Always Wondering

Hey guys, my first post of writing here, just some junk from my journal

I wonder what life is like for other people sometimes. I wonder how they survey their surroundings. What THEY think of the current state of the world, and what the future possibly holds for them. How do they feel when the sun is shining? Do they even pick up on that feeling? What do they feel like when someone laughs at their misfortune? Or kicks them when they are down? Is my car nice to you, or is it ugly? Am I attractive? What does that person think of me, the way I look, the way I walk and smile, the way I talk and the way the light shines from my open eyes? Does that guy look at himself in the mirror when he brushes his teeth? Does that girl plan for her child’s future? Does ANYONE else think these thoughts? What if the world knew that it was collapsing over me? Would it all just keep caving in on itself? Does she love me anymore? Did she ever love me?
I’m recalling a time when I was about 16, I had been living on several friends couches for a few months, occasionally sleeping outside, on park benches and such when I couldn’t find someone willing to put up with me for a night. I was at a friends house with several other people, and we had all eaten magic mushrooms, playing musical instruments and attempting to establish connection, mental connections, friends, human beings, on the earth out of time soaking in the light the sun the air the energy buzzing like a machine hat walkie talkie moon signal shifter receiver. Sharing a couple good laughs, discussed some politics, the end of the world, Mexican food, and some other useless non sense. I was laying on the bed with my friend, I remember her hair was pink, (or was MY hair pink? Hmmm…) and I was opened to a vision on the ceiling of myself, lying in a bed of clouds and frozen dew drops sparkling around, and I was pointing at myself, lying on the bed. So naturally I reached out and pointed back at myself. When our fingers touched the vision rippled away into obscurity and I was left with a feeling of horror, I felt my stomach drop and my temperature rise. Sweating and nervous, anxiety setting in but for some reason I was still very calm, I had another vision, more of an open eyed day dream this one, where I saw myself again (I must be a very self centered person!) only, I was older, maybe 30 or so, and I was still homeless, only nobody was there with me. I mean sure, there were people all around me, I was in some center city sitting on the sidewalk, but I had no friends or family that cared for me left. Just the hollow future faces walking past me, some glancing at me, never disgusted or inviting, just glancing plainly, blank and hollow. I noticed myself, I was wearing dirty, old clothes, definitely not my size, and I was sitting cross leg style on the cement, staring up into the sky. Traveling through the elapsed light path patterns left from burned out stars, dizzying dazzling bright eyed window to my flat consciousness, I realized then what I am beginning to realize now, but that’s not important. It was that debilitation anxiety, the acknowledgement of the fact that I had lost everyone and everything important to me, and that my life was basically everyone worst nightmare, only, that nightmare is barely even possible for the majority of people whom I have known. Everybody as Somebody, some method of contact to keep the sanity level balanced and on point. So yea, there I was, my life had gone down the drain, and I was getting the sense that I had thrown it all away somehow. Maybe it was going to be drugs, maybe it was a girl that turned me inside out, maybe it was the inability to swallow some pride and ride the scree, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, that is how I felt, and as a 16 year old kid allowing this to consume his SELF, his realized self and his separated self, (for it took me stepping out of me to realize me and have this vision of the backwards future me) tripping on mushrooms and potentially looking back and throwing it all up.
Several weeks later, I left for my first ‘trip’ around the country, backpacking, riding greyhound, hitchhiking, squatting, stealing, running, tripping, smoking, drinking, partying, om-ing, praying, sleeping, jamming, fucking, preaching, rarely eating, and never crying. How my idiocy continually managed to break down into my blood, like I was born with a time release coating of insanity, my youthful ambition and delusion of invincibility took hold of the essence of my existence and propelled me forward (? I like to think so) into a rare void that few children my age dream of entering. Not the journey, or journeys, themselves actually, but the retarded situation I put myself in on a nearly daily basis. There is no other explanation for what I have done to my life, especially after all of the warning signs I had been given. Looking back on that, and looking forward, makes me warm. My mind relaxes and I can almost smile when I think about how the sun looked from the curb swarming mosquitos never higher never farther away yet closer to my heart. My son is asleep upstairs, and I wonder, will I be a good father to him? Will he grow to love me? Will I always be there for him, no matter what, instead of being on the street someday? What does he think when he looks at my face? Does he follow what I do? Does he love me like I love him? What about my car? Does he enjoy the sunshine, or does he even notice its power? Does he like his name? Does he like my name? What does he think of life so far? Does the color green look the same through his eyes? What about blue? Will he study his mind? I hope so, the beginning of our spiritual journey, no matter where it may lead and label itself as, starts, the moment when we question our existence. Hare Krsna.

 

Welcome to writers forum Krsna Bhakti. I tried reading your work and stopped about a fifth of the way through.

The reason for that is:

If you want someone to read your story, then you have to try and write it in a way so that it doesn't sound like a police interrogation.

Not even the Gestapo asked as many questions as you did in your opening paragraph.

The only question that remained in my mind after sailing through that irritating self-righteous tsunami was "Why did I continue reading this?"

I'm sure you can do better than this, so try again and ask yourself "How can I make this the most interesting opening paragraph I have ever written, so that people will actually want to read this?"

The only questions you need to ask are for yourself, not your reader. Your reader is your guest. He has to relax into your reading, not drown in it.

 

Thanks for at least trying to read it

But the whole point is the questioning, if you had read to the end, you would see why, awaking into spirituality is the purpose I feel that they are fair quesitons, that most people ask at some point in their life, but if it doesnt work for you guys thats ok! Like I said it is just something from a journal, i know its sloppy, sorry guys.

 

hey dont apologise, the great Fred Murray once wrote a book based on that sort of thing
however he was a horse racing and cricket commentator.

Why not see if WS is right and send your story to Mossad, the israeli secret service, they will tell you whether they start questioning people as rapidly as yopu question life.

Personally I would buy it for £3000 if you want to publish, but unfortunately I dont have £3000

 

Strangely enough I saw a film about the Stasi (the East German secret police) where they used to interrogate people for 48 hours asking them constant questions! The suspects always break down after 48 hours. Those who are guilty tend to cry, because they know they are guilty and are feeling sorry for themselves and what will happen to them. Those who are not guilty tend to get angry for being inconvenienced. So remember that if you ever get caught by the secret police.

 

that was amazing!

wow.. can i say I love you ?

I've been stalking you in the forums after your thread on Soul Mates,and then I encounter this, its so personal, I love it, when a person lets you get insideand in every word you can feel what they feel and question the same questions.
I think that's the best we can do, question ourselves and life, a question is always right and a little thinking comes as a consequence (or a lot )
Im very intrigued by your person, is it because I feel I can relate to you, somehow? is it because I feel you are so wise?...
I dont know you, but from what I know your son is lucky to have a dad like you and just...I dont know, makes me happy to see a person like you, thinking the things you are thinking and writing the things you are writing.

 

Aw your too nice
Of course you can say you love me lol I love everyone! Or, at least I try to

 

yes she really is TOO nice

 

I've come to a most wonderful realization today! haha
But if I shared it with you, I would be going against my own philosophy.
Good day Ronald

 

ok ya gotta share that now
but btw that was an amazing peice of writting
to all the crittics questioning the questions we ask ourselves then questioning the answers we recieve, isnt that the only true path toi wisdom?
sorry if self awareness & enlightenment gets boring
perhaps your more confortable with menatal masterbation

 

Thank you Eagle.
Not many souls are as developed, tolerant, and accepting as you are.
I mean it.
And, I will send you a PM when I have time to explain it properly, but I dont wish to expose it in public because it is not something that will be accepted, and I dont want to come off as a holier than thou type at all

 

ahh ok sounds good ill be here
glad all the questioning brought on realizations that after all is the result we seek
& perhaps were we end up if we just doent stop 1/5 of the way into the journey

 

hey...

now I want to know too.



have I mentioned Im very curious?

 

So is there any secret to life's mystery that we're all missing then, guys, or is it someone that Douglas Adams would tak the piss out of, who takes themself a little bit too seriously? If so where is it? I want two.

 

I think it was good but i think it was kinda hard to read in that it was too concentrated -A long chunky peice of text doesn't look very interesting no matter how good the writing is (which it was) but i read the comments before the text and if it didn't hav a good response i probably wouldn't hav read it (soz)

But jus cos someone doesn't like this sort of stuff doesn't mean they'll be into 'mental masterbation' or however you spell it. I mean like with music we have all these raags etc but they're not really my thing and thats not anyones fault thats just preference,

 

Krsna:
Like the other guy said, you've got to break up your monologue or your readers will drift off. Look at my stuff on this forum and you'll see pictures of islands, electric chairs, grey whales, girls, you name it. Plus, I occasionally put a

Bold paragraph heading
into my work when there's a new topic. Also, if I make a speling eror I look it up and correct it, because I want to be taken seriously.

Given a little basic punctuation and reformatting, you'll keep your readers interested. Please take the criticism positively -- you have a lot to offer.

 

I had to stop reading it due to a lack of white space. You should break it up into paragraphs.


I was laying on the bed with my friend, I remember her hair was pink, (or was MY hair pink? Hmmm…) and I was opened to a vision on the ceiling of myself, lying in a bed of clouds and frozen dew drops sparkling around, and I was pointing at myself, lying on the bed. So naturally I reached out and pointed back at myself. When our fingers touched the vision rippled away into obscurity and I was left with a feeling of horror, I felt my stomach drop and my temperature rise. Sweating and nervous, anxiety setting in but for some reason I was still very calm, I had another vision, more of an open eyed day dream this one, where I saw myself again (I must be a very self centered person!) only, I was older, maybe 30 or so, and I was still homeless, only nobody was there with me. I mean sure, there were people all around me, I was in some center city sitting on the sidewalk, but I had no friends or family that cared for me left. Just the hollow future faces walking past me, some glancing at me, never disgusted or inviting, just glancing plainly, blank and hollow. I noticed myself, I was wearing dirty, old clothes, definitely not my size, and I was sitting cross leg style on the cement, staring up into the sky. Traveling through the elapsed light path patterns left from burned out stars, dizzying dazzling bright eyed window to my flat consciousness, I realized then what I am beginning to realize now, but that’s not important. It was that debilitation anxiety, the acknowledgement of the fact that I had lost everyone and everything important to me, and that my life was basically everyone worst nightmare, only, that nightmare is barely even possible for the majority of people whom I have known. Everybody as Somebody, some method of contact to keep the sanity level balanced and on point. So yea, there I was, my life had gone down the drain, and I was getting the sense that I had thrown it all away somehow. Maybe it was going to be drugs, maybe it was a girl that turned me inside out, maybe it was the inability to swallow some pride and ride the scree, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, that is how I felt, and as a 16 year old kid allowing this to consume his SELF, his realized self and his separated self, (for it took me stepping out of me to realize me and have this vision of the backwards future me) tripping on mushrooms and potentially looking back and throwing it all up.
Several weeks later, I left for my first ‘trip’ around the country, backpacking, riding greyhound, hitchhiking, squatting, stealing, running, tripping, smoking, drinking, partying, om-ing, praying, sleeping, jamming, fucking, preaching, rarely eating, and never crying. How my idiocy continually managed to break down into my blood, like I was born with a time release coating of insanity, my youthful ambition and delusion of invincibility took hold of the essence of my existence and propelled me forward (? I like to think so) into a rare void that few children my age dream of entering. Not the journey, or journeys, themselves actually, but the retarded situation I put myself in on a nearly daily basis. There is no other explanation

I was laying on the bed with my friend, I remember her hair was pink, (or was MY hair pink? Hmmm…) and I was opened to a vision on the ceiling of myself, lying in a bed of clouds and frozen dew drops sparkling around, and I was pointing at myself, lying on the bed. So naturally I reached out and pointed back at myself. When our fingers touched the vision rippled away into obscurity and I was left with a feeling of horror, I felt my stomach drop and my temperature rise. Sweating and nervous, anxiety setting in but for some reason I was still very calm.

I had another vision, more of an open eyed day dream this one, where I saw myself again (I must be a very self centered person!) only, I was older, maybe 30 or so, and I was still homeless, only nobody was there with me. I mean sure, there were people all around me, I was in some center city sitting on the sidewalk, but I had no friends or family that cared for me left. Just the hollow future faces walking past me, some glancing at me, never disgusted or inviting, just glancing plainly, blank and hollow. I noticed myself, I was wearing dirty, old clothes, definitely not my size, and I was sitting cross leg style on the cement, staring up into the sky.

Traveling through the elapsed light path patterns left from burned out stars, dizzying dazzling bright eyed window to my flat consciousness, I realized then what I am beginning to realize now, but that’s not important. It was that debilitation anxiety, the acknowledgement of the fact that I had lost everyone and everything important to me, and that my life was basically everyone worst nightmare, only, that nightmare is barely even possible for the majority of people whom I have known. Everybody as Somebody, some method of contact to keep the sanity level balanced and on point. So yea, there I was, my life had gone down the drain, and I was getting the sense that I had thrown it all away somehow.

Maybe it was going to be drugs, maybe it was a girl that turned me inside out, maybe it was the inability to swallow some pride and ride the scree, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it was, that is how I felt, and as a 16 year old kid allowing this to consume his SELF, his realized self and his separated self, (for it took me stepping out of me to realize me and have this vision of the backwards future me) tripping on mushrooms and potentially looking back and throwing it all up.

Several weeks later, I left for my first ‘trip’ around the country, backpacking, riding greyhound, hitchhiking, squatting, stealing, running, tripping, smoking, drinking, partying, om-ing, praying, sleeping, jamming, fucking, preaching, rarely eating, and never crying. How my idiocy continually managed to break down into my blood, like I was born with a time release coating of insanity, my youthful ambition and delusion of invincibility took hold of the essence of my existence and propelled me forward (? I like to think so) into a rare void that few children my age dream of entering. Not the journey, or journeys, themselves actually, but the retarded situation I put myself in on a nearly daily basis. There is no other explanation

See the difference.

 

I think its clear some people really like this piece.
my only advice is, if you wish to write for others rather than just for yourself, maybe plan it a bit first and write down some things that you hope your readers will take away from your writing.
I don't think its a difficult to piece to read to the end, but there is so much information that I think one could feel a bit overwelmed.
Writing a piece like that for yourself is pretty great for self healing and self reflection though
S

 

Let me comment about content, rather than style. In your first paragraph you tell us you're afraid of being down and out. So am I. That's why I get up at 4 AM to be on the job by 5 AM, 11 days in every 14.
In your list of activities,
" backpacking, riding greyhound, hitchhiking, squatting, stealing, running, tripping, smoking, drinking, partying, om-ing, praying, sleeping, jamming, fucking, preaching, rarely eating..."
there's one little word that I didn't see. "Working".

 

Thats very judgemental, on this persons lifestyle, this isn't about you and you getting up to do your job, or about trying to force a work ethic on someone else, its about their written piece, what you think about 'work' not being there isn't important
S