Prose With My Head Down in the Snow

Discussion in 'Writer's Cafe' started by 5oul Crusher, Jan 5, 2020.

  1. 5oul Crusher

    5oul Crusher New Member

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    With my head down in the snow. I am trying to avoid an unavoidable truth — my inevitable demise. There are fanatics who believe that we would die. Why should we die? For what reason must we? they say. In the blizzard of life we can’t see every aspect, there is always something out of view. I’m trying to live my life, why is it that being is perplexing? Why is it difficult to document feelings? I struggle to see a point to existence. And loneliness. Then we hear about eccentrics which confound us in the absurd in comparison to my own life which I barely manage to maintain. So should we share these experiences, but what if? Then really it might be about documenting my words. I live a self centred existence as I am literally in the centre of my existence, although I rarely think about myself all the time. My attention is almost always diverted elsewhere. I frequently think about what life would be like is I lived somewhere else in the world. But I don’t live there and why do people have to move around so much, that really frustrates me. I see that people want are seeking a better life than the one that they have already, but are they really accomplishing that? Perhaps you were born in a small village and you desire to be more in life than a farmer? Or perhaps you were born into a war zone. What about if you were born in the relatively cosy Dunedin? No wonder thoughts are complicated. What about staying in one place. I’m always looking for somewhere else. Why can’t I be content with the way I am where I am. Is there something wrong with the way I am, in that I am always looking to place words onto experience. It is that I seek to understand, or is this just a form of neurotic restlessness. I can’t maintain poetic illusion for long. Maybe this is because I have historically avoided poetry. I can’t seem to find my mind buried in the snow, although snow was never a permanent feature of my life so it never had a chance to cement itself into my imagination. I remember building a snowman one winter when the snow was thick and remained for several days. I believe it’s the persistence of snow that drives people mad. Although it must make a big difference if you have a warm cosy house to retreat to when the cold persists. Which raises the question of what constitutes a cosy home and what is the availability of nice houses? There are so many people living in homes. How do you make your way through the world? Is there something intrinsic about the housiness of a house? Should I be working toward a livelihood inorder to compete in the housing market?


    So I just found myself singing:

    I want to know

    I want to know

    What’s going on
     
  2. Ravok

    Ravok ~Hoping he will get a reply soon

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    I dont know what to feel here. Happy that someone posted something written for the first time in forever, or just oof about the meaning of this post
     
  3. 5oul Crusher

    5oul Crusher New Member

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    I wrote a few of these. Mostly they were just a form of collecting and documenting thoughts. Kind of free drawing, but writing instead, hence the prose tag. I don't really think that there is an expressed meaning or message of this post.

    I've never posted in this section of Sakuga before so I thought I'd try. I want to have a go at narrative and more traditional storytelling.
     

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