Taken from Robert Crumb’s Plunge Into The Depths Of Despair (1983)
And if anyone wants these comic strips in a PDF form:
I run my Cross across my skin;
seams come undone and seep out sin.
Sew it shut with fragile thread
Be still, the movement in my head.
I spin and spin: a roundabout
Balance? I will live without
a sense of where I stand and why,
I’ve tip-toed, crawled, and ran: I tried
I latched on: a lowly parasite
I found my host; feasted on life
I’ve had my fill, so I detach,
detach from life, to death I latch
Just read this article that said they are making a Death Cafe. So I looked this up and it’s when people gather at a cafe to discuss death. Any topic related to it is ok apparently.
Quote from an article, “The pop-up events, which happen in American cities in nearly every state and in nations across six continents, are part of a volunteer-led, grassroots movement to get people from all walks of life to talk candidly about their views and experiences regarding dying.”
Apparently the UK is getting a permenant one.
So has anyone gone to one of these?
In your arms I became mercurial writhed like a diamond back in the bleakness of eyes that seemed sulphuric, traveling through me, in me we bathed in incense and the colour of each other danced as though invented for the moment with dark longing breathing eachother in quiet desperation and you were beautiful in your honesty and I multitudes stinging in each movement that we echoed somewhere between lives and I wish I could’ve stayed to burn alive.
I want to kill myself and once I’m in the act of doing so, I freeze and I cant? Why can’t I be one of the people that get hit and runned and shot by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why can’t I own a gun and place the cold metal barrel to the side of my head and with a slight movement…end it all; for once and for all. Do I pity my mom and feel sorry that all her children bring her disappointed and frustration is that it and ending myself make it hit rock bottom? Im tired and sad, im lonely and unloved and unwanted, im a failure, a worthless and useless piece of shit, im sick in tired of waking up every morning to the thought of wanting to end it all.
She cried, no, she wept all because of the secret she had kept she cut and she bled..knowing there was so much blood and tears to shed. She had love and she had lust…but this one she felt was a must. She had regrets and memories but this one was one I won’t forget..no not me.her life would be taken..with one simple movement from a knife,calling me out for I have committed a sin.
The unholy gleam takes it’s root
Splinting and shivering in every pupil.
Pupil, pupil- dilate as such!
Show me movement in your harsh breeding;
The curses fall from your lips and spatter onto my face.
They are like pennies, new and heavy on my skin.
The skin! Around my eyes it is purpled, like dark fruit,
And tissue-thin; it often hurts me.
Poor weakness! Hard eyeballs cup themselves in my sockets
And weigh me down like a hole in a boat.
I am too meek for this heftiness.
My soul claws and sobs to me like a sleepless baby
And there isn’t anything left.
The sweet sunbeams, the dull peonies
Are as empty as my heart, and they do not suffice.
I’ll die and trump them in heaven.
Does anyone find that the more depressed you become, the more constipated you get? Any relation? It seems this way for me. Also, does anyone have any success using over the counter enemas? The worse my depression gets, the less often I have a bowel movement. And since I’ve been basically suicidal lately, I’ve also been backed up. Fiber food/pills/dulcolax don’t help. Any ideas?
She’s sleeping across from me, her consciousness vacant in the deep slumber of winter suspension. I can feel the pulsating music of her breath, fleeting softly in its trembling exhale and the delicate flutter of her inhale. I can see the small flicker of movement beneath the thin pale of her eyelids, almost lost in her catatonic beauty. Her chest rises and quivers with its innocent vulnerability, almost audible in the emptinessÂ of the room. I’m breathing in the naked intimacy existing between her and I as I bathe in her captivating presence. I can feel her phantom dancing around me, her hands twirling, twisting in grace and precision, brushing my skin, moving in such balanced, poetic, esoteric beauty. Her apparition locks eyes with me and for a heartbeat I can see the transcendent complexity existing in her deeply secret quintessence. Â I want to touch her, explore the metaphysical landscapes of her subconscious, translate the touch of her skin into the brilliant universes she fabricates in her sleeping artistry. But alas, I’m constrained to the suffocating reality of her absence.
I know I’m always speaking against organized movements, as they always get infiltrated and hijacked. I’m not so much interested in a political movement though as a sociological one. The idea (even if TPTB twist it, I’m sure they will) is to fight against this Christianized stigma on suicide. Suicide should be a fundamental human right. Nobody should have the right to force other people to live against their will. Seeing as none of us CHOSE to be here, then it only makes sense we should have the right to choose NOT to be here. The stigmatization of suicide being “selfish” largely grew from the Abrahamic religions. Most notably judeo-Christianity, suicide is excepted in Islam if it’s some suicide bomber nutjob (not that I’m condoning bombing anyone), but I’d say the bulk of this stigma grew out of Judeo-Christian traditions. So who owns us? Does Society own us? Does the government own us? Does some mythological sky daddy own us? Do our family and friends own us? Or, do we own ourselves? Well, if we own ourselves, then only we individually maintain the RIGHT to choose how, when, where, and why we go. It is time we fought. Someone once asked me on here, if the government has a depopulation agenda (which they do) then why do they discourage suicide? I’ll answer this here. It’s because living people create more debt, so the government wants us to live as long as we can do they can squeeze every dime out of us they can get. They’d rather us not go on OUR terms, but on THEIR terms. They need slaves to be their worker bees, doctors, lawyers, soldiers, wage slaves, etc to keep their empire running. Without slaves to rule over, they’d have no empire. Suicide is becoming a more hot button issue, it’s growing exponentially as more of us are beginning to speak up and speak out. More of us are challenging these highly Christianized notions that our lives belong to other people. I think maybe it’s time we take to the street and make our voices heard loud and clear. The happy go lucky robots out there insist we are “selfish” for not living miserable lives for other people…. I should thank them, as we all should, for having given us a good reason to push through the hell this world has caused us here, for having given us a reason to live. The right to die, for whatever reason we decide is necessary, for future generations. And one shouldn’t have to be “terminally ill” to have this right. The right to self ownership and self sovereignty over our lives and deaths. They have given us a reason to live, for the right to die.
Lately I have been very frustedated at everything. Like every little noise or unneccissary movement ticks me off. And I feel like I wanna punch them in the face to make them stop. I’m being a ***** to a lot of people. I’m not trying to on purpose but that’s just the way it comes out I can’t help it. I really do not get why I’m like thIs. Ill fo throught periods of time when I’m fine and then times where I’m supEr frusterated at everything around me. Maybe I’m bipolar???? That would be weird. I don’t know what to really do right now either so yeah.
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