I keep... screaming at you...

I keep... screaming to you... the universe... through comics; through stories, through the things you loved... everything.

Love is... Lois and Clark... Barbie and ken... They go through all kinds of incarnations, events, situations... just see each other, to meet each other, over and over and over again... because they love it so much.

Don’t expect the truth Xag.... don’t expect it to be revealed to you... you expect happiness... you expect nothingness... you expect, absolute and the divine... don’t expect. 

Choose... if you want those things you will have them, you can create them, you can choose them.

Don’t be stupid... don’t be an idiot! I know you like to hear the prince talk, let him teach you, but doesn’t pretend you don’t know… when you do. 

Sounds tough to hear it... but I speak so much to you... it hurts me you don’t listen. Yes gods can be hurt.

Ask the marquise de Sade girl out. Tell the prince first. He is amazing... you’ve seen him; you are getting to know him. 

Listen to Len. You’ve seen his wisdom too... his experience... yes its weird how many people choose to feel like you do... and yes you have chosen to do so.

You are free... you chose everything, everything in this moment, everything you have made, you have chosen.

Apologize.

Don’t let the world frighten you... you are beyond it. That’s what brings suffering to those you admire; they are frightened about the world. Don’t fear it, embrace it... I say this, because I know this is what you want. I know you think about suicide, I know you think about pain... but you are so desperately in search of life.

Publish that damn suicide letter… you are never going to use it.

Be smart... be conscious.... listen to people. Trust your instincts... don’t wait for someone to kiss you... Kiss someone.

Keep sharing yourself... you are in the right way, follow your own advise.... speak words that are true... think them carefully... do not fear silence.

Don’t expect immediate changes. Don’t expect your life to change after this, read it... re-read it.... re read your life... read this stupid diary! Read your book!

want to be suicidal... then be it... but be the kind of suicidal you wish to be... a happy one... want to cut yourself and be an addict... but then be the kind of addict you want to be... a sane one. Be who you want to be... doing expect to become, just be!

How do you do this?

By making choices, by doing the homework when you are supposed to be doing, it, by listening to other people. By asking them questions... people miss so much of each other by not asking simple questions... like... do you believe in god? Or... what do you feel when you taste candy?

Don’t be afraid to be intense, be cautious on when are you not being who you are.

Just read this words, because they are wise, you are wise, don’t analyze of they are true or not, if they are mine or not... just think about them, just read them again...print them out.

Xag. You are close to me. Xag, you are beautiful... I know you think its freaking lie, but I wouldn’t be saying it if you really didn’t to hear it. And it seems you need to hear it from me, because you won’t hear it from anyone else. You are beautiful and you do deserve someone you think is beautiful. Now Stop procrastinating and choose what you have to do.

(1 day late)

Can't do it anymore; we have no strength, no health, no money

"We can't do it anymore; we have no strength, no health, no money. There was no other way out. Forgive us."

Igor & Lucile Bouryanime. Married couple that committed suicide via hanging in Paris on June 22 of 1970.  

via Les dossiers noirs du suicide by Denis Langlois

The idea of ​​suicide

The idea of ​​suicide has come back to mind, fortunately was defeated with the idea of ​​escape. I think it all started with The Lord of the Rings, when I read these stories I am can't help feeling unhappy with my life.

I 'm being decadent, smoking a cigarette in a corner at the table. I hate everything I am, what I think, what I like. I'm acting like a drunk depressed middle aged man when I have no reason to be, and could leave the room and watch a movie with my mom ... but I don’t feel like it, I just want to relax and clear my mind(who would say I'm on vacation) what is happening to me? For now I just want to practice my typewriting, it’s a bit slow and I need to improve it... maybe if I keep practicing…

Nocturne

Nocturne III by Silva (translated by Luis Zalamea) 

It was evening,
a night filled with perfumes, whispers, and the music of bird’ wings;
A night
when fantastic glowworms flickered in the nuptial, humid shadows,
at my side, ever so slowly, close to me, listless and silent
as if prey to premonition of the most stinging pain
that inflamed the deep secret of your fibers,
over the path filled with flowers that stretched across the plain,
you were walking;
and the full moon
in the sky, so infinite, so unfathomable, spread its light.
And your shadow,
lean and languid,
and my shadow,
by the moon’s rays silhouetted
on the path’s sorrowful gravel,
were united
and were one,
but one long and lonely shadow,
but one long and lonely shadow,
but one long and lonely shadow…
Tonight,
desolate; my soul
by your death so bitterly pained and anguished,
torn from you by time, distance and the grave
upon that infinite blackness
where our voice cannot be heard,
lone and mute,
on the path I kept on walking…
And dogs braying at the moon came to my ears,
at the pale face of the moon,
and the croaking of the frogs.
I felt cold; the same chill that in your chamber
numbed your precious cheeks, hands and brow
amidst the snow-white linens
of the funereal shroud.
It was frost out of the tomb, it was the ice of the dead,
and the chilliness  of the void…
And my shadow,
sketched out by the paleness of the moon,
walked alone
walked alone,
walked alone upon the prairie;
and your shadow, lean and graceful,
pure and languid,
as in that warm spring evening long ago,
as in that night filled with perfumes, whispers and the music of bird’ wings,
approached me and walked with mine,
approached me and walked with mine,
approached me and walked  mine… Oh embraced shadows!
Oh the shadows of the bodies mingling with the shadows of the souls!
Oh shadows that search each other in tear-filled and somber nights!

On the morning of 24 May 1896, a housemaid found Asunción Silva dead in his bed with a gun near his body; he had shot himself in the heart the night before.