I Will Call Myself Forgotten

[Revolte]

I feel like a ghost, but I can't be a ghost. To be a ghost you have to have been alive at some point, but I can't ever remember being alive. I'm more of an idea, a carelessly structured image. I don't really have a soul, I don't know what it means to feel or to smell, to touch or to be touched. I have no idea what a tongue is nor how to use it. I can hear though, oh can I hear. I hear crying and screaming, I hear laughter and whimpers, I can hear nearly every sound, but I've never heard anything pleasant, or what I assume pleasant would be. I only know what I've heard, how pleasant things make you feel good, but I can't feel anything, so the things I hear mustn't be pleasant or surely I would feel, right? I can see as well, everything is dark though and I don't know why. Although I heard a noise say something once about this world where everything is dark, I don't know what it called it, maybe I'm there, maybe I'm not. All I have ever known is darkness, crying, whimpering and the like so I wouldn't know where I wasn't, I don't even know where I am. I don't know who I am either, or what I am, if I'm anything at all. Maybe I'm nothing, but that doesn't seem right, if I was nothing, I wouldn't exist and if I didn't exist I wouldn't hear things, so that can't be it, so am I something?

Nothing seems the way it should, or the way I would suspect it should. I heard an old noise today, it was talking about the life it led, at one point I remember hearing “Jim and I met by chance, we tripped into each other at a Star Bucks, his coffee split all over his lap and he jumped up screaming. When I told him I was sorry he said pretty girls should never feel bad for accidents.” That seemed like something that would be pleasant, the tone of it's voice wasn't as miserable as most. It couldn't have been happy though, I never hear happy things, or what I would assume to be happy things. It also said something about dying. I don't know what a dying is, so it must not matter too much.

These noises have something they call names. I'm not really sure what they are, but from the sound of it they are little labels these noises give to other noises they create, in order to secure their future. I don't understand the concept of that, it doesn't sound pleasant, or what something pleasant might be, again I wouldn't know.

I wonder, what if I gave myself one of these, names? Would it hurt? If it doesn't hurt, maybe it would make me into one of these noises and I could be heard too, after all, the noises all have names and I can hear them. I should choose a name then, what would be a good name? I heard Jose once, but that seems unbalanced. Monica? No that's not right. I hear “Forgotten” a lot. If so many noises go by this name, maybe it will help me be heard. I will call myself Forgotten then. Lets see if this works.

Hello, my name is Forgotten, can you hear me?

Anyone?

Hello?

[alcala0001]

Acid is a helluva drug. But seriously, I liked the surreal, if confusing quality of the piece.

[loki456]

hey, nice piece of inward reflection.
kind of reminded me of the whale's conversation with himself when falling from the sky in the the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy - without the apparent humor.

As far as the style goes - I think you made it long enough without being too monotonous in thought (if you had - i would have no doubt found myself getting bored quite quickly) and short enough with still getting your point across.

Thanks for sharing

Loks

[Pensive]

Brief and engaging!
Thanks for sharing!

[twoheadedboy]

I wonder, what if I gave myself one of these, names? Would it hurt? If it doesn't hurt, maybe it would make me into one of these noises and I could be heard too, after all, the noises all have names and I can hear them.

I should choose a name then, what would be a good name? I heard Jose once, but that seems unbalanced. Monica? No that's not right. I hear “Forgotten” a lot. If so many noises go by this name, maybe it will help me be heard. I will call myself Forgotten then. Lets see if this works.

Hello, my name is Forgotten, can you hear me?

Anyone?

Hello?


I really liked it. The darkness and the whimpering reminds me of fetus in a womb. I don't know if you were going for that. I realize that some of the story is attached to past lives, but the womb imagery is, I think, somewhat strong. Which I like.


The only thing i didn't care for was the ending. It wraps up too neatly what I think to be a loose piece. I just bolded where I would stop and start the paragraph, leaving out the middle section about "Jose" and "Monica." There seems to be the most pretense in that short middle section than in all the poem. In fact, I think this poem survives solely on the fact that there is no pretense. The reader is virtually unaware of the location of the narrator and it lets the reader make his own location.


But I do like it. Keep posting.