a fear of physical proximity of other bodies. he stepped
aside and pretended to be looking at something to let them by and then resumed
walking. i've done that sometimes too, but not so consciously.
this is not a story. i had no ending in mind when i started to write it. it is
simply an exploration of the distance that is between all human beings. we
build rules and constructs to bridge that gap. some would say we never succeed.
some would offer love as the ultimate bridge. i don't know. some moments are
unreal and one can only experience them and hope that we survive, to live on in
this reality, our thoughts forever spouting out of the cosmic soup of our
consciousness.
READER'S REVIEWS (4) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"You're absolutely correct... You had no idea what you were writing, where you were going or how to get there..." -- D. G. .
"Makes you think about life's john" -- Ben.
"i recently re-read my story, which i had previously thought to be horrible, because i have really high standards, but now i think it is not that bad. some of my writing does not conform to my own conscious opinion of how to write, but i guess subconsciously there is some organized talent/plan." -- sunny, dc, usa.
"GUESS AGAIN !" -- Molly.
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