|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?
|24 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||THE GREAT AND SECRET SHOW. One can very well eat lettuce before its heart has been formed; still, the delicate crispness of the heart and its lovely frizz are something altogether different from the leaves. It is the same in the world of the spirit. Being too busy has this result: that an individual very, very rarely is permitted to form a heart; upon the other hand, the thinker, the poet, or the religious personality who actually HAS formed her heart, shall never be popular, not because she is difficult, but because it demands quiet and prolonged working with oneself and intimate knowledge of oneself as well as a certain isolation. Even if, in a full-toned voice, i could say something that could please each and every one, if it were of a religious nature i would not say it, because it is already a kind of religious indecency that it should be necessary to make an outcry about it; on the contrary, religious things have to do with a softly murmured soliloquy with oneself. Alas, things are so topsy-turvy that, instead of having to do with each individual going alone into her secret closet to commune quietly with herself, people believe that religion is a matter for very rambunctious talk... Take the focking absurdity of conventional terrorism, for example... ~Soren
...No, not Schmirnov Ice!! Try Blue Moon. It is much more Pure. *OO-ER*???
|24 Feb 2003||Mary-Annette Mackellar||NACHTBREED. The yardstick for a human being is: how long and to what degree she can bear to be alone, devoid of understanding with others. A Being who could bear... being Alone during an entire lifetime, and alone in decisions of eternal significance, is farthest removed from the murdoch and the society-person who represent the conventional-definition of a human being. ~Soren|
|24 Feb 2003||Valentin Mackellar||THE LONGING. Like an invalid longing to throw off her bandages, so my healthy spirit longs to throw off my body's debility; like the victorious general, who when her horse is hit by a bullet under her, calls out for a new horse... Oh, if my spirits victorious health likewise dared call out: A new horse, a new body!! ...Like a person at sea, whose life is threatened and, when another Drowner tries to take hold of her leg, pushes her away with all her might, thus my body like a heavy weight dragging me down clings to my spirit and will end by perishing; like a steamer whose engines are too large in proportion to the vessel's construct: that is the way i suffer. This is the way i shall expire... ~Soren|
|23 Feb 2003||Quidam Mackellar||GLOUGLOUTER ~What were you?
Hooked within this salient self not pinned by human sorrows... but bright blanched by an immortal sickness which kills not. It works a constant change, which Happy-death dares not put to an end. Deathwards progressing... to another death was that visage. It had passed. The lily and the snow; and far beyond all these i must not think now. Though i saw Her face... and felt Her eyes pass through another me. What are you? Without story or prop but my own frail mentality, i bear the load of this eternal quietude. The unchanging gloom and the six fixed shapes... Ponderous upon my senses a darkening moon. For by my burning brain i measured sure Her silvered seasons shying from the night. And ever day by day i grew More gaunt and ghostly... Oftentimes i prayed, Intense, that Death would tear my from the vale. And all its burdens... churning with despair. Beside a rotted shelf on high; you asked too soon... Not mine, my cry. What did you see? i've seen the Cerement erase a sky... i've seen the Fermament close my own eye. What do you feel?
|21 Feb 2003||Soren Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.37 Just as a person feels most comfortable shuffling through life without being known by Her Majesty the Queen, His Majesty the King, Her Majesty the Queen Dowager, or by His Royal Highness the Focking-Clown Prince, so, in turn, it seems to me that being known by God makes life infinitely burdensome. Whenever She is by, each half-hour becomes infinitely important. No one can stand living like that for 60 years, no more than she can stand cramming for her final exam which, after all, involves only 4 years and is really not such a terrible effort. Everything dissolves in contradiction. One moment they preach to you that you must not go about half-asleep, but live your life with the highest passion of the Infinite. All right, you pull yourself together; you arrive starched and strait-laced at the parade... then you are told that you should learn to shorten your sails. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN??? In the end all human beings have come equally far, and the whole thing isn't really worth much. It is the same as when i saw my physician recently. i complained about not feeling well. She replied, "Perhaps you drink too much coffee and do not walk enough." 3 weeks later i talked to her again and said, "i really don't feel well, but now it cannot be because of my coffee-drinking, for i don't drink coffee, nor from lack of exercise, for i walk all day long." She replied, "Well, the reason must be that you don't drink enough coffee and that you walk too much." In other words, my indisposition remained the same, but if i drink coffee it is due to my coffee-drinking; and if i don't take coffee my indisposition is due to my not drinking coffee. And so it is with us human beings... Our entire earthly existence is a sort of indisposition; with some the cause for it is that they make too great an effort, and if one inquires into the cause, the one you ask will first say: "Do you make a great effort?" If you answer yes, she will say: "The cause is that you work too strenuously." If you answer no, she will say the opposite, put her tail between her legs and slink away. Even if somebody offered me 200 million rixdollars i would not take it upon myself to explain the enigma of life. And, anyway, why should i? If life is an enigma, a puzzle, She who has posed it probably shall come forth in the End and offer the solution when She feels that nobody is too eager to make a guess any longer. i have not invented the puzzle, but in "The Onion," "The Freischultz," as well as other papers that feature puzzles, the solution follows in the next issue. The distinction of being mentioned in the paper as the person who had solved the puzzle on the same day that the rest of us learned the solution is a matter of indifference to me. ~Soren|
|21 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||BAPS? Lucy, what the.... fock are you talking about?? i'm not precisely certain about this, but i'm still willing to feel that we must be talking about 2 very different sorts of... Solarisae.
SOLARIS-the one that i was so innocently asking about-is a Film. A film starring George Clooney and some miraculously gorgeous Woman... who i believe may have some absurdly tragic gastrointestinal disorder; since she tends to carry a doorknob around with her on subways and other types of places where such disorders may subject her to relentless pummelment. Essentially, the entire film revolves around the mysteriousness of that doorknob... Everything else is just a distraction. Focus on the doorknob. The doorknob holds the Key............. What the hell am i talking about? No, seriously, Solaris is an amazing work of Artistry. If you fail to find the time to see it at least twice throughout the entirety of your earthly existence... you're a bloody deadbeat in my book... A book which is tentatively titled as~ "An Advanced Introduction To Divine Psychology" ~with a subtitle-again, tentatively as~ 'A Seethingly Strange Matter Of Profound Indifference To All The Murdochs Who Have Managed To Confine Themselves To The Vacant Throes Of Objective Spirituality.' The entire content of the book, according to fact, revolves around one Key factor: ...and this is, tentatively, Pure Tentativity. Enough about my book already.
~So Lucy, what the fock happened to your frail feathered friend, Frodo???????
|20 Feb 2003||Eponine Mackellar||PAPIER TUE-MOUCHES. Hey you... you with the serpent smile... You've been a creature far too long. Hey you... you with your public displays of pain... You've been painful for too long.
"THE SAVAGE GOD", written by a Mr. Alvarez (i've forgotten his first name), provides time well spent if you have any interest in the Art of Dissimulation. i often feel that the Dadaists had reality down on its knees... begging for forgiveness. ~To feign morality/To feign mortality. ~Again, there is new life here in Pleasant Prairie and the colorful, flowery coverlet of factory-life is spread over it. Last night at midnight an individual in shabby clothes was seized because, as the rental-cop said, he had shed gross abuse upon some roadside garbage-heap, but the rental-cop who should report such things had not actually seen it, and the culprit was still beaten, unjustly it is believed, and no one made a complaint... no one knows anything about it. ~Today... time stumbles bye as usual... and this is merely Pleasant Prairie. What is that compared to Cornwall, Gravesend, the World???
Each person takes her revenge on the world. Mine appears to consist in carrying my grief and anguish deeply embedded within myself, whilst my laughter entertains all. If i see somebody suffer i sympathize with her, console her to the limits of my ability... to the limits of my science... and listen to her quietly when she assures me that i am fortunate. ...If i can keep this up to the day of my Death, i shall have had my revenge.
In a room above a busy street/the echoes of a life/the fragments and the accidents/are separated by incidents//Listen to the walls/we share the same spaces/repeated in the corridors/performing the same movements//The nature of your tragedy is chained around your neck/do you lead...or are you led?/i'm sure that you don't care//There are reasons here to give your life/and follow on your way/the passion breathes to keep the faith/though all are different...all are Great//Climbing as we fall/we dare to hold on to our faith/to steal away our destiny/and catch ourselves with quiet grace... ~Michael
|20 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||Has anyone seen SOLARIS?????????????????|
|20 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||Kim might find the help that is needed by listening to SLEEPING PILLS by a band called LONDON SUEDE.|
|18 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||...back where the dogs bark/where still-life bleeds the concrete white/try not to go too far inside/your mind//back where the cars collide/where the lame star limps an endless mile/you can only go so far/for Womankind//if you were the one... would i even notice now that my mind has gone/if you were the one... would i even notice? back where the past is parked/where the canine in the A-line stole your time/have i gone too far inside/my mind?
~Bernard Butler+Brett Anderson
Has anyone out here seen Solaris??????
|14 Feb 2003||Marion Mackellar||LUX AETERNA ...To love one's neighbor means, while remaining within the earthly distinctions allotted to one, essentially to exist equally for every human being without exception.
Consider for a moment the world which lies before you in all its variegated multiplicity; it is like looking at a play, only the plot is vastly more complicated. Every individual within this innumerable throng is by her differences a particular something; she exhibits a definiteness... but essentially she is something other than this- but this we do not get to see here in life. Here we see only what role the individual plays and how she does it. It is like a play. But when the curtain falls, the one who played the Queen, and the one who played the Angel, and all the others- they are all quite alike, all one and the same: Actresses. And when in death the curtain shatters the stage of actuality (for it is a confused use of language if one speaks about the curtain being rolled up on the stage of the eternal at the time of death, because the eternal is no stage... it is truth), then they also are all one; they are human beings. All are that which they essentially were, something we did not see because of the difference we see; they are human beings. The stage of art is like an enchanted world. But just suppose that some evening some common absent-mindedness confused all the actresses so they thought they really were what they were representing. Would this not be, in contrast to the enchantment of art, what one might call the enchantment of an evil spirit, a bewitchment? And likewise suppose that in the enchantment of actuality (for we are, indeed, all enchanted, each one bewitched by her own distinctions) our fundamental ideas became confused so that we thought ourselves essentially to be the roles we play. Alas, but is this not the case? It seems to be forgotten that the distinctions of earthly existence are only like a costume or like a travelling cloak and that every individual should watchfully and carefully keep the fastening cords of this outer garment loosely tied, never in obstinate knots, so that in the moment of transformation the garment can easily be cast off, and yet we all have enough knowledge of art to be offended if an actress, when she is supposed to cast aside her disguise in the moment of transformation, runs out on the stage before getting the cords loose. But alas, in actual life one laces the outer garment of distinction so tightly that it completely conceals the external character of this garment of distinction, and the inner glory of equality never, or very rarely, shines through... Something it should do and ought to do constantly.
|12 Feb 2003||Kim Mackellar||Don't come to me_it's difficult for me to talk with you_i cannot Love you_and it's not within me to give_that breath of Truth_Don't come to me The years have closed tight shut_in the abyss of terrible distances_the flamelets of desire have died_you have become a memory deceived_you are somewhere near_the years have closed tight shut Don't come to me_i shall not return to that crystal world_you are the distant echo of a song_you were for Us but became_that which one loses without finding_Don't come to me [unknown mental patient]|
|11 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||i used to have the WORST job in the world. Just imagine the most unbearably apathetic sort of situation which could ever befall a Being... and you'll catch a glimpse of what i went through. i sincerely HATE to think that others are subjected to such circumstances and that they are not even aware of it. Take certain trial-lawyers for instance, they'll sue MacDonald's over some focking bloke choking on a chicken macnugget, yet they don't have the balls to sue THE DEGENERATE (the man) for falsely sentencing someone to Death.|
|11 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||[insoc] DON'T BE AFRAID... ~the holy girl is in our focus she's the story of us all. she can feel our eyes upon her and the hope that she shall fall. on her left so warm and honey-sweet like a jealous loving friend. on her right such a steep cold and lonely climb. the clinging threat of rejection and the thought of her imperfection. she says she's nowhere near the end yet. still she makes no guarantees. she's comfortable with failure and her blood may one day freeze. and in her iodine stretch her eyes recede and fall away. she knows she's where nothing can reach her now. beyond where you can see. beyond where she wants to be. one day she was a child. she could touch the sun somehow. she was held in the arms of the galaxy and that child is with her now. and in her cobalt moments she'll know that she's afraid. her hands reach out and grasp at you. but she's falling further... falling further in the churning dark slide. now she's walking slowly onward through the garden you can't know. her dance so beautiful and twisted. a spinning madness in the snow. she's got a black-hole in there with her. she's got a sun down in there too. they're her partners in her eternal dance. she's not aware of time moving past her. she's not aware of getting any younger. she walks the ridge so glassy sharp. you can't find her now. you can't speak to her now... she'll never cry again. ~Kurt Harland|
|05 Feb 2003||Jean-Paul Mackellar||DAS BOSHAFT HUND. If i tried to imagine the public as a particular person... i should perhaps think of one of the Roman emperors, a large well-fed figure, suffering from boredom, looking only for the sensual intoxication of laughter, since the Divine gift of wit is not earthly enough. And so for a change he wanders about, indolent rather than bad, but with a negative desire to dominate. Everyone who has read the classical authors knows how many things a Caesar would try out in order to kill time. (Those who perceive time as something to be killed, condemn themselves to die bit by bit.) In the same way the public keeps a dog to amuse itself. That dog is the sum of the literary world. If there is someone superior to the rest, perhaps even a great man, the dog is set loose upon him and then the fun begins. The dog goes for him, snapping and tearing at his Doc Martens, allowing itself every conceivable ill-mannered familiarity... until the public tires, and says it may as well stop. That is an example of how the public levels. Their betters and superiors in strength are mishandled and the dog remains a dog which even the public despises. The leveling is therefore done by a third party; a non-existent public leveling with the help of a third party which in its insignificance is less than nothing, being already more than levelled... The public is unrepentant, for it is not they who own the dog, they only subscribe. They neither set the dog on anyone, nor whistle it off-directly. If asked they would answer: the dog is not ours, it has no master. And if the dog had to be put down they would say: it was really a good thing that bad-tempered god was put down, everyone wanted it bumped-off... even the subscribers. ~Soren|
|04 Feb 2003||Newland Mackellar||ENNUI. The gods were bored, and so they created man. Adam was bored because he was so Alone, and so Eve was created. From that moment on boredom entered into the world, and increased in proportion to the increase of population. Adam was bored alone; then Adam+Eve were bored together; then Adam+Eve+Cain+Abel were bored en famille; then the population of the world increased, and the peoples were bored en masse. To divert themselves they conceived the idea of constructing a Tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea is itself just as boring as the Tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom gained the upper hand. ~i desire no disciples; but if there happened to be someone present at my beloved Deathbed, and i was certain that the end had arrived, then i might in an attack of philanthropic delirium, whisper my theory in her ear... uncertain whether i had done her a service or not. ~Aybe|
|01 Feb 2003||Michael Mackellar||DISTRESS. HELLOKELLY. DIE TUR IST ZU.
[You could live...]
"Of course. If we couldn't, we'd be classified as dead. That's the criterion which defines our hell: we can survive in ordinary society. Our deficiencies aren't overwhelming... and we can usually fake a lot of what's missing. Sometimes we can even convince ourselves that nothing's wrong. For a while."
[For a while? You have jobs, money, independence. What else does it take to function?]
[You mean sexual relationships?]
"Not necessarily. But they are the most difficult. And the most... illuminating. Everyone- or almost everyone -instinctively attempts to understand other human beings. To guess what they are thinking. To anticipate their actions. To... know them. People build symbolic models of other people in their brains, both to act as coherent representations, tying together all the info which can actually be observed-speech, gestures, past actions-and to help make informed guesses about the aspects which can't be known directly-motives, intentions, emotions. In most people, all of this happens with little or no conscious effort: there is an innate ability to model other people. It's refined by use in childhood, and total isolation would cripple it's development... in the same way as total Darkness would cripple the visual centers. Short of that sort of extreme abuse, though, upbring isn't a factor. Our hell can only be brought about by congenital brain damage, or later physical injuries to the brain. There are genetic risk factors which involve susceptibility to viral infections in utero-but hell itself is not a simple hereditary disease. The brain structure involved occupies a small region in the left frontal lobe. The specific details describing individual people are scattered throughout the brain-like all memories-but this structure is the one place where those deails are automatically integrated and interpreted. If it's damaged, other people's actions can still be perceived and remembered-but they lose their special significance.They don't generate the same kind of obvious implications; they don't make the same sort of immediate sense. The structure in question probably began to evolve toward its modern humanAngel form in the primates, though it had precursors in earlier mammals. It was first identified and studied-in chimpanzees-by a neuroscientist called LaGronder, in 2014. The corresponding human version was mapped a few years later. Maybe the first crucial role for LaGronder's area was to help make deception possible-to learn how to hide your own true motives, by understanding how others perceive you. If you know how to appear to be servile or cooperative-whatever's really on your mind-you have a better chance of stealing food, or a quick fuck with someone else's partner. But then... natural selection would have upped the ante, and favored those who could see through the ruse. Once lying had been invented, there was no turning back. Development would have snowballed."
[So the fully-infernalized can't lie, or judge someone else to be lying. But the partially-infernalized...?]
"Some can, some can't. It depends on the specific damage. We're not all identical."
[Okay. But what about relationships?]
"Modeling other people successfully can aid cooperation, as well as deception. Empathy can act to improve social cohesion at every level. But as early humans evolved a greater degree of monogamy-at least, compared to their immediate ancestors-the whole cluster of mental processes involved in pair-bonding would have become entangled. Empathy for your breeding partner attained a special status: their life could be, in some circumstances, as crucial to the passing on of your genes as your own. Of course, most animals will instinctively protect their young, or their mates, at a cost to themselves; altruism is an ancient behavioral strategy. But how could 'instinctive-altruism' be made compatible with human self-awareness? Once there was a burgeoning ego, a growing sense of self in the foreground of every action, how was it prevented from overshadowing everything else?...
The answer is, evolution invented intimacy. Intimacy makes it possible to attach some, or all, of the compelling qualities associated with the ego-the model of the self-to models of other people. And not just possible- pleasurable. A pleasure reinforced by sex, but not restricted to the act, like orgasm. And not even restricted to sexual partners, in humans. Intimacy is just the belief-rewarded by the brain-that you 'know' the people you 'love' in almost the same fashion as you know yourself."
[And even partial-infernalization makes that impossible? Because you can't model anyone well enough to really know them at all?]
"Again, we're not all identical. Sometimes the modeling is accurate enough-as accurate as anything's-but it's not rewarded: the parts of LaGronder's area which make most people feel good about intimacy, and actively seek it out, are missing. Those people are considered cold, aloof. And sometimes the reverse is true: people are driven to seek intimacy, but their modeling is so poor that they can never hope to find it. They might lack the social skills to form lasting sexual relationships-or even if they're intelligent and resourceful enough to circumvent the social ineptness, the brain itself might judge the model to be faulty, and refuse to reward it. So the drive is never satisfied-because it's physically impossible for it to be satisfied."
[Sexual relationships are difficult for everyone. It has been suggested that you've merely invented a neurological syndrome which allows you to abdicate responsibility for problems which everyone faces, as a matter of course.]
"And we should just pull ourselves together, and try harder?"
[Either that or have brain-grafts to correct the damage.]
"Yes. Up to and including the complete excision of LaGronder's area."
"Again, that's a complicated question. Everyone has a different reason. For a start, i'd say that as a matter of principle, we should have the widest possible range of choices. Like transsexuals."
[The endpoint of either operation on transsexuals is a healthy woman or man. That's hardly the same as becoming...]
"But we do suffer a mismatch, just like transsexuals. Not between body and brain but between the drive for intimacy and the inability to attain it. No one-save a few religious fundamentalists-would be cruel enough to tell a transsexual that they'll just have to learn to live with what they are, and that medical intervention would be a wicked self-indulgence."
[But no one's stopping you from choosing medical intervention. The graft is legal. And success rates are sure to improve.]
"And as i've said, Voluntary Hellists don't oppose that. For some people, it's the right choice."
[But how can it ever be the wrong choice?]
"Many fully afflicted people suffer additional brain damage, and various kinds of mental retardation. In general, we don't. Whatever damage we've suffered to LaGronder's area, most of us are intelligent enough to understand our own condition. We 'know' that non-afflicted people are capable of believing that they've acheived intimacy. But in Voluntary Hell, we've decided that we'd be better off without that talent."
[Why better off?]
"Because it's a talent for self-deception."
[If your Hell is a lack of understanding of others... and healing the lesion would grant you that lost understanding...]
"But how much IS understanding- and how much is a delusion of understanding? Is intimacy a form of knowledge, or is it just a comforting false belief? Evolution isn't interested in whether or not we grasp the truth, except in the most pragmatic sense. And there can be equally pragmatic falsehoods. If the brain needs to grant us an exaggerated sense of our capacity for knowing each other, to make pair-bonding compatible with self-awareness, it will lie, shamelessly, as much as it has to, in order to make the strategy succeed."
[Hell is a... tragic, disabling disease. How can you romanticize it into nothing more than some kind of... viable alternative lifestyle?]
"i'm not doing any such thing. i've met over a hundred fully-afflicted people, and their families. i know how much pain is involved. If i could banish the condition tomorrow, i'd do it. But we have our own histories, our own problems, our own aspirations. We're NOT fully-afflicted... and excision of LaGronder's area, in adulthood, won't render us the same as someone who was born that way. Most of us have learned to compensate by modeling people consciously, explicitly- it takes far more effort than innate skill, but when we lose what little we have of that, we won't be left helpless. Or selfish, or merciless, or incapable of compassion... or any of the other things the murdochs like to claim. And being granted the surgery we've asked for won't mean loss of employment, let alone the need for institutional care. So there'll be no cost to the community"
[Cost is the least of the issues! You're talking about deliberately-surgically-ridding yourself of something... fundamental to Humanity!!]
"...Exactly. And we've lived for decades with a 'fundamental' truth about human relationships, which we choose not to surrender to the comforting effects of a brain-graft. All we want to do now is make that choice complete. To stop being punished for our refusal to be deceived."
|31 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||[insoc] _don't be afraid_ KURT HARLAND crawl across the floor if it feels like something you know. curl up in a ball if it feels like home. sleep as much as you can. if you can't sleep then lay there. pick at yourself until you feel pure. something's pulling you to the floor. like a long-time friend. someone's banging your head on the wall. as the means to an end. empty. filling up with... sick. like evil-horde slime in your lungs. sucking yellow fog around your skull. this must be the end of you. but you know this will never stop. you can't hear anything anymore. just the hammer in your soul. walk on through the growing noise of your inescapable past. walk willingly into the dark. nothing can touch you now. once you were a child. fear rang through the halls. but you won't think about that now. just some warmth and a home. and an end to the task. your doors are standing wide open. but it's too late for you now...|
|31 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||ECLIPSE2. i will take nails and hammer them into my body. Very, very gently... Very, very slowly... so it will last longer. i will draw up a precise plan. i will upholster myself everyday, say 2 inches for instance. Then. i will set fire to everything. It will burn for a long time. It will burn for 7 days. Only the nails will remain, all welded together and rusty. So i shall remain. So i shall survive. Everything. ~Tomaz Salaman|
|31 Jan 2003||Leonardius Mackellar||HOMARD?
Something wonderful has happened to me. i was caught up in 7th heaven. There sat all the gods in assembly. By special grace i was granted the privilege of making a wish. "Wilt thou," said Mercury, "have youth or beauty or power or a long life or the most beautiful maiden... or any of the other glories we have in the chest? Choose, but only one thing." For a moment i was at loss. Then i addressed myself to the gods as follows: "Most honorable contemporaries, i choose this one thing, that i may always have the laugh on my side." Not one of the gods said a word; on the contrary, they all began to laugh. From this i concluded that my wish was granted, and found that the gods knew how to express themselves with taste; for it would hardly have been suitable for them to have answered gravely: "Thy wish is granted." ~Soren