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."

Bad habit

I think vomiting when thinking about your own existence is a bad habit. 

(20 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

"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. " 

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. 

He called!

He called!I was waiting on him.....Never, ever have I felt so alone...so sick....so damaged, so unloved...I wanted to sleep; I wanted to stop thinking for a moment...I pictured him on my mind...his bright eyes looking at me...he looks down and then stares at me again, he smiles...I start to cry...I start to miss him like I've haven't seen him in a million years....his face starts to become blurred.....what are you doing right now? you have to be in pain, you miss me as much as I miss you?...I begin to see me a few years from now...I'm devastated, depressed, ugly...sick....then, someone tells me he saw him on the street...."where?" I ask, and start to cry harder....I put up the volume on the TV so none could hear me cry...I won't sleep, I know I won't be able to sleep tonight....I miss him, how can I live without him now.....My boy, I'm here for you, I don't have definitive answers, I don't have a magic stick...all I have is my body and soul for you to take, to join you; not to take you there, but to take the ride with you...god I miss you....your voice, your creamy, sweet voice....I see him again on my mind, we're completely wet...god the rain...how can I be on the rain again?...we take our pants off...he smiles again, and looks at me....I cry even more....the phone rings.....I jump....my heart is racing, so hard I think I'll spit it out....please, please, please, God, be you, please....it rings again....I grab the phone..."Te amo" he saysI'm frozen....is his voice...his beautiful voice, is talking to me...and he loves me...Oh god! Thank you....I breathe heavily; it takes me a second to understand that I'm not dreaming..."Yo tambièn" I say...he hangs up...I smile...he called....he cares...he loves me....I lie up in my bed...thinking on him...I really miss him tonight...I'm so tired of crying....I start to fall asleep...one hour passes, two hours....I'm fighting the dream....I'm asleep...A car crashes just outside the street...I hear the noise, but I can't see the accident from my window...I jumpeverything’s' dark, everyone went to sleep....can only think on one thing...I call him...it's like 3am...his phone is off....I call again, I leave a message...."Te amo...te extraño" I whisper...and make myself to believe that he's dreaming with me.... 

(3 days late)

666-666-DEATH

Suicide Commercial

 http://www.funs.co.uk/comic/22.html

I think we all admire heroes for some reason...

I think we all admire heroes for some reason...Sometimes for their daring, sometimes for their bravery, sometimes for their goodness.But mostly we honor heroes because at one point or another, we all dream of being rescued.

So desperately, we read comics, watch westerns, get involved in politics, read biographies of long lost artists...

And then, we create these heroes out of the people we know, we make them out of our families... our lovers...

We . . . all look and expect for someone, to reach out, understand us, and save us...

The Question is... from what?

From fears that keep us from our dreams...

From loneliness. . .

From boredom...

From routine...

From our mistakes...

We hoped, once this hero knocked on our door...

Fear of speaking on the phone would disappear

The need to find company online would vanish...

We would create amazing things with watercolors any random day...

The vice of writing and prostituting our emotions and thoughts online would be overshadowed by sharing every cute thought and word with the one we loved...

We supposedly befriend and love others, because they make us better people

HOW AM I BETTER?

My fears have grown. . .

I don't have it in me to kiss someone on the street...

I fear not touching the right way the Person I love...

I dare not write another word for my book, I fear using paint and brush.

I am now bored at reading my beloved books,

I am now bored when watching TV

I am now bored on the pc

I am most bored when doing a vid

And I delve into new hideous routines

Routine where I speak of my relationships and dreams with others, instead of our own.

Routine of me bringing up suicide on the least opportune moments,

Of being disillusioned at every new attempt...

Of me rejecting every facet of his life when I get the chance...

And mistakes, I've made all the mistakes

The ones in every don’ts list and every in the do's list

I keep making my old mistakes

Self-sabotaging, shying, lying

And knowing all this, and saying it here, makes me feel ever more...

lonely... because that’s the reason I can’t trust... anyone... or I enjoy being a martyr or something... but right now, I feel like the loneliest being in the world, even when he is there by my side. Because don’t trust stuff. I don’t want to trust... because whatever he would say back would be so wrong... and the breach I established between us is now to big…

(4 days late)

A night in the other realm

A night in the other realm. We didn't sleep.

I guess I was just too scared someone would walk in...I don't think I had ever been so attend to the sound of someone climbing the stairs... to the shadows that might be creeping on the hall...

I saw part of him I loved... he was in charge, he took the initiative, he was amazing... and talked and he shared... and he was so close...

And he gave me the key.

The key.

He couldn't have argued rationally... it was impossible....so he gave me instead of a rational argument... an emotional one.

And what can I say...

He won.

For the record. I am truly happy right now. 

(7 days late)

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