|Reading these suicide pages you will find people seeking help and people offering their help. Some witness about suicide from real life experience, others who play along with me would pretend it's a children's game. Some make sick and cruel jokes about it, and angry people blame me for even mentioning the subject. You might also want to read my favourite answers. If you want your answer to be included here, fill in the form.|
What is the best way to kill yourself when you're under 13?
Quelle est la meilleure forme de suicide pour les moins de 13 ans?
|14 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.4
~THE DARKROOM SEARCH~ They say that Love makes us blind, and by this they explain the phenomenon. In case a man going into a darkening room to fetch something were to reply to my advice that he carry a torch by saying, "The Thing i am seeking is only a mere trifle, therefore i wield no torch." ...Ah, then i could understand him quite perfectly. On the other hand, when the same man takes me aside and confides to me in a mysterious manner that the thing he went to fetch was of unutterably remarkable importance, and therefore he could manage to do it blindly... i wonder how my poor mortal head might be able to follow the high flight of his speech. Even if only for fear of offending him i might refrain from laughter, as soon as his back was turned my head would explode with it.
But at Love... Nobody laughs.
Save the Gods.
~Pray your Gods who hold you by your Fear/for they are quick and ruthless punishers/Or lay upon my alter now your Love/i fear my Time is short/there are Armies moving close/be Quick, My Love.
Is it that we Fear the Pain of death... or could it be we Fear the Joy of Life??
|14 Mar 2003||Anti-Climaxicus|| What is with all the... marvelously insightless email messages from David Still?? Being in possession of so magically vague a sense of dialect; such an exhalted degree of insensibility... Surely He basks within some rare strain of mutant-contemporal evolution of Mind, which we "common discontents" dare only Dream about.
David Still should certainly be revered! ~And so He shall... My very own personal Disjecta Membrae Still-Life Dia!!
Some people say he has a death wish
trouble is he is Dying to agree
Let's not ask too many questions
it has nothing to do with you or me
He remembers a time where even going home was sweet... Now he can't feel the ground under his feet
Inside the dresser by the window
Something he hides beside the bed
Living in oblivion can't be easy
some things are better left unsaid
He remembers a time before the Vacance got so deep... Where he found far more safe to Sleep.
|14 Mar 2003||Marius Mackellar||PAPIER TUE-MOUCHE$
Exordiumatically, deponent precateth otity orient exaudient,
dole basilical's assumpt.
Pragmatics, ex Ventro Genesiaco ad umbilicum Apocalypticum,
determinated logomachoepy's nodal puncts,
Ergmoiraetic, apert parthenorhododactylical,
To tear my youth with desperate knives,
to wear this paltry soul's demise
What few upon this plain dare see;
the Inhumane in Humanity
Such silence here my Sadness feeds
upon the needs of an Artless breed.
|13 Mar 2003||Siobhan Fahey||Of all the varieties of deception, self-deception is the most pervasive and the most difficult to recognize... Especially when we are within the thrall of some doctrine which is obviously "humane."|
|12 Mar 2003||Ignatius Mackellar|| i'm not precisely certain about this, but i'm still willing to feel that i may have seen Ntozake Shange at the local low-Art depository yesterday. Needless to say, i didn't say a word to her... though i did manage to wave from a corner of my mind. But, as of course, She wasn't looking at Time. "Towards a Unified Reality" may become the title for my first published work of fiction. Having already discovered 4 publishers who have quite politely critiqued my writing as being enormously infantile, the once questioned faith in my writing ability has been renewed. Perhaps the insistence on hand writing the first edition, then having photocopies of each page bound together and set for retail without the slightest frill... Perhaps this is a very insipid insistence. Within addition to that insipidity, i've demanded that my first work of non-fiction, "Towards a Unified Surreality", be simultaneously published.
Tristan Tzara is the person i really need to get in touch with. He could surely make light of the reason behind all this... recession. Marcella Detroit is a Goddess!!
|11 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar|| MY PULSAR ~WOW!!
i read about Pulsars this morning (also referred to as spinning, magnetic-neutron stars). My birthstar may be one of these instead of the Blackhole i felt it must have been when i was little. Did you know the magnetic field of My Pulsar is about 100 billion times as strong as the magnetic field of the Earth??
Actually, i'm exaggerating a bit. It is only 1 billion times as strong. Most pulsars spin once every second or so; the slowest has a period of about 4 seconds, but the fastest yet discovered (which happens to be mine) spins on its axis more than 600 million times a second. Actually, i've just caught myself exaggerating again. It is only 600 times a second, but we're working on making it more impressive.
Imagine a ball of stuff the size of Lucy Cortina's left... Novelty, yet containing as much mass as our Sun, spinning once every 1.6 milliseconds and there you'll have some idea just what My Pulsar is like... ...Once again i've managed to exaggerate the facts and for that you have my apologies. You would only have to imagine a ball of stuff the size of Mt Everest... nothing so immeasurably gigantic as the aforementioned... Novelty.
By the bye, Roger Blandford, of Caltech, has estimated that there may be more than 100 million isolated blackholes across our Milky Way galaxy... and that the nearest one may indeed be much further away than we'd all like to hope it could be.
|10 Mar 2003||Thom Yorke||_PLAYDEAD_ ~Help is on its way/i'm lost in space/no protection
Please/come and rescue me/i've got no friends/i'm an orphan...
who only has Faith to betray.
One Kiss from Krisha could blow me away??
|10 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar+Tori Amos Forever!!!||Has anyone ever heard a song called
by Sheryl Crow???
|10 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar||AND SO...
i AM NOT THE ONE
WHO IS TO BECOME
LORD OF MY OWN LIFE.
BUT MERELY A FRAIL THREAD
TO BE SPUN UPON THE CALICO
SO, i AM JUST ANOTHER
i CAN CUT
No. Please don't fret. i'm well aware that Selbstmord at this pointless point would only prove to be an act of redundance... It is obvious to me that i've been quite perfectly dead since the atrocity of my own conception took place.
|08 Mar 2003||Auron Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 81 ~SCHONE KUNSTE~
...Suppose there were 2 artists, and one said, "i have journeyed much and seen plenty in this world, but i have sought in vain to find a man worth painting. I have found no face with such perfection of Beauty that i could make up my mind to paint it. In every face i have caught one or another little fault. Therefore i seek in vain." ...Would this indicate that this artist was a great artist? On the other hand, the second one said, "Well, i do not pretend to be an actual artist; neither have i journeyed to foreign lands. But remaining in the little circle of women who are closest to me, i have not found a face so insignificant or so leaden with flaws that i still could not discern in it a more Beautiful side and discover something glorious. Therefore i am happy in the art i practice. It satisfies me without my making any claim to Being an artist." ...Would this not indicate that precisely this one was the artist, one who bringing a certain something with her found then and there what the much travelled artist did not find anywhere in this world, perhaps because he did not bring that certain something with him!
Consequently, the second of the 2 was the artist.
~Would it not be sad, too, if what is intended to Beautify life could only be a curse upon it, so that Art, instead of making life Beautiful for us, only fastidiously discovers that not one of us is Beautiful. Would it not be sadder still, and still more confusing, if Love also should only be a curse because its demand could only make it evident that none of us is worth Loving, instead of Love's being recognized precisely by its loving enough to be able to find some lovableness within all of us, consequently Loving enough to be readily able to Love us all...?
|08 Mar 2003||Erosaviaus Mackellar||EVERYTHING AND NOTHING~
There was no one in him: behind his face(which even through the bad paintings of those times resembles no other)and his words, which were copious, fantastic and stormy, there was only a bit of coldness, a dream dreamt by no one. At first he thought that all people were like him, but the astonishment of a friend to whom he had begun to speak of this emptiness showed him his error and made him feel always that an individual should not differ in outward appearance. Once he thought that in books he would find a cure for his ill and thus he learned the small Latin and less Greek a contemporary would speak of; later he considered that what he sought might well be found in an element rite of humanity, and let himself be initiated by Lucy Cortina one Beautiful June afternoon. Instinctively he had already become proficient in the art of simulating that he was someone, so that others would not discover his true identity as no one; in London he found the profession to which he was predestined, that of the actor, who on a stage plays at being another before a gathering who play at taking him for that other person. His histrionic tasks brought him a singular satisfaction, perhaps the first he had ever known; but once the last verse had been acclaimed and the last dead man withdrawn from the stage, the hated flavor of unreality returned for him. He ceased to be Ferrex or Tamerlane and became no one again. Thus hounded, he took to imagining other heroes and other tragic fables. And so, while his flesh fulfilled its destiny as flesh in the pubs and brothels of London, the Soul that inhabited him was Caesar, who disregards the augur's admonition, and Juliet, who abhors the lark, and Mackellar, who converses upon the plain with witches who are also Fates. No one has ever been so many men as this man, who like the Egyptian Proteus could exhaust all the guises of reality. At times he would leave a confession hidden away in some corner of his work, certain it would not be deciphered; Richard affirms that in his person he plays the part of many and Iago claims with curious words "i am not what i am." The fundamental identity of existing, dreaming and acting inspired famous passages of his. For twenty years he persisted in that controlled hallucination, but one mourning he was suddenly gripped by the tedium and terror of being so many kings who die by the sword and so many suffering Lovers who converge, diverge and melodiously expire. That day he arranged to sell his theatre. Within a week he had returned to his native village, where he recovered the trees and rivers of his childhood and did not relate them to the others his muse had celebrated, illustrious with mythological allusions and Latin terms. He had to be someone; he was a retired impresario who had made his fortune and had concerned himself with loans, lawsuits and petty usury. It was in this character that he dictated the arid will and testament known to us, from which he deliberately excluded all traces of pathos or literature. His friends from London would visit his retreat and for them he would take up his role as Poet. History adds that before or after dying he found himself in the presence of God and told Her: "i who have been so many men in vain want to be one and myself." The voice of the Lord answered from a whirlwind: "Neither am I anyone; I have dreamt the World as you dreamt your work, my buried child, and among the forms in my dream are you, who like myself are many and no one."
|07 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar|| ...And so it should be, Lucy.
Let us seek Peace. Let us become effectively gentle and thoughtfully caring towards one another. Lucy Cortina... Such a Beautiful name!! And how blessfully truthful it seems for you.
|06 Mar 2003||Steven Morrissey-Mackellar||"In Search of Lost Time" is an amazing... volume of novels. If you wish to waste your life, productively, convince yourself to read through them all. Proust is surely the ultimate Authority on dyslocated time.|
|05 Mar 2003||Michael Mackellar||In case any one is wondering... i caved-in last week. It was in consequence of reading far too many back catalogue postings by some wanker named Lucy Focking Cortina.
Needless to say, i have never been more offended by myself.
"The Higher Madness" awaits...
What ever happened to Sad King Billy?????????
|05 Mar 2003||Dominique Mackellar||[IT'S NOT] i keep going round and round on the same old circuit/a wire travels underground to a vacant lot/where something i can't see interrupts the current/and shrinks the picture down to a tiny dot/and from behind the screen it can look so perfect/but it's not//So here i'm sitting in my car at the same old stoplight/i keep waiting for a sign but i don't know what/so red turns into green turning into yellow/but i'm just frozen here on the same old spot/and all i have to do is to press the pedal/but i'm not//People are tricky/you can't afford to show/anything risky/anything they don't know/the moment you try/kiss it Goodbye//So Abbie, kiss me like a drug/like a respirator/and let me fall into the dream of the astronaut/where i get lost in space that goes on forever/and you make all the rest just an afterthought/and i believe it's you who could make it better/though it's not
|03 Mar 2003||kinkyfairy||What's this??? The Mackellar family a la "The Osbornes" stylie. SHARON!!!!!!!|
|03 Mar 2003||Tristan Mackellar||THE SUN ARISES IN DARKNESS Every product of disgust capable of becoming a negation of the family is Dada; a protest with the fists of its whole being engaged in destructive action: Dada; Knowledge of all the means rejected up until now by the shamefaced sex of comfortable compromise and good manners. Dada; abolition of logic, which is the Dance of the Impotent to create. Dada; of every social hierarchy and equation set up for the sake of values by our valets. Dada; every object, all objects, sentiments, obscurities, apparitions, and the precise clash of parallel lines are weapons for the fight. Dada; abolition of memory. Dada; abolition of archaeology. Dada; abolition of the prophets. Dada; abolition of the future. Dada; absolute and unquestionable Faith in every god that is an immediate product of spontaneity. Dada; elegant and unprejudiced leap from harmony to the Other sphere, trajectory of a word tossed like a screeching phonograph record; to respect all individuals in their unavoidable folly of the moment: whether it be serious, fearful, timid, ardent, vigorous, determined, enthusiastic; to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them... with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least... with the same intensity in the thicket of one's soul, pure of insects for blood wellborn, and gilded with bodies of Archangels.
FREEDOM: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE.
|27 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||Has anyone seen "Lord of Illusions"? i tend to feel that the way Swann faked his own demise was pretty slick. If anyone could actually pull that off, and manage to get it recorded on film... They would have my vote towards being served a ranking of 'best'. Just make certain you capture it all in Real Time...|
|27 Feb 2003||Abbie Mackellar||KILLING FOR COMPANY. When in a written exam the youth are allotted 4-hours to develop a theme, then it is neither here nor there if an individual student happens to finish before the time is up, or uses the entire time. Here, therefore, the task is one thing, and time another.
But when time itself is the task, it becomes a fault to finish before time has transpired. Suppose a young man was assigned the task of entertaining himself for an entire day, and he finishes this task of self-entertainment as early as noon: then his celerity would not be mertorious. So also when Life constitutes the task. To be finished with life before Life has finished with one, is precisely not to have passed the Exam...
How empty and meaningless Life has become. We bury a man; we accompany him to the grave, throw 3 spadefuls of earth on him; we ride out in a carriage, ride home in a carriage; we find consolation in the thought that we have a long life ahead of us. But how long is nine times ten years? Why not settle it all at once?? Why not stay out there and go along down into the grave and draw lots to see to whom shall befall the misfortune of being the last of the living who throws the last 3 spadefuls of earth upon the last of the Dead???
...i suppose We have yet to evolve to such a state of resplendent sensibility...
|26 Feb 2003||Minerva Mackellar||PRIMITIVITY. Every human being is born with a seed of primitivity (for primitivity means a possibility for developing the spirit). The God who created it knows best. All profane, temporal, worldly intelligence has relation to destroying one's primitivity. Prudential Philosophy has relation to developing one's primitivity. Destroy your primitivity, and you will most probably get along well in the world, maybe achieve great success... but Eternity shall reject you. Follow up your primitivity, and you will be shipwrecked in temporality............ but accepted by Eternity.