Reading is what keeps me going best, good books, fair weather and decent food, I could get by on that.
Anyway, lately I’ve actually been reading some stories I thought other suicidally inclined people might appreciate. Two stories quickly I’ll tell you about, then I’m back to the stacks!
Black Farm -Elias Witherow
The first one was a bit of my normal selection, it was a cosmic/spiritual horror book, and trigger warning, because suicidality is very front and center for the whole book. It’s about this couple who die together and end up in an absurd wonderland/waking nightmare. It took me multiple sittings to finish it, but I’m glad I did.
I Should Have Been A Pair Of Ragged Claws / Scuttling Across The Floors Of Silent Seas
Hamantaschen, J.R.. You Know It’s True . West Pigeon Press. Kindle Edition.
The second one hit really close to me, it’s about a family dealing with a suicide and the aftermath, but also what led up to it. Brutal, four sittings for a few dozen pages, but it’s intense.
I think it’s the same thing that keeps drawing me back here; my own pain feels less when I share the load.
6 comments
Black Farm sounds really good, but frightening. Like Revival, by Stephen King, it might dissuade someone seeking to find relief in death. I don’t know if I’d be able to finish Black Farm.
May I add one?
History of a Suicide – Jill Bialosky
It is non-fiction. Jill writes about her sister Kim offing herself. Jill thoughtfully and meticulously probes into why Kim caught the bus.
@ a1957 that book ‘ history of a suicide’ sounds interesting. I shall check it out. I always want to know WHY someone did it.
The why seems central to me too.
Cheers for the book recommendation. A mate of mine 2 doors down is a computer wizard, ill get him to e-mail me the whole book for free to my laptop, not that im parsimonious, far from it , i hate parsimony actually, but I read it on the laptop for convenience and speed. I want it 2moro. Fuck Amazon!! The WHY is the most important part of every suicide.
the titles sound interesting.
i read a book called snow a few years back. it’s about a suicide epidemic in a turkish village. an image that really stuck with me is a scene where a live play is being performed at the village. it ends with one character shooting the other. but the gun has got live rounds. after shooting the actor/character, the shooter/character turns on the audience. he shoots and kills a few for no apparent reason. the audience don’t realize it’s for real. it ostensibly takes several bullets for them to figure it out and start running for the exits. but did it really? or did they just not care whether they lived or died? i don’t remember if there was a reason why he killed them. my recollection is the shooter just didn’t care. as i thought of it, the line between living and dying, suicide and homicide were blurred because life and death meant the same thing in the cold, pervading misery of that village.
it’s a small scene in the book but it stuck with me.