Suicide Manifesto

(I’ve been working on this for quite some time)
There’s nothing quite like that feeling of rolling up one of your dreams like an old news paper, and placing it in that ubiquitous furnace in your mind. The place you send thoughts to get rid of them. Like an unpleasant situation, or a traumatic experience, what was once your dream is now your nightmare, and you suppress your thought, realizing it’s beyond you, accepting that your dream…will remain just that. A pigment of the picture of the figment of the imagination. As thin and immaterial as ether. Putting to rest your airy desire for love or achievement, and settle into mediocrity, like a couch that swallows up your corpse and sinks your ass below your knees, to the point that you believe your never getting up again.

Yes my warbly waffery brederin. Accept mediocrity into your lives. Become used to this idea, life is not great, it’s not special, it’s not divine or pre-ordained, it just is.
And so are we, for a little while. It’s true what they say, that we grow through adversity. That through adversity we either triumph or succumb to our petty lesser insecurities.

All I wanted in life is a male companion. But I just couldn’t have it. I don’t know why. I could be fat, I could be ugly, I could be clingy. I don’t know exactly the reason, no guy has ever had the balls to tell me to my face. Their just here one day, and gone the next. Or just not here at all as been the case lately.

I don’t know why I don’t do it. I lie in bed and think about it every night. I cry when I watch two guys kiss in a movie, and when I cum to gay porn. Knowing, that I will never have that. I can’t get anyone to fuck me…and they never will. I don’t want to do anything with my life anymore, I just want to die. That’s FUCKING ALL!

I could say a thing or two about my achievements.
I’m proud of a thing or two I’ve said or done.
But it all means nothing to me.
It’s all just a drop in the sea.
Eyes so wet I can barely see.
It all means nothin’ to me.

How many times have I scared away a twink?
How many times have I fallen for the straight boy?
How many places must I look before I find what I’m serchin for?
Where will I find him?
Who will he be?
When will I meet him?
Why haven’t I had some type of boyfriend by this point in my life?
(that question is always immediately followed by:)
Is there something wrong with me?
(and if yes)
What is it that’s the matter with me?
Am I too…………………………..?
(fat&hairy?)
Why can’t I relate to the other fags?
Is it because I call them fags?
I’m a fag! I can call em’ fags if I want.
They’ll still always be heartless fags, never caring, always fucking, never loving, never stopping, always dying of diseases, out in the cold our man-heart freezes.

We Forget How To Love.
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After A While.
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We sink, into that deep dark abode, that home that tells you to do yourself in.
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And after.
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A while.
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You begin to believe what you’ve (he’s) been talking about.
It becomes a very comfortable place, planning your own suicide.
A fantasy. Suicide, is a lot like music. It matters not what notes one plays, but when they occur on the canvas of time. Like wise, asphyxiation or gat2da dome, it matters not how, but when one kills one self. One always thinks of it particularly after one has been hurt tremendously bad, and then for months after, any negative setback could cause a full blown suicidal bi-polar mood swing. Those times where you’re inches away from doing it at ANY given moment. You already have it planned out and the noose tied in case you want to rush out and do it all spur of the moment like. I mean inches….
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You see, surely if two twinks (or more) all reject you around the same time, then this is a great time to kill one’s self. The sooner after the rejection you do it, the better the chance that when they hear of your passing, they’ll feel their rejecting you somehow factored into your suicide, and with a bit of luck, they may even live out the rest of their lives with a lifelong guilt. Feeling, at least partly to blame, for being a heartless one-nightstand son of a *****.
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FUCK EMOTIONS!

I died inside a long time ago…now I’m just waiting for the outside to match the inside…

I pray to God and Jesus, and sometimes Ganesha, every night to please let me die. To please let me pass in my sleep, and never wake up again. This has been my prayer for almost as long as I can remember. Yet, it has eternally gone unanswered. Apparently, I haven’t learned my lesson yet…I’m damned, to walk the earth without a boy, until I grow old, and begin to fall apart, and no boy shall ever cast their gaze on me in an admiring light. I’m already invisible… God mark my fucking words, I’ll kill myself long before that ever happens. Long before I get “old”, I’ll be peacin’ the fuck out. That’s just the way it is. I was delt the large, hairy, fat, gay man card this time around. And I gotta tell ya, I fuckin fold. I can’t play with this hand anymore.

There are some people that I don’t want to hurt by going. . .

There are some that I hope feel this terrible sinking feeling in their navel, that they shall never spend another moment with me. That they missed me while they had the chance. And with a bit of luck…they may even feel responsible…Maybe then they’ll think twice before they fuck some one. My time ticks nearer and nearer by the minute. This is my Suicide Manifesto.

Ex. of a common thought : “Boy he’s super cute, he’ll never even look my way, let alone talk to me.” I know I’m guilty on some level, for conditioning my mind to think this way. I’m like pavlov’s fuckin’ english bulldog. As soon as I see a cute twinkly boy go by I start salivating all over myself, and start crying like a little ***** because I know it’s an unobtainable goal. A fat, ugly, english bulldog. God would somebody put this mut down already? I’m not getting any younger, which I always thought was the stupidest expression. It just drags on and on. I know shit could be worse. Fuck! Fuck! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!

I let the one thing I don’t have, keep me from being happy. The one thing I don’t have, the one thing I have never had, it’s the one thing I want. I want…..that phrase is what really keeps me from being happy. I know it, I know Buddha’s teachings. Butt Fuck Nirvana! i want to fuck a boy, and I want him to love me, and I want to love him. And That’s all. I just want to make love to a guy once before I die. Not just fuck, but make love, and he’ll be there in the morning GOD DAMNIT!!!

But no…..fuck it.

Guess it was too much to ask……

I could go on and on….but I’ve lost my will to go on, and even if I had the will, I still wouldn’t know why I was going on. I see me in the future, old and decrepit, and regretting all the fun I had missed in my youth. It wasn’t my fault I missed, I’m just a troll, and nobody wants to play with a troll. Everyone wants a slinky. You gotta have a slinky. SLINKY! SLINKY! FUCK FUCK FUUUUUUUCK!

Eventually…..You get hurt so many times that you go numb.

……at least then you feel no pain…..

…but you feel no pleasure either……………

God, doesn’t hear your prayers. Even if he did, he wouldn’t change anything.

Otto was right: it is hard to kill yourself when you’re already dead.
Unliving every day of my life.
And what have I got to be depressed about?
I just know I’ll never be happy in the way I want to be.

The sweet magnolia, with her juicy succulent fruit, and fragrant flowers, and plenty of limbs close to the ground. I scale her heights and find a nice sturdy branch upon which to secure my escape rope. The rope once secured our canoe to the roof for camping trips to the mountains, or day trips to Tickfaw, the rope that once towed L.A’s car. . . Now shall tow my soul to the after life. Whatever it may be.

I hope to be nothing once again, I hope the light switches off for a while. I can’t appreciate being on, so maybe I need to be off for a while. Maybe then I’ll tell the difference. I just feel, or hallucinate rather that I am nothing already. And becoming nothing would just fulfill an element of my being which already expresses itself, in my thoughts and actions, feelings. I already know I’m nothing, my heart chakra feels black, it feels dead, so does my navel. Those parts of me are dead. Now my head is dying to. Now I black out. I know what it’s like to be dead. I died for a few seconds on my bathroom floor, just keeled over in the middle of a pee. In the Middle!

I remember a powerful clear stream jetting out of my penis, me seeing white stars and getting lost in a thought, I don’t remember what my last thought was. I didn’t realize I was about to pass out, I just woke up on the floor with my girlfriend saying my name. My first thought was “oh fuck I need to go to the emergency room” . It scared the shit out of me. I couldn’t believe I passed out. It was absolute blackness, nothingness. I know what it’s like to be dead.

One time when I was a child, I think it was ******* Baptist Middle School.
There was a rope with knots in it attached to the jungle gym.
Now this rope was just long enough that I could tie it around my neck and lean up against the jungle gym. I believe I only did it once or twice without reprimand.
I had it tied around my neck just lying there pretending to be dead one day, just looking at the red spirals of blood vessels that the sun lit up in my eyelids.
When all of a sudden I feel someone touching me,
I open my eyes to see none other than a very concerned teacher untying the knot from round my fat little neck. I don’t think she questioned, she just said something to the effect of “don’t play that game.” I bet that probably never left her. It’s funny how even then I acted out that which was at the core of my being. That’s one of my very early memories, first grade I wanna say.

One time at Bonnie ***** elementary, I pointed and laughed at this one kid who I assume now was bald from chemotherapy. I pointed and laughed at them silently, and then went and hid behind the tree as they went to tell the teacher. I remember the teacher standing there with the kid on the playground trying to pick out which one made fun of them. They never caught me. . .

How could I be so cruel? So insensitive? I don’t know. I suppose I thought that was what you were supposed to do. All the people who were “better” than me in some way always managed to point it out to me. So instead of getting better I pointed out how I was better than “inferior” people that I met. Once in a doctors waiting room as a child, I was talking to a little black kid I didn’t know. When “Good Times” came on the T.V. I expressed my dislike for the show. The other kid said “I love that show” and I said “That’s a black show.” Completely and entirely unaware of the offensiveness of what I had just said.
The kid was speechless, He just looked at me with this hurt look on his face. I probably gave him his first taste of racism, introducing him to white americas tradition of the suppression of “inferior” races, carrying on Hitler’s deeds, exterminating the natives. That’s all I had been brought up in, I knew nothing else. I didn’t know you couldn’t be racist to a black person’s face. How dumb am I? Now I know you can’t be racist, because they’re human.

In some strange cathartic way, this manifesto gives me relief. Relief to know that my feelings will be known, some day. I really no longer wish to die. I’m trying very hard, day by day, to cherish the life I have, and use it to it’s fullest.
I am succeeding. I know that as long as I speak the truth and walk without fear, carry myself as though I know who I am, life will take me where I want to go.
Someone once said, once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen.
The Universe may be doing one of two things, it may be confused, as wether to coax me into suicide, or for me to find love and become a shaman. Some how, in its crazy way, I think the universe may be doing both. Somehow, I’ll find a boyfriend, and end up killing myself. These are just the messages I’ve sent throughout the universe for so long.

I just hate being alive and the only thing that will ever fix it is if I’m not here anymore. I’m a miserable human being. I don’t know who I am. I’m so many, I’m nobody. I’m like the ugly duckling, no mother duck will claim. I’m not enough of anything to be part of anything. A lone Indian, who’s tribe was long ago slaughtered by the white man. I walk solo.