|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?
|29 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||...And so, i am not the one who is to become lord of this life, but simply a frail thread to be spun upon the calico of History. So, i am no god. Well, then, at least i can cut a thread. ~Yes. Time. i sense it comes down to discovering which Muzik becomes the most... beautiful within the throes of your own mind. And then, devoting as much time as life permits for the undying cultivation of Understanding the Truth in Beauty. Time has taught me very well that keeping my discoveries inside is undoubtedly prudent... As i often try and share these discoveries with outside others, only to be told that my musical tastes tend to be a touch inept. Yet, as i addictively strive to subject myself towards the company, and often interaction, of abusive others, i Fear i shall never rise above from the childishness of Sharing.|
|29 Jan 2003||Fionuellia Mackellar||OGANACH. My sorrow is my baronial castle, which lies like an eagle's nest high upon the mountain peak among the clouds. No one can take it by storm. From it i swoop down into actuality and snatch my prey, but i do not stay there. i bring my prize home, and this prize is a picture i weave into the tapestries at my castle. Then i live as one already dead. Everything i have experienced i immerse in a baptism of oblivion unto an eternity of recollection. Everything temporal or fortuitous is forgotten and blotted out. Then i sit like an old grey-haired man, pensive, and explain the pictures in a soft voice, almost whispering, and beside me sits a child, listening, although She remembers everything before i speak it. ~Soren|
|29 Jan 2003||Daniel Day-Mackellar||DORCHADAS. In addition to my other numerous acquaintances, i have one more intimate confidant... my depression. In the midst of my joy, in the midst of my work, She beckons to me, calls me aside, even though physically i remain on the spot. My depression is the most faithful mistress i have known... No wonder, then, that i return the Love. ~Soren|
|28 Jan 2003||Darius Mackellar||FORUNDERING. Imagine somewhere a great and splendid hall where everything is done to produce nothing but joy and merriment... but the entrance to this room is a nasty, muddy, humble stairway and it is impossible to pass without getting disgustingly soiled, and admission is paid by prostituting oneself, and when day dawns the merriment is over and all ends with one's being kicked out again... but the whole night through is done to keep up and inflame the merriment and pleasure! What is reflection? Simply to reflect on these two questons: How did i get into this and how do i get out of it again, how does it End? What is Thoughtlessness? To muster everything in order to drown all this about entrance and exist in forgetfulness, to muster everything to re-explain and explain away entrance and exit, simply lost in the interval between the birth-cry and the repetition of this cry when the one who is born expires within the Death struggle.
Many folks are afraid of Eternity. If we can only endure Time, certainly we can cope with Eternity. Therefore when one hears the Lovers swear mutual Love for all Eternity, it does not mean nearly as much as when they pledge Love for Time, because one who pledges Love for Eternity can always answer: You shall have to excuse me this Time... ~Soren
|28 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 319 When Philip threatened to lay siege to the city of Corinth, and all its inhabitants hastily bestirred themselves in defense, some polishing weapons, some gathering stones, some repairing the walls, some overdosing on cloxazolam... Diogenes seeing all this hurriedly folded his mantle about him and began to roll his tub zealously back and forth through the streets. When he was asked why he did such a thing he replied that he wished to be busy like all the rest, and rolled his tub lest he should be the only idler among so many industrious citizens. ~Soren|
|22 Jan 2003||Dimitri Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.-1 The sun is an acid eye/we're corroded with pleasure inside/there's a hole in your thin white skin/now we'll never be clean again/Our hands are two shattered claws/we scrape at the ground for hours/i buried this soul in the floor/to gain control of unfeeling/This city's a crowded room/this earth is a closing tomb/in my hand is your perfect womb/when you breathe your breath is obscene/My heart is a lead box/ideas are shutting locks/the air was just turned off/now we're sucking from this Machine/The sun did not rise today/your children will stay where you lay/the oil is black and it's thick/and sex is a void filled with plastic/The president's mouth is a whore/when there's murder the audience roars/there's no room left here for the strong/and everything Human's necessarily wrong. AMNESIA. ~m.gira|
|22 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||...Sometimes i am afraid of the terrible things that seem real, within this thickening Darkness of thought, and of the exquisite shapelessness to these things i feel. It is like a Madness at long-last, to realise that i've been fading into the pale assembly of an unreality: this baseness, this faith... this god-forsaken mind... Whilst my Self is all the while a piece of emptiness pulsating in horror, and the Horror and the Emptiness are all that remains real. This whole universe of deafening Darkness and dying passions... The subterranean universe of the things which have been denied Being... has conquered me for now, and i care not to escape. Yet still, i think with fear of having to speak... when no one dares to fathom the vacantness in such a Language.|
|17 Jan 2003||Larius Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.1 What is a poet? An unhappy soul who in her heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music. Her fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; their cries could not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music. And the masses crowd about the poet and say to her, "Sing for us soon again" -which is as much to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would only distress us, but the music... the music is delightful." And the critics lurch forward to say, "That is perfectly done-just as it should be, according to the rules of aesthetics."
Now it is understood that a critic matches a poet to a hair; he only lacks the anguish in his heart and the music upon his lips. I tell you, i would rather be a swineherd, understood by the swine, than a poet misunderstood by the masses. ~Soren
|16 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SONA can be heard on the SECRET GARDEN record, "Dawn of a New Century", sung by Fionuellia Sherry. Secret Garden involves a group of beautifully gifted musicians who i believe are based in Norway. If it gets to be known that with these postings i am vainly forging my own temporal salvation..... Then it is Goodbye to this world and all its half-hearted favors.|
|16 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.549 Morning smiles like the face of a newborn child. Innocent. Unknowing. Winters end, promises of a long-lost friend. Speaks to me of comfort. But i fear... i have nothing to give, i have so much to lose here in this lonely place. Tangled up in your embrace. There's nothing i'd like better than to fall. But i fear i have nothing to give. Wind in time, rapes the flower trembling on the vine... and nothing yields to shelter. From above, They say tempation shall destroy our Love. The never-ending hunger. But i fear... ~Sarah|
|14 Jan 2003||Seigfried Mackellar||Like a pawn on the eternal board/ who is never quite sure what he is moved toward/ i walk blindly on/ and heaven is in front of me/ her heaven beckons me enticingly/ when i arrive its gone/ the river flows/ destiny knows/ ...i follow You. ~Dave Gahan|
|14 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||Yes, well i've been thinking about swapping my wagon in for a new Honda S2000. Has anyone ever driven such a car? i almost took a silver one for a test-drive yesterday, but the fact that i could hardly afford to buy enough monopoly money from the local KB toy store to pay for it, even after the focking trade-in, sort of made the whole scene reek with ridiculousness. "Une femme est plus belle que le monde ou je vis... et je ferme les yeux." ~Eluard.
Becca? We met at our crossroads. Remember? ... i lost your Time in a corner of that darkening sky. Forgive me. i've been thinking of you at a rate which approximates perpetuality... Please write. Your words can still stave-off the inevitable.
What an interesting poem i've been working on lately... involving a young, slightly sociopathic girl who somehow manages to extinguish the Sun. The overture based loosely upon her Afterlife is a soul-curdling page turner. Odd. Another one revolving around a man who suddenly realises that his depression is entirely due to the fact that he has the most absurd dysfunction. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot convince himself to fall asleep without first finding a time and a place for it.
Narcolepsy, in this day and age, is probably a sure sign of Saintlihood.
|14 Jan 2003||Lucius Mackellar||Reve Eveille Dirige... Daylight licked me into shape/ i must have been asleep for years/ and moving lips to breathe Her name/ i opened up my eyes/ to find myself alone, alone/ Alone above a raging sea/ that stole the only girl i Loved/ and drowned Her deep inside of me... ~Bob Smithers|
|14 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECRONENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 20 How much the same human nature is! With what innate genius a little child can often show us a vivid picture of the larger scale. i was really amused today by little Frodo. He sat in his tiny chair and looked about with visible delight. Then the nursemaid, Maren, walked through the room. "Maren!" he shouted. "Yes, little Frodo," she answered with her customary friendliness and came over to him. He tilted his big head to one side a bit, fastened his enormous eyes upon her with a certain roguishness and then said quite phlegmatically, "Not this Maren; it was another Maren." What do we adults do? We shout out to the whole world, and when it approaches us in a friendly manner we say, "It was not this Maren." ~Soren|
|11 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SONA Ag breacadh an lae do chumar ag suil/ aoibhneas an tsaiol amach romhainn/ clocha draiochta chomh geal lenar suile/ casan ag glioscarnach duinn// Suaimhneas na coillte is ceol inar gcroithe/ macalla fuaim an tsruthain/ duilloega fomhar mar ghuth ar an ngaoth/ se nadur is cuis lenar ngra// Anois ta realta a'rince sa speir/ is an saol ina gholadh go samh/ aislingi aille i ngairdin mo run/ briongloidi thart orainn ar snamh// Suile sior lasta le solas... suile faoi gheasa na run... taibhreamh ar sheoda an ghairdin... iontais nach sceithfear go buan// A'taisteal sa choill seo ar fan is ar fuaidreamh/ realta geala eolais ag lonradh don ri/ A'taisteal sa choill seo ar fan is ar fuaidreamh/ clocha bana ag lasadh ar sli Mick O'Brien|
|10 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar|| Devenir.
As long as mere enumeration is the only factoring necessary for fully comprehending the purity of the lifeforce being driven by the inclination, suicide can be a waltz through the park at any age. The most... conventional method for invoking such a mockery of self-fulfillment, is to willfully cave in to the thoughtlessness of modern social-engineering. Yes, just kill all your time by seeking one desensitizing distraction after another. Forget about all the Ageless souls who dare not fathom the depths of such resplendent shallowness. Forget Them... and focus upon becoming what you are Not. Cast aside the silly idea that the meaning of Life may be to Live for others. Laugh in the face of Reason, and feel free to rip its tongue out should the sounds begin to form, explaining that Depression is growth... of Virtue. Ever so soon, the music shall recede away, and the Waltz of Mind will rush through decay. Here... you will look back and understand that suicide actually proved to be rather fruitful. For you, who now lies silenced among the shattered masses, never really had a Life of your own to take... yet somehow, you managed to take it splendidly.
Suicide cannot be the answer at any age where enumeration fails to yield an encompassing definition. Consider the idea involving Death and Suicide as being two different things... Differing, perhaps, as perfectly as Love and Hate. If you feel as though you have absolutely no choice but to commit, at least take the time to place it in the appropriate perspective beforehand... And that involves the realisation that it is not Yourself who is doing the killing. ~i feel that it is a good idea to Listen to the music of "Belle+Sebastian", at least enough to memorize the lyrics to all their songs. And if you have yet to listen through the soundtrack to "Requiem For A Dream", at least a hundred times, please do so. i suppose if you haven't heard the latest album by "Information Society"-called "Don't Be Afraid", you've really got no business leaving so soon.
There, with all the passion you have found within and without to summon... See how Beautiful our world was meant to be... And share the Truth you feel... with Everyone.
|10 Jan 2003||Ichabod Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL.242 Most people rush after pleasure so fast that they rush right past it. They are like that dwarf who guarded a kidnapped princess in his castle. One day he took a noon nap. When he woke up an hour later, she was gone. Hastily, he pulls on his seven-league boots; with one step he is far past her. ~Soren|
|08 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVOURITES. VOL.1 Virgilius the sorcerer had himself hacked to bits and dumped in a caldron to be cooked for 8 days in order by this process to be rejuvenated. He arranged for someone to watch so that no interloper would peer into the caldron. But the watchman could not resist the temptation; it was too soon, and Virgilius, as an infant, disappeared with a scream. i dare say that i also peered too soon into the caldron, into the caldron of life and the historical process, and most likely will never become more than a child... ~Soren~|
|08 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar|| Se Jeter~ i just discovered an unutterably remarkable book; one which may be of some assistance should you find yourself feeling... sinister. `Blank Slate`, by Steven Pinker. This heart-rendered work deals with human nature, from the angle of introducing considerations for conflict resolution and peacemaking that go way deeper than conventional analyses. Also, i should add, the book is rather large... so it may take a touch more effort to grasp. I'm currently sitting in my local hometown library, and 'Blank Slate' is resting safely in its secret cubbyhole. It is necessary for me to hide it away each day because my library card has been suspended, due to enormous late fees, and as a result i find myself effectively restricted from checking anything out. As long as 'Blank Slate' remains tucked away when i am elsewhere, i won't have to lose sleep over worring about some Willy Wanker-Sociology Major getting hold of it, and making me wait entirely too focking long for the return. I suspect this may, perhaps certainly, almost appear to seem a bit selfish... Yet i figure i have more than made up for it with my new years resolution. Yes, you guessed it, my wanking days drew to a close with the new year! You can't get much more selfless than that. Honestly though, i had the same thing planned last year... but the most ridiculously dream-like woman to ever step foot into a surrealist club happened to catch my interest right on new year's eve. We even spoke for a while, and i learned that she was aspiring to become a successful mesmerist. She proved the truth in her aspiration by singing the most beautiful song from 'Les Miserables', in my opinion. On My Own. Even still, it did not take me long to close up... And i soon convinced her that all we had to share, was distance. We returned, arms outstretched, to our separate ways. The club eventually closed, and i sped home in my wagon, cursing myself the whole live-long way for being so possessed by a shyness that is criminally vulgar. As a matter of course, i became frightfully distressed... so, when i arrived home and had crashed into bed, i proceeded to beat the hell out of myself... something like 8 or 9 times over. She was too beautiful. And i became so inhuman. Well, as one can well imagine, my set of unsuspecting sheets was in ruins. My selfless resolution was blown to bits not even 8 hours into the new year. This time around i am ready... i'm not caving in for anything!
Since lately i seem to have a remarkably enlarged amount of time on my hands for some reason that appears unfathomable, i've decided to copy the sleeve notes from 'Blank Slate', so in effect, you may be more readily able to decide whether or not such a book would interest you. I should add that 'A Beautiful Mind', 'I Stand Alone', and 'Shine' are 3 films worth renting. If you have yet to see them, please do so. ...The reason i've decided to include the notes from 'Blank Slate' is not entirely due to the mysteriously enlarged amount of time, i've also become quite happy since 'Common People' came on the radio a little while ago, and it happens to be one of my favorite songs.
I imagine Lucy Cortina as being quite fond of PULP, and i find myself wondering what other music exists as dearly to her... as dearly as she claims to have become to Herself. She claimed to feel so amazingly content... inside. LEGENDARY PINK DOTS, no question. ~the limits of my language define the limits of my world~ Ludwig Wittgenstein ~ ...but surpassing all stupendous inventions, what sublimity of mind was hers who dreamed of finding means to communicate her deepest thoughts to any other person, though distant by mighty intervals of space and time! of talking with those who are in Heaven; of speaking to those who are not yet born- and shall not be born for a thousand or a hundred thousand years. and with what felicity by the varied arrangements of constructs of our minds!! ~Soren
Sleeve Notes....... "Our conceptions of human nature affect every aspect of our lives, from the way we raise our children to the political movements we choose to embrace. Yet just as science is bring us into a golden age of understanding human nature, many people are hostile to the idea. They fear that discoveries about innate patterns of thinking and feeling may be used to justify inequality, to subvert social change, to dissolve personal responsibility, and to strip life of meaning and purpose. In 'Blank Slate', Steven Pinker explores the idea of human nature and its moral, emotional, and political colorings. He shows how many intellectuals have denied the existence of human nature by embracing 3 linked dogmas: the blank slate (the mind has no innate traits), the noble savage (people are born good and corroded by society), and the ghost in the machine (each of us has a soul to make choices free from the restrictions of biology). Each dogma carries a moral burden, so their defenders have engaged in desperate tactics to discredit scientists who are now challenging them. Pinker injects calm and rationality into these 3 debates by showing that equality, progress, responsibility, and purpose have nothing to fear from the discoveries about a rich human nature. He disarms even the most menacing threats with clear thinking, common sense, and pertinent facts from science and history. Despite its popularity among intellectuals during much of the twentieth century, he argues, the doctrine of Blank Slate may have done more harm than good. It denies our common humanity and our individual preferences, replaces hard-headed analyses of social problems with feel-good slogans, and distorts our understanding of government, violence, parenting, and the arts. Pinker shows that an acknowledgement of human nature that is grounded in science and common sense, far from being dangerous, can complement insights about the human condition made by millenia of artists and philosophers. All this is done with unutterably remarkable clarity..."
By the bye, i feel as though Eternity is the place that holds...................Time enough for Love. My Dream is to find each and every one of you there. And then....... [nicedream]
|05 Jan 2003||Michael Mackellar||i seem to recall reading a quote by some spiritually catapulted, vacant presenced marxist involving the idea that it is the natural course... for all intellectuals to commit suicide. Well now, if that is the case, i wonder if suicide is the unnatural course for those who are something aside from being intellectual. i used to fancy myself as being quite an accomplished intellectual, yet with all the mind-warping anti-reality pills i have been unwittingly prescribed over the years, i feel as though i have been transformed into a fucking blockhead. If only i had taken my life during the intellectual days... i would have been well received by the eyes of nature. And here... if i do such a thing now, i fear that flying in the face of naturality may prove to be morbidly embarrassing. Good Heavens!!!! What an unutterably remarkable dilemma. Perhaps i should just develop a more... elevated passion towards life. Such senselessness is certain to deaden the insightful catastrophe which burdens me so. Okay, we now know that it has become prudent to prove to others, along with oneself, that one is unquestionably an intellectual before one can feel free to dislodge oneself from these godforsaken throes of absurdity ............................... and Here is the perfect place to plead your case. So, who dares to appoint the judge and jury?????????? God, sometimes you just don't come through.....
Sleep well, my friends. 'till anon