|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?
|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|
|10 Feb 2003||Michael Cygne||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. !! It is said that 2 English noblewomen were once riding along a road when they met a man whose horse had run away with him and who, being in danger of falling off, shouted out for help. One of the Englishwomen turned upon the other and said, "A hundred guineas he bails." "Taken," said the other. With that they spurred their horses to a gallop and hurried on ahead to open the tollgates and to prevent anything from getting in the way of the runaway horse. In the same way, though without that heroinic and billionaire-like spleen, our own reflective and sensible age is like a curious, critical and worldly-wise person, who, at the most, has vitality enough to lay a wager. ~Soren|
|10 Feb 2003||Lucy Cortina||Sorry I've been away. My boobs have expanded cos I had an allergic reaction to some soft mints. I'm red raw and like a fuckin hippo with tits. Still, I managed to play more pranks in the seaside town with my friend, who did a poop in a bag and then posted it through the letterbox, so the postman will get a poopy surprise! Poop Post, Royal Mail.
I love that t.A.T.u lesbian love song. The nurse at my unit who is a lezbo rubbed my back down with cream cos of my rash the other day, which was sickening.
Hmm I'm just telling you about my real life now, which is rather boring compared to the schizophrenic one :)
|10 Feb 2003||A Ridiculous Man||Eclipse 0 ~Round the globe the train of dust/ round the globe the dust of mirages/ the shadow on the globe turns black/ the globe in the shadows of lost days./ The emerald sky has stretched out/ over the planet of maddened shadows/ towers have thrust their voice into the heavens/ and exploded within a chaos of decline./ The chain swings on the wall/ as a pendulum of an antique clock/ and i cry here in my mad fire/ of voices half-sane as the day. [ump] ~In the humpbacked Arbat streets/ an alien man got lost/ much seems to him to be strange/ in the noisy autumn peoplessness./ The street lamps and shop windows in a torrent/ of rusty light splash in the dark/ and the windows of peoople's thoughts, of beasts/ look at the autumn night./ Noisy crowds rush past/ in the howling of the cold wind/ and the desert of the autumn peoplessness/ is bloodsucked with the hubbub of greed./ In the humpbacked backstreets of the Arbat/ an alien man got lost/ he is like a beast captive in a bestiary/ and does not find the way out of the cage./ On the gloomy horizon of the cell/ no hope of the star's shining/ only a sun yellow like sardines/ and the dull waiting... when?/ Waiting surrounded the cell/ like a ghost of dead minutes/ it's those years of pains and distances/ i sleep in delerium i awake in delerium./ On the gloomy horizon of the cell/ no hope of the stars leaving a trail/ unhappiness menacingly rules in the walls/ with a station change for the other world or this world./ This cell- the delirium of my fantasy/ if i am a ghost among people/ this cell is a door to the expanse of the End/ the voices and wishes of the people. [unknown mental patient]|
|10 Feb 2003||Ichabod Doldrumsky||Eclipse 3 [ADROIT IDIOT] ...i will take Legos and slam them into my body. Very, very repeatedly. Very, very... ineffectually. So it may make just as much sense as what most americans do with the day. i will draw up a conventional plan. i will wall up myself every day, say 2 Legos, for instance. Then i will set fire to everything. It will burn for a time. It will burn for 13 minutes. Only the Legos will remain, all melted together and ebonized... And so i shall remain. So i shall survive... or at least as an imitation on the order of actual-survival. ~Sorry i left CA so prematurely. i really needed to finish up 'The Limits of Vision'. Honestly, i also really needed to talk with you... yet, sensing myself as having nothing worth saying, and lacking the strength to go through with proving it... left no room for the Splendor which still feels so inclined to await.|
|09 Feb 2003||swallow razorblades, watch yourself bleed. take pictures, send 'em to me.|
|08 Feb 2003||nosaM legnA||SYMPARANECROMENIAN CATASTROPHES. VOL.5
A thinker erects an immense building, a system, a system which embraces the whole of existence and world history... and if we contemplate her personal life, we discover this terrible and ludicrous fact, that she herself personally does not live in this immense high-vaulted palace, but in a barn alongside of it, or in a toolshed... or at the most in the porter's lodge. If one were to take the liberty of calling her attention to this by a single word, she would be offended. For she has no fear of being under a delusion, if only she can get the system completed... by means of the delusion. ~Nicolaus Notabean
|08 Feb 2003||bubba||listen to modern day rolling stones. The time it takes u to find the urge to take your own live depends on your personality.|
|07 Feb 2003||~~Tootles~~||Eat 105 pies and then run 8 blocks. by the time you get done with 4 you should have already had a heart attack. if not keep running|
|06 Feb 2003||thorsten||there's nothing complicated! just having petrole, not hard to find in the car of daddy, then you switch on your lighter It's very the best way!|
|06 Feb 2003||Anti Climaxicus||Imagine a country. A royal command is issued to all the office-bearers and subjects, in short, to the entire population. An unutterably remarkable change comes over them all: they all become interpreters, the office-bearers become authors, every blessed day there comes out an interpretation more learned than the last, more acute, more elegant, more profound, more ingenious, more wonderful, more endearing, and more wonderfully endearing. HelloKelly. Criticism which ought to survey the whole can hardly attain survey of this prodigious literature, indeed criticism itself has become a literature so prolix that is impossible to attain a survey of the criticism. Everything became interpretation... but no one read the royal command with a view to acting in accordance with it. And it was not only that everything became interpretation, but at the same time the point of view for determining what seriousness is was altered, and to be busy about interpretation became real seriousness. Suppose that the Queen was not a human Queen- for the human Queen would understand well enough that they were making a fool of Her by giving the affair this turn, yet as a human Queen She is dependent, especially when She encounters the united front of office-bearers and subjects, and so would be compelled to put the best face upon a bad game, to let seem as if all this were a matter of course, so that the most elegant interpreter would be rewarded by elevation to the peerage, the most acute would be knighted, etc. Suppose that this Queen was almighty, one therefore who is not put to embarrassment though all the office-bearers and all the subjects play Her false. What do you suppose this almighty Queen would think about such a thing?? Surely She would say, "The fact that they do not comply with the commandment, that i might forgive; moreover, if they united in a petition that i may have patience with them, or perhaps relieve them entirely of this commandment which seemed to them too hard... even that i could forgive. But this i cannot forgive, that they entirely alter the point of view for determing what seriousness is." ~Judge William|
|06 Feb 2003||Anton Anomalovich||INVISIBLE INK. there comes a time when you swim or sink so i jumped in the drink because i could not make myself clear... maybe i wrote in invisible ink i've tried to think how i could have made it appear... but another illustration is wasted since the results are the same... i feel like a ghost who's trying to move your hands over some ouija board in the hopes i can spell out my name... what some take for magic at first glance is just sleight of hand depending on what you believe... something gets lost when you translate it's hard to keep straight perspective is everything... and i know now which is which and what angle i ought to look at it from... i suppose i should be happy to be misread... better be that than some of these other things i have become... and aside from that this chain of reaction is losing a link... though i'd hope you'd know what i tried to tell you... and if you don't i could draw you a picture with invisible ink. ~Aimee|
|06 Feb 2003||Anti Climaxicus||If conscience is deceived, does it finally take its toll? It is like the woman who offered to sell to Tarquin a collection of Divine Psychology books and when he would not give the sum demanded she burned one-third of them and demanded the same sum, and when again he declined the sum demanded she burned another third of them and demanded the same sum, until finally he gave the original sum for the final third... ~Judge William|
|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|
|03 Feb 2003||ginger||if i'm under 13 maybe the best way would be by stop breathing under the water, the kit must have heavy parts so so the idea to keep on breathing would be imposible|
|02 Feb 2003||Joel Podbereski||SYMPARANECROMENIAN FAVORITES. VOL. 87 As the captive animal paces about its cage every day for the sake of movement or to measure the length of its chain, so i measure the length of my chain every day by turning to the thought of Death... for the sake of movement and in order to endure Living. ~Soren|
|02 Feb 2003||Ichabod Doldrumsky||ADMIRATIO. There is, unfortunately, nothing to be done with the age before it experiences far deeper convulsions. The whole age can be divided into those who write and those who do not write. Those who write represent despair, and those who read disapprove of it and believe that they have a superior wisdom. ...And yet, if they could write, they would write the same thing. Basically, they are all equally despairing, but when one does not have the opportunity to become important with her despair, then it is hardly worth the trouble to despair and show it. Is this what it is to have conquered despair? ~To despair over oneself, in despair not to will to be oneself, in despair to will to be rid of oneself, in despair to will to devour oneself is the formula for all despair, to which also the other form of despair... in despair to will to be oneself, can be traced back, just as above, in the despair not to will to be oneself, to will to be rid of oneself, is traced back to: in despair to will to Become oneself. ~??|
|02 Feb 2003||wanka||die tur ist zu = the door is closed.|