# Indicative of Self Loathing



## Pidgeon84 (Jun 29, 2014)

So for  a while my short stories were just weird,  shapeless, extentions of my poetry.  No plot or story to really speak of,  just weird metaphorical nonsense. This is one of those stories. 

I awoke on a snowy beach. Lips blue, breath thick in the air. I sat up and sighed at the loss of another dream. Another dream ending in self destruction. They always felt so real, but never real enough. There's always a sense of a sort of, two dimensionalism. But then again so did this place. I wasn't sure what was real anymore. I looked out at the water. It stopped at the horizon yet it was infinite, and it made me think if there was anything past this. Made me wonder if this too was just a figment. I heard light footsteps in the sand behind me. A girl walked by, she wasn't real. Just a mannequin, a model I created for use in my imagination. She was meant to keep me company but only made it all the more lonely. Only made me long for someone capable of question or thought... God damn it's cold here. I walked over to her. No heat, no scent, no emotion. Maybe one day I would wake and she would be real. Until then I guess I would just keep walking through this ethereal wasteland. Only stopping to sleep and dream of some far off place. Maybe one day they wouldn't end in self destruction. Maybe one day it wouldn't end. Maybe I was looking in the wrong places. Looking to the outside seemed so expansive, so infinite. If there even was an outside. But looking inside seemed so finite. So claustrophobic. And then there's this God forsaken place. Don't even know what to fucking call it. I just know it seemed like there was no fucking escape. Trying to find some sort of existential purpose here was pointless. Kind of ironic really. Never thought in my search for existentialism I would only find pure nihilism. God, if there was a God, he was truly a sadist. Up there watching me squirm in this ant farm. Maybe I am God, a lost creator with nothing better to do then to wander, create and destroy. I suppose you can't find something that's lost if you know where you are.


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## Smith (Jun 30, 2014)

This was an awesome piece, really. If, like you say, much of your work is like this then please share it! Inspirational in the sense that it got me thinking and pondering God, loneliness and all that. Might you feel up to it, let it turn into a short story, or maybe even a novel.


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## Pluralized (Jun 30, 2014)

Wow. Tormented, heavy, lovely. Probably a message there suggesting finding your 'center' or figuring out a way to be grounded in your body and the mind will follow. Try walking barefoot on the dirt for a few hours.


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## escorial (Jun 30, 2014)

had a very mixed up feel about it all..liked dude.


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## Deafmute (Jun 30, 2014)

very poetic, I enjoy dark poetic stream of conscious prose.


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## Pidgeon84 (Jun 30, 2014)

@ Smith: I don't know if I could turn this into a novel, I wouldn't know where to go with it. I suppose if I could find a direction it could make for interesting story though. Unfortunately, this is an older piece and any of the similar are floating around on the Internet somewhere. I'll see if I can find any though. Glad you liked it! 

@Plur: I'm not sure what the message is :lol: I think what you said is a part of it kind of along with finding purpose. I think being grounded in mind and body and purpose kind of go hand in hand in a way. Anyways thanks! 

@escorial I'm sure I was pretty mixed when I wrote it! Lmao! Glad you liked. 

@deafmute: Stream of conscious is an excellent way to put it,  can't believe I didn't think to describe that way. Anyways, thanks man!


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## Ibb (Jul 7, 2014)

Aimless ruminations still have form beneath the surface, and many great works of literature will seem wandering on the surface, but central in the theme to which they're returning. If you would like to read a strong piece of poetic prose birthed by a primary poet's hand, try A Monster's Notes by Laurie Sheck. 

Your writing, as it is, is just as you describe it--without purpose. But continue to improve your technique, find the line that holds your work together, and return to writing as you do while being cognizant of what it is you're trying to birth within the senses of the reader. Don't worry about following an orthodox structure. Regardless of the appearance the author is always in control. 

You were in control of what you wrote but had no purpose other than that you enjoyed writing it. That is good. You should love what you do. If you want to improve beyond yourself, I suggest you devise a plot, imagine its central strings, and then create a stylized story of this nature around its narrative. Test your capabilities.

Good luck.


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