The Season Is Over

Football Season Is Over 

No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun – for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax – This won’t hurt.

On February 20 2005 Hunter S. Thompson, shot himself as he finished a telephone conversation with his wife.

This is my boy, my baby, my angel.

This is my boy, my baby, my angel. He is... the reason why tears don’t cloud my sight, the dream that keeps me alive through the night, the image that lets my soul soar into the light.

This is my boy, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but the one I’ll never have, and I hate him for that. And I envy him, his beauty and happiness; I envy him as I never envied anyone before. But he is still my fantasy, my dream, my desire, I want him, I LOVE him. And I can’t stop thinking about him.

And believe it or not, it’s not usually the actual sex act I think about. It's the sound of his laughter, the music in his voice. I think of the anticipation in his eyes and the beauty of his smile. I imagine the warmth of his body, the excitement in his soul and the softness of his lips when he kisses you on the cheek.

Love is not wrong and people need to understand that is love is what I feel for this boy.

Living with the fact that you will always be alone is hard. Knowing that you can only, for your own safety, have a one-side love affair is very hard.

I know all I can do is love him from afar and just try to enjoy the simple pleasures of this boys beautiful charms

(72 days late)

I simply love people too much, so much that it makes me feel too fucking sad.

Dearest

Virginia Woolf’s Suicide Note to Vanessa Bell

Dearest, You can’t think how I loved your letter. But I feel I have gone too far this time to come back again. I am certain now that I am going mad again. It is just as it was the first time, I am always hearing voices, and I shan’t get over it now. All I want to say is that Leonard has been so astonishingly good, every day, always; I can’t imagine that anyone could have done more for me than he has. We have been perfectly happy until these last few weeks, when this horror began. Will you assure him of this? I feel he has so much to do that he will go on, better without me, and you will help him. I can hardly think clearly anymore. If I could I would tell you what you and the children have meant to me. I think you know. I have fought against it, but I can’t any longer. Virginia.”

Subject: Virginia Woolf's Suicide letter to Leonard Woolf

Dearest,

I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.

I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.

What wouldn't I give for a kiss from you?

Toothache

John Thomas D. (49 years old):

"Absolutely no reason, except that I have a toothache."