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.

Date Name/email

Nom/email
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?
11 Jun 2009 the joker guys, i am 13 years of age, my parents love me to hell i seem to find myself sitting on my skinny ass playing world of warcraft everyday 24/7 except school weeks... i look at porn and do stupid things when i shouldn't be doing them... i am told that i would get in trouble with the police... i chuckle at them and say.... " if i go to jail, then i will kill my self" they get angry!!!! the best way to commit sucide is to wait til your heart has done its part... then thats when you die im hanging in there... i cant even grow the fucking gold brass balls to kill my self, then again i cant bring myself to jump out of my window (do note that i live in a very tall flat and there are 14 floors in total and i live on floor 13) so very easy to die and also ANYONE WHO IS BEING BULLIED DO NOT FUCKING KILL YOURSELVES, IF YOU TELL THEN YOU WON'T SUFFER ANYTHING... you know its kinda like eating butterfly cakes... they're tasty and its a pretty good feeling when you tell on the bullies then they are dealt with it is like exorcising a demon but yes of course that is very irrelevant to this subject - my message : don't kill yourself, instead try to work out plans... its like being in a war you just got to tidy it up into groups ETC: problems sort them into groups like... home,school,work,family or friends and if you had a recent issue with a friend then isolate yourself from them for a while while you solve all your other problems its like deafeating people... but yes, its not really a war but a emotional war i am not emo i am not goth i am not any of those people i am just a normal,sadistic a big deaf asshole who hasn't got a life because hes too focused on getting a good life i have a girlfriend and i consider myself "EXTREMELY" lucky to have her because she is the most beautiful girl on the planet in my opinion and if i commit suicide it will break her heart and it won't just hurt her... it'll hurt your friends... itll hurt your family... IMAGINE YOUR BROTHER OR SISTER COMING INTO YOUR ROOM AND FIND YOUR CORPSE HANGING ON THE CEILING WITH BLOOD COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH WITH A FRICKING SUICIDE NOTE PINNED ON YOUR ASS SAYING THAT YOU LOVE THEM TO BITS BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH - THEY FEEL TERRIBLE AND I CAN'T HELP MYSELF NOT TO CRY TO SHIT ABOUT THIS... :( its a sad life out there where is the old days.. i read about the swinging sixties.. where peace and love was at its highest.. where did that go?!
05 Jun 2009 christmas How do you pay the rent with this Mouchette?
I mean, Really. Talking about Lucy's breasts is all fine and dandy, but I don't feel like it's a recession proof business.
26 May 2009 M.M. a.k.a. billy the freak amsterdam heaves like the breath in her lungs. people bustle through the streets as
the blood surges through her veins. i can feel this all around me.... however, i sit
alone in the a bar. I want to be alone, only me and the bartender. hey, did you know
i have the power to be anybody? i can go anywhere and do anything, any-fucking-way i
want to do it. However, tonight I sit alone. i sit in a basement level dive too dark
to see the clock on the wall, yet bright enough to see the bar in front of me. the
pink neon light in the window screamed in its best cursive 'MOUCHETTE' a warm and
ambient glow enveloping you like a womb welcoming all to her embrace. however,
tonight i sit alone.
The bartender is mouchette and i am only a guest in her place. like me she has the
power to be anything, but only in the minds of other people. if you were to ask her
who she was("mouchette, really who are you?")she would say she killed herself at the
brink of thirteen and in death had second thoughts. now she plays a game and through
this game she lives on. tonight mouchette is a thirty something italian woman with
the type of beauty that says you would like to fuck her, but wouldn't really perform
at your best only because you are intimidated by her razor sharp wit and her worldly
charm.. She has so many friends and you never feel good enough in her company. the
intimate encounters are few and far between and you both want more. when you are
away she is always in the back of your mind. i know all this and tonight she is only
the bartender, why she is in this spittoon of a saloon could only be guessed, but i
do know she is here... aways here for me.
"mouchette! baby doll, please pour me another." i belted.
"billy darling no need to shout; i am right here and there is no one else in the
bar." she said in a reprimanding tone."another vodka and tonic i would bet."
"right you are. you know me well."
"i know you because you know you, you know me and right now... this is all we know."
"positively insightful mouchette, I say you inspire me. you are my muse." this i
announced with a certain amount of glee.
"billy" she said while fixing my drink. "I am afraid the booze is your muse.." She
sat the drink down in front of me.
I was outraged. "mouchette, you... how could you say this? do you want to hurt me?
do you want me to feel bad?"
"again billy, this is all we know. I think you must ask yourself that question."
{what is her angle? what is she getting at? i want her to go with the flow.} i took
the drink in one gulp then slammed the heavy short glass motioning for another
drink, nectar of the gods.
" vodka and tonic yes?"
"ha!! i would like a whiskey and coke, if you put pepsi in there i will fucking
smack you." i said triumphantly "you are slipping mouchette... maybe you are not my
muse"
"the joke is on you billy." she said in a tired voice and made the drink in the same
dirty glass.
{the joke was on me. i hate whiskey. what is this? do i have control? yes, i have
all the control. when i am here i am king and she is the servant. So why do i feel
so helpless.} the neon light from out side the bar shined through my half empty
short glass, casting glimmers of light onto the slick bar top. the lights danced
across the fine finished wood as i turned the glass between my thumb and index
finger. suddenly i felt alone. no longer alone by choice, but alone... just
helplessly alone.
"well billy, I'm here" falicia said out of nowhere.
"how did you get here." I asked.
"you let me in silly, what kind of question is that." now i am simply sick of this
shit.
"are you going to fuck with me too falicia!" i shot the whiskey and the fumes and
words came out my mouth like fire. "i don't know how you got here. i don't know why
you keep coming back. i didn't open that fucking door."
"i found the door and walked through it just like you did billy, ask yourself these
questions and you will find the answers you are looking for." falicia ordered a
mineral water and drank while i thought about what she said.
i first came here when i was sixteen it was 1998 ten years passed and now i am
twenty six. i didn't give anything, i only took for one decade. she was always here
when i needed her and at times she made me feel special, at times she made me feel
worthless. I would run away but only in presence. in the stealth of the night i
would visit. the price i pay is her always haunting me, for not a day goes by... not
a day goes by. did i want a suicide kit for christmas? no, i just wanted to show
other children how to play with the toy. i am no longer a child, but i still play
with this toy.
"falicia i come here because as long as people come here i cannot die.... i will
live forever. this is the gift she gave me and i tell you, i don't know if i deserve
it." just when i thought i was opening up falicia started to laugh a hysterical
laugh. then lucy and phil join in. chris and will snow chime and it now a chorus of
laughter. joe lee, mackellar, elaine, agent orange, just a girl, and many others
have the bar quaking with laughter. in spite of myself i start to chuckle as well,
but i had to ask.
"falicia why are we laughing."
"you wanting to live forever is all fine and good," she said as she points across
the bar with her finger resting towards the bartender. "but what happens when she
dies."
that very moment i had ad a revelation and with that change a change happened in
mouchette. her cigarette burn eyes stared at me as she poured me another vodka and
tonic, her smile was just crack on her plastic face
23 May 2009 M.M. a.k.a.billy the freak the city heaves like the breath in her lungs. people bustle through the streets as the blood surges through her veins. i can feel this all around me... however, i sit alone in her bar. I want to be alone, only me and the bartender.
{hey, did you know i have the power to be anybody? i can go anywhere. yep. i can do anything, any-fucking-way i want to do it. however, tonight I sit alone. i sit in a basement level dive too dark to see the clock on the wall, yet bright enough to see the bar in front of me like a high definition painting in a cheap plastic frame. the pink neon light in the window screamed in its best cursive 'MOUCHETTE' a warm and ambient glow enveloping you like a womb welcoming all to her embrace. however, tonight i sit alone.
the bartender is mouchette and i am only a guest in her place. like me she has the power to be anything, but only in the minds of other people. if you were to ask her who she was, she would say she killed herself at the brink of thirteen and in death had second thoughts. not that she didn't want to kill herself, but wanted to know the best way to do it. now she plays a game and through this game she lives on.
tonight mouchette is a thirty something woman with the type of beauty that says you would like to love her, but wouldn't really be at your best only because you are intimidated by her razor sharp wit and her worldly charm... she has so many friends and you never feel good enough in her company. the intimate encounters are few and far between and you both want more. when you are away she is always in the back of your mind. i know all this and tonight she is only the bartender, why she is in this spittoon of a saloon could only be guessed, but i do know she is here... always here for me.
"mouchette! baby doll, please pour me another" i belted.
"billy, darling, no need to shout; i am right here and there is no one else in the bar" she said in a reprimanding tone", " another vodka and tonic i would bet?"
"right you are. you know me well "i said.
"i know you because you know you, you know me and right now... this is all we know" she replied.
"positively insightful mouchette, I say you inspire me. you are my muse." this i announced with a certain amount of glee, but not really understanding what she said. it sounded good enough.
"billy" she said while fixing my drink. "I am afraid the booze is your muse." she sat the drink down in front of me. she is speaking gobbity gook and suggesting i was an alcoholic. I was outraged.
"mouchette, you... how could you say this? do you want to hurt me? do you want me to feel bad?"
"again billy, this is all we know. I think you must ask yourself that question." she said again putting it back on me.
{what is her angle? what is she getting at? i want her to go with the flow.}
i took the drink in one gulp then slammed the heavy short glass motioning for another drink, nectar of the gods.
" vodka and tonic yes?" she called from across the bar.
"ha!! i would like a whiskey and coke, if you put pepsi in there i will fucking smack you." i said triumphantly. "you are slipping mouchette... maybe you are not my muse maybe this is just a joke."
"the joke is on you billy." she said in a tired voice and made the drink in the same dirty glass.
{and the joke was on me. i hate whiskey. in an attempt to be belligerent i asked for something i didn't want. what is this? do i have control? yes, i have all the control. when i am here i am king and she is the servant. So why do i feel so helpless.}
the neon light from out side the bar shined through my half empty short glass, casting glimmers of light onto the slick bar top. the lights danced across the fine finished wood as i turned the glass between my thumb and index finger. suddenly i felt alone. no longer alone by choice, but alone... just helplessly alone.
"well billy, I'm here" felicia said out of nowhere.
"how did you get here." I asked.
"you let me in silly, what kind of question is that?" was the condescending reply.
now i am simply sick of this shit.
"are you going to fuck with me too felicia!" i shot the whiskey down my throat and the words and fumes came out my mouth like fire.
"i don't know how you got here. i don't know why you keep coming back. i didn't open that fucking door you waltzed in here yourdamnself."
"billy right now you want me here. i found the door and walked through it just like you did. billy, ask yourself these questions and you will find the answers you are looking for". felicia ordered a mineral water and drank while i thought about what she said.
i first came here when i was sixteen it was 1998 ten years passed and now i am twenty six. i found this place when i was contemplating suicide. we all know i'm no strait lacer who tied up his shoes to awalk on the wild side. i never gave anything too much, and got so much in return. she was always here when i needed her. at times she made me feel special, at times she couldn't have made me feel more worthless. I would run away, but only in presence and in the stealth of the night i would visit. the price i pay is her always haunting me, for not a day goes by... not a day goes by. did i want a suicide kit for christmas? not really, i just wanted to show other children how to play with the toy. i am no longer a child, but i still play with this toy. i'll still show to get the max amount fun even if you just watch the other children. something eternal made fameous by the hands of its creator. that's it.
"felicia i come here because, as long as people come here i cannot die... i will live forever. this is the gift she gave me and i tell you, i don't know if i deserve it". just when i thought i was opening up felicia started to laugh a hysterical laugh. then lucy and phil joined in. chris and will snow chime in and it is now a chorus of laughter. joe lee, mackellar, elaine, odd orange, dead inside, just a girl, and many others have the bar quaking with laughter. in spite of myself i start to chuckle as well, but i had to ask.
"felicia why are we laughing?"
"although it sounds like an oxymoron in the most basic sense, you wanting to live forever is all fine and good" she said as she points across the bar with her finger resting towards the bartender "but what happens when she dies?"
that very moment i had a revelation and with that change in my mind a change happened in mouchette. her cigarette burned eyes stared at me as she poured me another vodka and tonic, her smile was just crack on her plastic face.

billy the freak
07 Mar 2009 Loki You kids need to realize that suicide is one of the most selfish things a human being can do. If you believe in the christian heaven and hell, you should check out dante's dream about hell in his book "inferno", and see where he meets "the suicides" and then see how that corrollates with the christian bible on what happens to those who destroy god's temple in self-righteousness, disowning the laws of both man and god. As an atheist, it took more than that for me, but for you tweens (no disrespect), that might be enough to reconsider. I've tried twice, and vowed to do it the right way the next time, but even the dark side of me is repulsed by the creator of this page and the people who claim to be adults giving advice to thirteen-year-olds on the right way. Fucking sick. Your feelings are very real and very important and even though it seems nobody cares or understands, somebody does. Try me. And for you fucking sick pedophilic sadistic chickenhawks with the advice... You can try me, too.
28 Feb 2009 Chrismas jones collective This is typical mouchellette,
You've had me possesse since a little boy, please...
23 Feb 2009 Christian (My name, yes) If you're under 13 all you have to do is ask your parents if you can go to a shooting range. You can plan when you are going to do this so you can be sure you are ready. You may want to go shooting a few times first to get used to firearms (What I plan on doing) so that you dont make a mistake when you shoot yourself. The best thing to do is aim a pistol at point blank range to your head and squeze the trigger and you will lose all of the pain you have. The setbacks are that someone is going to have to clean up once your dead, your parents might not let you go, and that if you aim the pistol at your head and you wimp out your life will be fucked up... Only do this when your ready.
23 Feb 2009 Christmas jones I'm not sure that I live here anymore...

23 Feb 2009 christmas jones I doubt that tonight will be different, so I once again shall skip out and not answer your originaly asked question mouchette.
I feel like the whole cities being constructed ontop of me. Like all the filthy ad space and electric lighting are engulfing me. I hate to talk like this but my reccent thoughts are blurry and confusing and only lead up to cliché descriptions like that.
I just hate waking up feeling so shitty from this.
And my memmories, they're slipping, I'm in and out of day dreams and there are so many loose ends in my head. If someone asked me how my weekend was, tommorow, I don't think I'd know what to say.
I'm emptying out of responces to the real world... and everything is becoming more and more orwellian amd surreal.
I cant help but try to burst out with emotion, just to see if i have any left...

maybe this fever will overcome me and I'll get to sleep sound through these confusing weather patterns.
10 Feb 2009 Amon Become a born-again Christian. It's not suicide exactly, but you won't be living your life, that's for damned sure.
17 Jan 2009 Jolo I've been coming to this site for a little more than two years.
so, here it goes...
My life, I have a good life, Loving family, alot of loving friends. Do you think I'm happy? Do you?

NO!

No I'm not, after all the good things I've been through, I don't feel it. I HATE MYSELF! I'm just a small sack off shit wating to decompose. I haven't done anything right. Unless wrong is right, then Ive done alot of it! My life isn't fucked up, I AM! People around me love me, even if they tease me all the time I know they love me, or at least I think they do. I love them, especially my parents. Why am I here? That's because I don't deserve to live, my life is to good for me! They give me their best and I give them my worst. What kind of person am I! Oh yeah, I'm the sorry sack of shit! I hope I have some pills right now! To add to the dissapointment, It's our junior prom on Feb. I don't have a date! I'm a fucking loser! Why did I exist in the first place! I have no use in this world. I'm just another waste of resources.

When I was 7 I always wanted to take pictures, but at 9 something felt wrong, I felt that I was the only one different. Since then I avoided taking pictures, unless people force me. Now I'm 16, still a useless pile of shit! I cut myself, I burn myself, I started smoking just because of the fact that it could kill, I even drink this fuel for model cars, which kinda taste like 3 times the strongest tequila you've ever drunk, because it has the skull and crossbones logo, poison! can Kill! Yeah right I've been drinking it for a month and nothing happens.

What am I gonna do now? should I kill myself now and save the others? or should I just let life fuck me as it already does.

If there are an Christians out there Pls pray for me, so that I could have a date for the prom, maybe that's just the pathetic reason why I'm so depressed. Oh well, I doubt that even having my dream girl would put me out of this misery.

Pls help me. If it's death or a good life, you wish for me, thank you for your prayers
13 Jan 2009 Hi im Jesus H. Christ! eat a lot of peanuts untill they get stuck in ur anus and u cant pooh anymore, so you explode. it happened to my friends puppy once. TRY IT! ............wow im wierd. sorry.
04 Jan 2009 spookypenguin Bob Dylan - not my words, but my prospective.

Christmas Jonnes - When i feel like the whitey asshole i am.

the poets entourage - I cringe at my own idealism

death - fun times

Spooky Penguin - me
25 Dec 2008 Waiting Do you know what I just realized today? I just come to the conclusion that the only time my "friends" give a shit about me is when they think I maybe dead. It just goes to show how empty and heartless people are nowadays. Oh, and happy christmas or whatever you celebrate this time of year Mouchette, I hope that you love life better than I do.
18 Dec 2008 Aureus Dear Mouchette,

All I want for Christmas is exsanguination.

Sincerely, me.
11 Dec 2008 Christmas Jones So I lay down a while
And I gaze at my hotel wall
Oh the cot is so cold
It don't feel like no bed at all
Yeah I lay down a while
And I gaze at my hotel wall
But he's down on the street
So I throw both his bags down the hall
And I'm phoning a cab
'Cause my stomach feels small
There's a taste in my mouth
And it's no taste at all

It could have been me
Oh yeah, it could have been me
Why didn't I say,
Why didn't I say, no, no, no
08 Dec 2008 Kuborion Girl of sixteen
Whole life ahead of her
Slashed her wrists
Bored with life
Didn't succeed
Thank the Lord
For small mercies

Fighting back the tears
Mother reads the note again
Sixteen candles burn in her mind
She takes the blame
It's always the same
She goes down on her knees and prays

I don't want to start
Any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find Him laughing

Girl of eighteen
Fell in love with everything
Found new life
In Jesus Christ
Hit by a car
Ended up
On a life support machine

Summer's day
As she passed away
Birds were singing
In the summer sky
Then came the rain
And once again
A tear fell
From her mother's eye

I don't want to start
Any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find Him laughing
03 Dec 2008 Chris when you try so hard and so long without success, when you can not sleep st night and the pain is crushing you. When there is nobody who undderstands you and the ones you talk to laugh at you. When people tell you "thats the stupiest thing to do". When you are 30 and you never felt love in your life - neither to give nor to take. When everything around you annoys you. When you wear a mask in front of everyone to keep your job and not to be thrown in an mental institute, because nobody understands you. When you are different and you cant say why. When nothing that you ever do really is fun. When youu cant remember the last time that you laughed. When you keep crying at night and there is nobody to care for you. When loneliness is the way of life. When you are too ugly and no girl considers you... When all hope is gone and despite waiting big time, it doesnt feel better. When you dont believe in miracles any longer.... all that is me. And dont you dare telling me that I dont have right for it!
14 Nov 2008 cecilia Hey my name is Cecilia and yea ive had enough to read of this suicide nonsense but i mean im willing to listen to you if you have problems no one should encourage anyone to commit suicide thats not the answer for any problems whats so ever. If you really want to commit suicide or on the verge of doing it just email me crazigeorge1@yahoo.com. look not to get religous or anyhting but shit if god (i am christian) put you through the horrible situations he did then what makes you think he went help you get out of them? not everyones life is going to go perfect your going to have the good things and the bad things break ups and divorces losing people you love and any other problems you got but i promise you, you will get over it and life will go on. it wont be the end of the world for you if something bad happens to you or anyone else becuse thats what life is it helps you grow and learn lessons each day you may not like them but everyones going to go thru them so please dont kill yourself please i recenntly lost a really good friends of mine his name was A.J. Munoz and he comitted suice not to long ago it was a day before his birthday august 10 i believe well yea that hurt me so much im still not over it to this day but like i said life goes on so just remeber that if you feel as if your life isnt gunna get any better because it will and i can promise you that it may not be the very next day or the next month but just hold your head up high cause you gotta people that love and care for you that you may not know like me like i said if you ever need to talk just write me crazigeorge1@yahoo.com haha cause other girl will stick to your side like i will and i put my word on that<333

xoxo
cecilia
13 Oct 2008 crystal The Quest - by Wystan Hugh Auden

I. The Door

Out of it steps our future, through this door
Enigmas, executioners and rules,
Her Majesty in a bad temper or
A red-nosed Fool who makes a fool of fools.

Great persons eye it in the twilight for
A past it might so carelessly let in,
A widow with a missionary grin,
The foaming inundation at a roar.

We pile our all against it when afraid,
And beat upon its panels when we die:
By happening to be open once, it made

Enormous Alice see a wonderland
That waited for her in the sunshine and,
Simply by being tiny, made her cry.

II. The Preparations

All had been ordered weeks before the start
From the best firms at such work: instruments
To take the measure of all queer events,
And drugs to move the bowels or the heart.

A watch, of course, to watch impatience fly,
Lamps for the dark and shades against the sun;
Foreboding, too, insisted on a gun,
And coloured beads to soothe a savage eye.

In theory they were sound on Expectation,
Had there been situations to be in;
Unluckily they were their situation:

One should not give a poisoner medicine,
A conjurer fine apparatus, nor
A rifle to a melancholic bore.

III. The Crossroads

Two friends who met here and embraced are gone,
Each to his own mistake; one flashes on
To fame and ruin in a rowdy lie,
A village torpor holds the other one,
Some local wrong where it takes time to die:
This empty junction glitters in the sun.

So at all quays and crossroads: who can tell
These places of decision and farewell
To what dishonour all adventure leads,
What parting gift could give that friend protection,
So orientated his vocation needs
The Bad Lands and the sinister direction?

All landscapes and all weathers freeze with fear,
But none have ever thought, the legends say,
The time allowed made it impossible;
For even the most pessimistic set
The limit of their errors at a year.
What friends could there be left then to betray,
What joy take longer to atone for; yet
Who could complete without the extra day
The journey that should take no time at all?

IV. The Traveler

No window in his suburb lights that bedroom where
A little fever heard large afternoons at play:
His meadows multiply; that mill, though, is not there
Which went on grinding at the back of love all day.

Nor all his weeping ways through weary wastes have found
The castle where his Greater Hallows are interned;
For broken bridges halt him, and dark thickets round
Some ruin where an evil heritage was burned.

Could he forget a child's ambition to be old
And institutions where it learned to wash and lie,
He'd tell the truth for which he thinks himself too young,

That everywhere on his horizon, all the sky,
Is now, as always, only waiting to be told
To be his father's house and speak his mother tongue.

V. The City

In villages from which their childhoods came
Seeking Necessity, they had been taught
Necessity by nature is the same
No matter how or by whom it be sought.

The city, though, assumed no such belief,
But welcomed each as if he came alone,
The nature of Necessity like grief
Exactly corresponding to his own.

And offered them so many, every one
Found some temptation fit to govern him,
And settled down to master the whole craft

Of being nobody; sat in the sun
During the lunch-hour round the fountain rim,
And watched the country kids arrive, and laughed.

VI. The First Temptation

Ashamed to be the darling of his grief,
He joined a gang of rowdy stories where
His gift for magic quickly made him chief
Of all these boyish powers of the air;

Who turned his hungers into Roman food,
The town's asymmetry into a park;
All hours took taxis; any solitude
Became his flattered duchess in the dark.

But, if he wished for anything less grand,
The nights came padding after him like wild
Beasts that meant harm, and all the doors cried Thief;

And when Truth had met him and put out her hand,
He clung in panic to his tall belief
And shrank away like an ill-treated child.

VII. The Second Temptation

His library annoyed him with its look
Of calm belief in being really there;
He threw away a rival's boring book,
And clattered panting up the spiral stair.

Swaying upon the parapet he cried:
"O Uncreated Nothing, set me free,
Now let Thy perfect be identified,
Unending passion of the Night, with Thee."

And his long-suffering flesh, that all the time
Had felt the simple cravings of the stone
And hoped to be rewarded for her climb,

Took it to be a promise when he spoke
That now at last she would be left alone,
And plunged into the college quad, and broke.

VIII. The Third Temptation

He watched with all his organs of concern
How princes walk, what wives and children say,
Re-opened old graves in his heart to learn
What laws the dead had died to disobey,

And came reluctantly to his conclusion:
"All the arm-chair philosophies are false;
To love another adds to the confusion;
The song of mercy is the Devil's Waltz."

All that he put his hand to prospered so
That soon he was the very King of creatures,
Yet, in an autumn nightmare trembled, for,

Approaching down a ruined corridor,
Strode someone with his own distorted features
Who wept, and grew enormous, and cried Woe.

IX. The Tower

This is an architecture for the old;
Thus heaven was attacked by the afraid,
So once, unconsciously, a virgin made
Her maidenhead conspicuous to a god.

Here on dark nights while worlds of triumph sleep
Lost Love in abstract speculation burns,
And exiled Will to politics returns
In epic verse that makes its traitors weep.

Yet many come to wish their tower a well;
For those who dread to drown, of thirst may die,
Those who see all become invisible:

Here great magicians, caught in their own spell,
Long for a natural climate as they sigh
"Beware of Magic" to the passer-by.

X. The Presumptuous

They noticed that virginity was needed
To trap the unicorn in every case,
But not that, of those virgins who succeeded,
A high percentage had an ugly face.

The hero was as daring as they thought him,
But his peculiar boyhood missed them all;
The angel of a broken leg had taught him
The right precautions to avoid a fall.

So in presumption they set forth alone
On what, for them, was not compulsory,
And stuck half-way to settle in some cave
With desert lions to domesticity,

Or turned aside to be absurdly brave,
And met the ogre and were turned to stone.

XI. The Average

His peasant parents killed themselves with toil
To let their darling leave a stingy soil
For any of those fine professions which
Encourage shallow breathing, and grow rich.

The pressure of their fond ambition made
Their shy and country-loving child afraid
No sensible career was good enough,
Only a hero could deserve such love.

So here he was without maps or supplies,
A hundred miles from any decent town;
The desert glared into his blood-shot eyes,
The silence roared displeasure:
looking down,
He saw the shadow of an Average Man
Attempting the exceptional, and ran.

XII. Vocation

Incredulous, he stared at the amused
Official writing down his name among
Those whose request to suffer was refused.

The pen ceased scratching: though he came too late
To join the martyrs, there was still a place
Among the tempters for a caustic tongue

To test the resolution of the young
With tales of the small failings of the great,
And shame the eager with ironic praise.

Though mirrors might be hateful for a while,
Women and books would teach his middle age
The fencing wit of an informal style,
To keep the silences at bay and cage
His pacing manias in a worldly smile.

XIII. The Useful

The over-logical fell for the witch
Whose argument converted him to stone,
Thieves rapidly absorbed the over-rich,
The over-popular went mad alone,
And kisses brutalised the over-male.

As agents their importance quickly ceased;
Yet, in proportion as they seemed to fail,
Their instrumental value was increased
For one predestined to attain their wish.

By standing stones the blind can feel their way,
Wild dogs compel the cowardly to fight,
Beggars assist the slow to travel light,
And even madmen manage to convey
Unwelcome truths in lonely gibberish.

XIV. The Way

Fresh addenda are published every day
To the encyclopedia of the Way,

Linguistic notes and scientific explanations,
And texts for schools with modernised spelling and illustrations.

Now everyone knows the hero must choose the old horse,
Abstain from liquor and sexual intercourse,

And look out for a stranded fish to be kind to:
Now everyone thinks he could find, had he a mind to,

The way through the waste to the chapel in the rock
For a vision of the Triple Rainbow or the Astral Clock,

Forgetting his information comes mostly from married men
Who liked fishing and a flutter on the horses now and then.

And how reliable can any truth be that is got
By observing oneself and then just inserting a Not?

XV. The Lucky

Suppose he'd listened to the erudite committee,
He would have only found where not to look;
Suppose his terrier when he whistled had obeyed,
It would not have unearthed the buried city;
Suppose he had dismissed the careless maid,
The cryptogram would not have fluttered from the book.

"It was not I," he cried as, healthy and astounded,
He stepped across a predecessor's skull;
"A nonsense jingle simply came into my head
And left the intellectual Sphinx dumbfounded;
I won the Queen because my hair was red;
The terrible adventure is a little dull."

Hence Failure's torment: "Was I doomed in any case,
Or would I not have failed had I believed in Grace?"

XVI. The Hero

He parried every question that they hurled:
"What did the Emperor tell you?" "Not to push."
"What is the greatest wonder of the world?"
"The bare man Nothing in the Beggar's Bush."

Some muttered: "He is cagey for effect.
A hero owes a duty to his fame.
He looks too like a grocer for respect."
Soon they slipped back into his Christian name.

The only difference that could be seen
From those who'd never risked their lives at all
Was his delight in details and routine:

For he was always glad to mow the grass,
Pour liquids from large bottles into small,
Or look at clouds through bits of coloured glass.

XVII. Adventure

Others had found it prudent to withdraw
Before official pressure was applied,
Embittered robbers outlawed by the Law,
Lepers in terror of the terrified.

But no one else accused these of a crime;
They did not look ill: old friends, overcome,
Stared as they rolled away from talk and time
Like marbles out into the blank and dumb.

The crowd clung all the closer to convention,
Sunshine and horses, for the sane know why
The even numbers should ignore the odd:

The Nameless is what no free people mention;
Successful men know better than to try
To see the face of their Absconded God.

XVIII. The Adventurers

Spinning upon their central thirst like tops,
They went the Negative Way towards the Dry;
By empty caves beneath an empty sky
They emptied out their memories like slops,

Which made a foul marsh as they dried to death,
Where monsters bred who forced them to forget
The lovelies their consent avoided; yet,
Still praising the Absurd with their last breath,

They seeded out into their miracles:
The images of each grotesque temptation
Became some painter's happiest inspiration,

And barren wives and burning virgins came
To drink the pure cold water of their wells,
And wish for beaux and children in their name.

XIX. The Waters

Poet, oracle, and wit
Like unsuccessful anglers by
The ponds of apperception sit,
Baiting with the wrong request
The vectors of their interest,
At nightfall tell the angler's lie.

With time in tempest everywhere,
To rafts of frail assumption cling
The saintly and the insincere;
Enraged phenomena bear down
In overwhelming waves to drown
Both sufferer and suffering.

The waters long to hear our question put
Which would release their longed-for answer, but.

XX. The Garden

Within these gates all opening begins:
White shouts and flickers through its green and red,
Where children play at seven earnest sins
And dogs believe their tall conditions dead.

Here adolescence into number breaks
The perfect circle time can draw on stone,
And flesh forgives division as it makes
Another's moment of consent its own.

All journeys die here: wish and weight are lifted:
Where often round some old maid's desolation
Roses have flung their glory like a cloak,

The gaunt and great, the famed for conversation
Blushed in the stare of evening as they spoke
And felt their centre of volition shifted.

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