When I was 16

Via post secret

Who would say the deepest desire is perhaps to give the responsibility for one's desire to someone else ?

 Who would say the deepest desire is perhaps to give the responsibility for one's desire to someone else ? 

"Whatever you want, you'll have it. Go get it and pay for it."

 "Whatever you want, you'll have it. Go get it and pay for it."

Devoided

Devoided of any inspiration or creativity, I'm still trying to find some kind of stability that will take me to new waves and forms of compatibility with the world. Needless to say... no new deviation.

... I feel deep hatred towards those who I once loved.

Is it Christmas approaching that makes the sublime smell of deep dark Tartarus so irresistible?

me, the winter lover, lives now in contradiction; for as my most natural and defining event of the year nears closer (the winter solstice) I find more and more hatred towards me and those around me.

My nature contradicts the artificial environment I've been placed. Either that or I am really helium's strayed disciple...

Has the sun and summer really been my home all along?

Can’t help but admit that I have always wondered about the light in long blonde hair and the look and taste of wet bare skin.

If summer is my real nature, I can’t help but say that my true nature in fact makes out of me feel most alien within my surroundings; for I have not felt more inadequate than under the light and heat of our systems central star.

For now I can only say that as days grow shorter, my despise of those around gets bigger... and I yearn for loneliness, snow, and northern lights almost unbearable.

I hope hell is cold, for is where I most desire to go... since in the warmth of heaven I would just feel like a smashed cockroach on the wall... disgusting, out of place, hated... and still moving my little antennas, keeping the attention of those who have murdered me, all in awe and puzzled with the mystery of how was it that without any part or limb working, I managed to keep on holding to my fragile sense... smell..

I smell the sublime dead heavy fog from Tartarus calling on to me... yet I see no entrance, or way to say good bye to those once loved and are now hated...

I repeat myself. 

(40 days late)

Quantum Suicide

Elizabeth Everett, daughter of Hugh Everett the father of the quantum theory of multiple worlds. Committed suicide with a pill overdoes. Inside the note left behind it read: 

Funeral requests: I prefer no church stuff. Please burn me and DON'T FILE ME. Please sprinkle me in some nice body of water. or the garbage, maybe that way I'll end up in the correct parallel universe to meet up w/ Daddy

The Werther Effect: The Esthetics of Suicide

 

The Werther Effect: The Esthetics of Suicide

Sick Jokes

 Top 10 reasons why suicide is better than sex:

10. You can still commit suicide when you're drunk off your ass.

9. You don't have to worry about 'safe suicide.'

8. Nobody wakes you up to ask for more.

7. No limit to the number of techniques.

6. Nobody ever asks for a long-term suicide commitment.

5. Who cares if you get a disease?

4. Doing it by yourself is just as good!

3. Easier than finding a date on a Saturday night.

2. Nobody ever complains about 'bad suicide.' 

And the top reason...

1. YOU don't have to clean up the mess!

by Tina Mancuso over at http://monster-island.org/tinashumor/index.html

Life was too small to contain me...

 

Suicidal Fish

 

The Suicidal and the Devil

The Suicidal and the Devil.

 A guy is standing in the middle of a bridge and on the edge of the void. He carries in his hands a large rock that is tied to his neck by a rope and is about to jump.

He does it because fortune simply turned its back on him: his wife left with his best friend, his daughter got into drugs, the bank seized him and took away his house and car, the maid stole his jewels. All at once, there is no other way out for him. So ...

Just at that moment and without knowing how a dark silhouette appears, barely distinguishing a cape, a top hat, and his enigmatic and deep voice stops him:

- Hey! What are you going to do? Stop!

- I'm going to jump into the river, my life has no meaning. Do not stop me.

- Wait a minute, tell me your problems, maybe I can help you. The strange figure with an enigmatic voice tells him.

- Help? And how are you going to be able to help me, don't you see that… And the man begins to tell it all his misfortunes.

After listening to him in a reflective silence, the dark character tells him:

- Get down from there I can solve all your problems. I am the Devil and there is nothing that I cannot do, we would only have to reach a small agreement.

- Do you want my soul? Asks the suicidal.

- No man that was before, now I settle for bodies. You just have to let me fuck you in the ass and voila, all your problems disappear.

- You're crazy, never, ever! I'm sorry but I'd rather die.

- Are you sure you prefer to die? Keep in mind you will have all the women you want, money to spare, houses and cars as many as you want, in addition to servants willing to please you in your slightest whims, think about it, do not be impulsive.

The man thinks about it and consents, after all with that all his problems were solved. He then accedes to the desire of the dark character and surrenders to him.

When he already feels that the thing is reaching its climax, the stranger in black asks the man between gasps:

- Uff, man, and how old are you?

- 45 The suicide responds

- Ha! 45 years and you still believe in devils? asshole.

All fled, all done

All fled, all done, so lift me on the pyre;

The feast is over and the lamps expire.

11 June 1936. Robert Ervin Howard, the creator of Conan the barbarian  and regarded as the father of the sword and sorcery subgenre, learned his mother, who had been ill with tuberculosis her entire life, had entered a coma from which she was not expected to wake, he walked out to his car and shot himself in the head. The note was typed and found in Howard's wallet. The lines were probably taken from the poem The House of Cæsar by Viola Garvin

Seesaw and Ice Cube

 

Bill Thomas

"Suicide"

I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool

 Dear World, I am leaving because I am bored. I feel I have lived long enough. I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool. Good luck.

George Sanders decided to die on April 25, 1972 in a hotel in Barcelona. Don George found his way to nowhere thanks to the guidance of an overdose of Nembutal. He was incredibly and inexcusably misogynistic. 

Nothing has died

Nothing has died

just my look

Desolate

I tell you that nothing has died

That I played the cards,

The poems

And everything eats away

Even the bestial loneliness

The unfindable dead love,

That is not worth it

A warm wine. Red

Allegories

The door has closed.

From now references

The blows my brother, the rough blows

In the red chronicle documenting

My silence

The blows my brother, the rough blows.

- Rodrigo Lira

666-666-DEATH

Suicide Commercial

 http://www.funs.co.uk/comic/22.html

Testimony of Circumstances

Testimony of Circumstances

  (1st WARNING)

            A warning  

            I’m not a psycho

            they call me “insane” but those who call me “insane”

            are also called “insane” 

            just like people say “buddy”

            —sometimes people call me “buddy”

            and a real buddy of mine calls me “stranger.” 

                  But, I warn You and Your Lordship

            that, truly,

                        I am not CRAZY

            despite labels

            vulgarly referred to as diagnostics 

            that distinguished specialists 

            have applied to my case

            moistening the glue of labels 

            with plastic sponges

                  their hands gloved in latex

—talcum powder while fitting on latex gloves

—denatured alcohol on plastic sponges 

—the immaculate white of priest-like aprons 

—liquid or conductor jelly on my temples or skull

      (whether EEG or EST

      good-for-nothing—)

            that I’m not even that much more neurotic

            than the average of my contemporaries

            that I have a good prognosis 

                  that I haven’t been lobotomized yet they haven’t given me a

                  lobotomy

            that my computer still works, and enough

            to write this

            without misspellings, without spelling

            mistakes

                  or punctuation errors,

                  (this part ends with a coma,) (,),

(1st CONFESSION)

I do confess though 

                     that sometimes I have to clench my brain with both hands

                     that sometimes Great Thoughts and Solutions 

                     begin to boil

                     accumulating pressurized steam in my head

                     swaying me into a bubble bath

                     —hydrotherapy, they call it—                                                

                     or something along those lines

          and other times

                     the world loses color

                     it becomes something like street pavement

                     someone paves my world

                     and everything is a path or a highway or a road

                           but never a destination

                     and I’ll die waiting to arrive somewhere

                     two steps back for every step forward

                     seeing it all gray gray

                     not feeling joy or happiness

                     and the sun causes well-known

                     visual distortions on hot pavement 

                     and even when the sun sets

                     sometimes the pavement heats up

                     this doesn’t necessarily mean

                           it’s hot outside 

                     the world 

                           is like gravel covered in cement

                           in drying cement 

                           and the cold can become dreadful.

Rodrigo Lira committed suicide on Saturday December 26, 1981, at the same time of his birth, in the place where he had lived the last years: Grecia 907, department 22. His poetry, distributed in photocopies, spread in recitals and printed in fleeting magazines, it was later anthologized in the COMPLETE WORKS PROJECT, a book that cannot be found today."

The Repairer Of Reputations

 "The laws prohibiting suicide and providing punishment for any attempt at self-destruction have been repealed. The Government has seen fit to acknowledge the right of man to end an existence which may have become intolerable to him, through physical suffering or mental despair. It is believed that the community will be benefited by the removal of such people from their midst. Since the passage of this law, the number of suicides in the United States has not increased. Now the Government has determined to establish a Lethal Chamber in every city, town and village in the country, it remains to be seen whether or not that class of human creatures from whose desponding ranks new victims of self-destruction fall daily will accept the relief thus provided." He paused, and turned to the white Lethal Chamber. The silence in the street was absolute. "There a painless death awaits him who can no longer bear the sorrows of this life. If death is welcome let him seek it there." Then quickly turning to the military aid of the President's household, he said, "I declare the Lethal Chamber open," and again facing the vast crowd he cried in a clear voice: "Citizens of New York and of the United States of America, through me the Government declares the Lethal Chamber to be open."

The Repairer Of Reputations By Robert W. Chambers

I felt old.

I felt old. I fell a million years old. I saw a spark of youth I have never experienced. A naïve-ness that’s in some way repulsive… I realized… that it’s important how I look in the eyes of the prince. I won’t smoke in front of you.

I realized that I need a life away from him…

 What’s wrong....your blog was so sad???

 And I think you're beautiful

Well, thanks I've been in this mood for a while

I know exactly how you fee. I honestly do...but I think you're beautiful inside and out

It’s not a come on and I'm not into cheap flattery

And yes....I agree with your link between art beauty and sadness

But its sadness that breeds both art and beauty...so without sadness we wouldn't appreciate anything beautiful

And if we didn't experience sadness we couldn't create anything beautiful or artistic

And I think your graphics are beautiful'

Your words are beautiful and poetic

Your sensitivity that makes you so sad is the same sensitivity that lends you the perspective which allows you to write so beautifully

It’s a double edged sword

Your gifts come with a price

Just like every superhero story

This is from one sad sensitive writer to another

Xag: I had never known someone who had actually read what I write there. I don't know what to say ^^. Thanks.

Believe me I understand

The sadness

 The consuming depression

you look everywhere and see injustice, sadness, misery...and it's not fair, and you can't change it...and you think "I can’t continue on like this"...you feel like no one else sees it and you think why go on in this world...where nothing is fair...where beauty is fleeting and nothing matters anyway since it will end one day anyway

 And you think you want to just stop being sad by hurting yourself

But if you do that you'd just be contributing to the sadness and the violence of the world

and you wouldn't be able to create anything beautiful that might one day give solace to another suffering kid....the eighteen year old kid 20 years from now who needs to spend every night on the web just to escape wherever he is

Let me venture some guesses

You think it’s unfair that there are prescribed limitations and expectations based on your gender

You don't understand why you attract any extra attention if you wear a girl's tee...and you don’t understand why some guys wear baggy clothes that hide their bodies when they actually have really good bodies

You think it's unfair that anyone with a sexual fetish or preference other than the usual is looked at any differently or that anyone cares about such things one way or the other

You don't understand why heterosexuals are threatened or nervous around queer people

 You accept diversity and differences in everyone around you and you don't get why everyone else doesn't

How am I doing so far?

You are actually scaring me little bit

 Lol why

It is pretty, pretty accurate

He he...sorry...I kind ranted there for a bit...

I just told you

 I completely understand you

Because I'm EXACTLY the same way

 You’re adorable

I understand you so well...do you feel let down by people a lot cause you feel like you care a lot more about them then they care about you?

Yeah I do feel like that sometimes... but I also feel I'm so selfish for expecting people to care...

Exactly...so you alternate between feeling guilty and feeling let down?

Xag: exactly

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem

There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy. All the rest — whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories — comes afterwards. These are games; one must first answer. 

- Alber Camus

Decencies

If you must commit suicide... always contrive to do it as decorously as possible; the decencies, whether of life or of death, should never be lost sight of.

-George Borrow