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."

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

"Life only has meaning when you look back at it. It's a shame we have to live it forward."

 

 

- What do you want? - What everyone wants: to live life, wake up excited, be happy. "

 - What do you want?

- What everyone wants: to live life, wake up excited, be happy. " 

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 don't know how to play

 I suck a football or any other pseudo sport. I sucked at magic, at D&D… I was the worst video game player in history. I was basically the boy who just doesn’t know how to have fun. I’ve been in an endless… and rather fruitless, search for people who have with me common interests… hoping there would be kids that would enjoy, rather adult hobbies… and when I do like kids’ stuff… there just isn’t anyone around to share… My friends only liked to get wet riding a bike… I do not know how to ride one. My friends loved going to the pool… but would never take my shirt off and wait in a bench nearby. My friends loved Pokémon... I never got my own Gameboy. My friends would rather read Spiderman than superman, daredevil than batman… My friends enjoy playing video games in silence… while I desperately wanted to talk.

… my activities are just there for me to enjoy alone… collecting action figures, reading comics, watching anime series, movies, listening to music… designing websites, drawing crappy anime… writing my book. I want to learn how to play… I need to learn to not think I’m wasting my time with people who are not interested in what I am interested in… I need to stop thinking about adulthood and childhood. Somehow I have become this creature that feels 1000 years old… that feels that has lived all and learned it all. 

I should be enjoying the here and the now… I shouldn’t be thinking of the future and my career and my spiritual growth… especially because when I think of spiritual growth, I think of a boy…. I see Xag as boy… not a grown man. Maybe I just go backwards maybe just trying to acquire that childhood vision of the world… 

I am in desperately needed of hugs.

(1 day late)

One night at his room

One night at Sag’s room Lights went offIt was all dark, I just saw the contour of his toys, the outline of the furniture, the wooden roof...He pulled the curtains and let a blue light come in...It became creepysuddenly; I didn't recognized where I was...His kryptonite lamp looked like the arm of an evil robot that got stuck in the ceiling when trying to catch usHis action figures became an army of stone faceless guardians from an hostile planet with pink sandThe blue light of his laptop became an eerie distress call from a troubled boy from the year 3002The shelve above our heads became the kitchen floor of a cosmic fast food restaurant, with body parts of exotic monsters scrambled aroundThe pencils of his Crayola-themed sheets became knivesThe left end of his bed became the end of the world...it was intimidatingI was there....I felt his presence...so strong...so powerful...it was Xag...I could feel itHe was all around the place...in the air, in what I saw, in what I what I smelled, In what I touchedIt was XAG, I was inside himAs we spoke, I heard a whisper...It was the room..., his mattresshis demons? They were talking to me from under his bed...I think I heard a little boy crying...a boy asking himself questions he could not answer...a boy yelling at himself...a boy praying...a boy talking to God, a boy hitting the wall with his head...a boy asking for help...a little boy that was alone, a boy that felt rejected; I heard a boy talking to a webcam...a boy wondering; I heard a boy laughing, I heard a boy dreaming, I heard a boy happy to find an answer, I heard a boy's underwear ripping, I heard some liquid dripping on the floor, I heard the wet steps of a victorious boy that got away with his mischief, I heard the moan of a young boy collapsing on a dry orgasm, I heard the heavy breath of a boy that violently woke up from a nightmare, I heard a boy playing with his toys, making stories; I heard a boy writing on his notebook, typing on his PC; I heard an insomniac boy counting sheep, trying to get some rest; I heard a boy flipping pages with excitement, eager to know what's going to happen next...I was comfortable though, because when I turned my head right, I saw I boy smiling for having me by his side.He hugged me